Everything Else; Maylor

So Knowledgable, So Clueless.

ROGERS POV:

I nervously waited for Brian to meet me in front of the record store we agreed to meet at. I don't know why I was so nervous, I guess it's because I haven't jammed with anyone for a long time. Well, besides my friend, Freddie. He just sings though, and I think it's a bit harder to get a good, solid rhythm with instruments. I shifted my gaze to the right revealing Brian. He did a small smile and wave as he got closer- so did I. 

"Hey!" I exclaimed.

"Hey! I don't live too far away so it shouldn't be an issue carrying the drums, don't worry." He walked?

"Bitchin'" I weakly smiled at my disassembled drum kit. I carried the the two largest drums (floor tom and bass drum), a crash cymbal and a high hat. How I managed to carry that all alone? I do not know. Brian carried the other crash cymbal, and the two toms. 

"Are you right with all that?" He chuckled at me stumbling and struggling to see over the drums.

"Amazing." He laughed then directed me to his house. Thank God, it only was a five minute walk.

"And here we are." He unlocked the front door and directed me inside his flat. It was so nice, there were posters everywhere (lots of Jimi Hendrix may I include) along with books everywhere. However, I wouldn't know if he had good taste because I'm dumb as fuck. I followed him to his lounge room where his guitar and amp was. "So I'm thinking here?"

"Sweet." He helped me set up my drum kit before we started playing some of our favourite artist's music.

"I just cant believe you can play purple haze. That song is so fucking hard." I said shaking my head in disbelief, "And you're so good at it too."

He laughed before replying a small, shy, "Thank you."

"No, really, you're so good." I smiled, looking up from my drum kit. He was staring directly at me with a pale blush and a smile he tried to hide. 

"That means a lot. Y'know my friends never believed in me when I first started playing." He walked over to the kitchen, starting to boil the kettle. "When I first played guitar, I just played rhythm. My friends always laughed at me and said things like 'You're too nerdy for guitar', 'I could never imagine you playing an electric guitar, play a bass, something simple and boring  like you', 'Don't you read books for fun?-"

"They're not friends." I softly interrupted.

"Lets just say they were blown away when I played 'You Really Got Me'." We both laughed together and he handed me a tea.

"Thank you. I gather you didn't stay friends with them?"

"No." He quickly answered making us chuckle. I sat next to him on his big, cream sofa.

"What series is your guitar, Bri?" I asked, suddenly giving him a nickname. I only just noticed his unusual, unique guitar. It had such an interesting body, fret board almost curved, and the pickups had their own design. You never thought pickups could be fancy and different.

"Oh, my father and I made it." He laughed, sitting on the floor, fiddling with chords.

"No way!"

"Yeah, my family couldn't afford buying me a guitar so Dad and I made one together." He smiled in a gaze.

"Its beautiful." 

"Thanks." I sat back on my stool, randomly hitting cymbals waiting for Brian. "I wrote a song..." I glanced at him. "'Polar Bear.'" He said more quiet than a whisper. 

We stayed in a content silence for a few seconds before I said, "Where are the lyrics?" He jumped off the couch and ran into what looked like a bedroom. He came back out with a small A5 sheet of paper, crinkled and almost old. He handed it to me while he started setting up his amp and pedals once again. I read it- I read all of it. The lyrics, the rhythm and maybe the story- the relatability of it all made me smile. It was lovely.

"I love it." I spoke. He turned back and smiled- that damn smile. He did his common nod once again while I sat on my stool. "So...are we playing it or what?" 

"If you'd li-"

"Yes!" He laughed and started to explain the assortment of the song; the bridge, chorus, verse etcetera. Brian also jumped on the drum set for me in order to explain how he wanted the drums to go- he really was organised. But, despite that, he horribly failed to play the drums. He caused a loud racket, scaring himself with the cymbals and how loud he banged the drums, meanwhile I just laughed at him. So knowledgable, so clueless. I grabbed his shoulder, still laughing and surprisingly he rested his hand on top of mine. My laughter shortly died down as I noticed his warm eyes staring back into mine.

Today was a good day.