Love of the Ages

Two

When Bobby became aware of his surroundings again, part of him was surprised to feel something far softer than a ratty couch under his side. The pillow that was under his head was also softer than the one he'd used during his nap, but it was also firmer in a weird sorta way. He supposed he didn't particularly care, 'cuz waking in what had to've been a bed could only mean one thing–the guys'd made sure he was all right and just gonna sleep off that last show, then taken him home. There was no denying that he was sick and that he needed to rest in Peace and quiet, after all, so he couldn't think of any other explanations.

It was only when he made to roll over and relieve the pressure on his arm that'd made it go numb that he became aware of something even stranger. The bed was warmer than he thought it shoulda been for sleeping alone–which he actually wasn't, judging by what he felt. He could feel the warmth of another person, and a certain softness against his back that he hadn't felt in quite a while.

Managing to roll over enough to peek over his shoulder, the bassist was startled to find a woman who appeared about his own age behind him. She might not've been the most beautiful to some men, but she was definitely what he'd have to call his type. Her Olive complexion was similar to his own, although maybe a bit paler in a few select spots that obviously didn't get much Sun. The pin-straight hair spread across the pillow they'd both apparently had their head on was roughly the same Color as his own, which was about the shade of Chocolate.

However, it was her eyes that–even closed in sleep–caught and held his attention like no other attribute she possessed. They were obviously tilted at the outer corners, and it looked kinda like they were tilted up rather than down like his own were. Bobby's brow furrowed in Thought as he wondered if that meant she'd Native American blood in her veins like he did, or if she was part-Asian. He didn't suppose it mattered either way–he was more interested in how she'd gotten into his bed without him noticing.

"Mmm," she hummed, the grip on his waist that he hadn't noticed tightening a bit.

Unsure of what to do, he tried to lay still and avoid waking her.

"What the–" The young woman cracked open her eyes, almost immediately bolting upright as she realized she wasn't alone.

Now definitely unsure and more than a bit terrified, the bassist's eyes widened as he laid stock-still.

"Wait a minute–Bobby Dall?" she gasped, gently cupping his cheek in one hand.

"Ya know who I am?" was all he could ask, unable to help flinching at the gentle touch since he didn't know this young woman, or what she might be planning.

"Yeah, I know who ya are," she chuckled. "I'd be pretty stupid not to, what with that hanging on my wall."

Looking in the Direction she pointed, Bobby saw a dozen records hanging in the corner of two walls in two different rows. In the top-left corner of the square made up by four of them, he saw something that was all too familiar to him–the cover Art of his band's album. Right beside it was another album that bore his band's logo, but he didn't recognize the demonic-looking woman between it and the yellow text at the bottom that he couldn't make out from across the room.

The only other framed albums that he recognized were AC/DC's Back in Black, Quiet Riot's Metal Health, Twisted Sister's Come Out and Play, and the Mötley Crüe albums Shout at the Devil and Theatre of Pain. Beyond that, none of the albums were any more familiar to him than the second with his band's logo, which confused him.

"Well, I can see how and why you'd recognize me, if you've Look What the Cat Dragged In hanging on your wall," he said.

"Yeah, it'd be kinda hard not to recognize my favorite member," the young woman laughed.