I still love you | Maylor fanfiction

4

Brian's P.O.V.

I breathed out, letting out a small cloud of mist, shivering slightly in the cold. I pulled my coat closer as I leaned against the wall of one of the houses lining the street, waiting for the boy I came across this morning.

This night it came again. This repeating cycle seemed to never miss out any single day, never forget and let me rest. Every night, it was here, tearing me away from the dream world, waking me up in sweat, with tears and horror.

Today, again. At four a.m., I was wide awake, shaking in fear, my stomach making loops, making me want to vomit. Again, it was impossible for me to even only try to go get back to sleep. Again, I went out on the street, despite whatever time it was, to play guitar out on the fresh air, as it made me feel at least a bit better before it was time to join my daily routine, studying, rushing around the city and so, day after day.

It were my dreams which woke me, my dreadful nightmares which kept repeating every single night, from the time I could remember. They only changed the way that they got worse. Much worse.
But the dreams weren't visual, they didn't have any kind of a continuous story. They were more like feelings. Starting with nervousness, palms sweating, fear taking over, which tortured me in never ending eternities, until I finally woke up with horror, shaking and crying.

I sighed, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back as I leaned it against the wall behind me, exposing my face to the dim light of the winter sun.
When I was a small boy, the dreams were rather mysterious, and irregular. But soon, they began to scare me. My mom took my to the doctors, which recommended to express my feelings from those dreams through writing, something like a diary. That's how I started writing songs, even though those, which were linked to my night experiences, were way too oddly cold for everyone's ears, except mine.
Me family thought it worked. It didn't. I just stopped talking about it. And stopped writing about it.

"Hey, Brian!" A shout from a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts. I blinked my eyes open, bringing my head up, to reveal that blonde boy, Roger, from today's early morning.
"Hi Roger," I answered with a smile, grabbing the case with my guitar as he approached me.
"So, can we go?" He asked, and when I nodded as a reply, he started leading me through the street.
"Sorry, I've jumped on you so suddenly before. We just really need a good guitar player, and you were the perfect opportunity. I may have panicked a bit," he chuckled. He wore the same baggy brown leather jacket as he did earlier, and a backpack, stuffed a bit too much for containing only drumsticks, as I assumed he played the drums and was a bit concerned about what is it in his bag. His golden shoulder-length locks had placed a loosed silk cap over them, reminding me of those Jamaican Rasta hats, with few colorful stripes over it.

"No need to be sorry," I replied, giving him a slight look in his round blue eyes. "I'm really thankful for you showing up. I really wanted to join a band for a long time now."
"How come you haven't find one yet? Or were you in any yet?" He asked between steps.
"Well, it was back in middle school. Nothing serious, but yes you can say that. And now, my school doesn't seem to have people with any musical interest, so no luck there."
"Oh. Which school are you studying?" He was curious.

We were approaching the bus station at the edge of the road. Not much people were waiting here, as everyone was now rushing from work to get home- the busses were crowded.
"Astrophy-"
"Well, damn, okay. You can stop there. Some smart science shit, I get it," he grinned, as he stopped next to the bus stop sign, me standing next to him, forced to look at him from above as I was nearly a good foot taller.

I laughed back.
"And you?"
"I'm studying biology. Boring stuff, I tell you," he answered, checking his watch. "The bus should be here in about ten minutes. Hope that crap will come in time for once, or I will just cower up and die from this fucking weather."
Another laugh escaped my lips, earning a pleased grin from him. This chap was an enjoyable company for sure.
"Alright. Where are we going anyway?"
"It's a night club, not very far away from here. It's called Black hole, small pub, I don't think you know it," he explain. I shook my head as I didn't know this pub. I barely went to pubs. I didn't have much friends to go anywhere, and not even much time for it.
"I work there in the evenings. There is a stage where bands perform every night, so we come before the opening hours and practice."
That explained his stuffed bag. It probably contained clean clothes in which he could serve.

"So this morning you were returning from your shift right? I was wondering what are you doing out so early."
"Me? What the hell were you doing there! I was peacefully returning home, but you were just playing your guitar in the middle of the night," He exclaimed with a giggle.
"I couldn't sleep," I smiled over his comedian reactions.
"So when you can't sleep, you just casually go to the streets and play," He chuckled. "Isn't it- I don't know, pointless? Not much people are out at bloody four am, you can play for yourself at your place."
His questions about this subject were starting to make me uncomfortable, and I tried to move on.
"Few people are," I mumbled, looking down.
"Like two people! You have to grab amplifiers, cables and everything, and you have to sit there in the damn cold. That's not worth it!" He was still trying to wrap his head around what seemed as the biggest mystery to him right now. I was pretty sure he didn't mean it any wrong way, because he didn't know about his struggles, but it was still slowly driving me mad.

"It is for me," I answered shortly, controlling my tone of voice to not sound too mean. But unfortunately, he hadn't noticed my bad mood yet.
"Man, I don't understand. You could just stay at home and-"
"I can't stay there!" I snapped back, my self control finally failing.

He immediately stopped, shocked by my reactions which he didn't expect at all-obviously.
"I'm sorry," I apologized quickly, being calm again and pitying myself for breaking the cozy atmosphere which we were building between us to this point.

"No,no, it's my fault. I shouldn't have been pushing on you so hard," he assured me, in a small voice.
"No, its not your fault," I disagreed, looking at the ground before inhaling again. I felt as if I owed him an explanation.

"You know, I get uh, bad dreams every night, which always wake me up and don't allow me to go back to sleep anymore. I live alone in a small flat, so it's silent and dark, and stays that way even when I turn all the lights on and put the music on it's highest volume. I just need to get some fresh air. Fresh air and playing guitar calm me down, and I feel somehow safer when I see people around, even when only few. It's ridiculous, I know, not a thing your glistening great guitarist would do, I'm sorry," I chuckled sadly at the last sentence.
He looked at me with a slight comforting smile, speaking absolutely seriously.
"It's alright. Everyone has struggles," was everything he replied with. His answer made me feel as if he had something to share too, but probably it wouldn't come now, as he stayed silent afterwards. I had to wait, we just a met.

"So, when did you get together? With your band," I asked changing the subject, noticing that the bus turned around the corner and soon after stopped in front of us, opening its door.
"Well-," Roger smirked as he climbed the steps in the vehicle full of people, me following him afterwards. "Yesterday, actually."
I raised my eyebrows and couldn't help but chuckle.
"Yesterday?" I repeated after him with a smile.
"But believe me, you won't regret it," he assured me quickly, while the door of the bus shut, and it slowly started driving down the street, carrying us squished uncomfortably in a crowd.
"There all great musicians."
"Oh, I believe you."
"You know, I play drums, obviously," he explained. "I practice in the club, which has its own drum set, everyday before my shift, and one evening this guy approached me, saying that he heard me playing and liked it. He said he was looking for a band, and told me to come tomorrow if I'm interested. So I did. When I arrived he was already waiting in there, with another guy. His friend played the bass, and this guy who talked to me is a singer. They're both really good. You'll like them."
"Well, a great coincidence. I'm sure I will," I nodded with a smile, starting to be excited about the two I was about to meet.

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