He only played at night.
Tine had come to such a conclusion after seeing the guitarist appear on stage every weeknight, but never in the afternoon. It was strange, the way Tine had only been observing this one guy in particular, but he justified himself by reasoning that he apparently wasn't the only one.
Bright-eyed young women still donning their off-white blouses and pleated skirts had started frequenting the bar, but never drank. Rather, they often crowded the left side of the stage to murmur and point at the musicians. It was only now that Tine realized that they were there for the guitarist.
A soft mass of brown hair obscured much of the man's features. He was tall and a bit lean, his well-ironed shirts always hanging loosely off of his figure. Tine was often far enough from the stage to be unable to make out much else, except for one particular night...
The guitarist looked up, causing his parted hair to fall away from his narrow face. Tine noticed in amusement that the man's eyebrows were slanted in such a way that he always looked slightly displeased. The corners of his lips were downturned, which didn't help his severe expression.
The guitarist surveyed the crowd, causing the audience to erupt in gasps and small- but-audible squeals of excitement. He seemed to be looking for someone, until his gaze seemed to stop at... Tine. Tine told himself that the man was probably looking behind him or at a random wall, but the man's glare seemed to pierce through him. Tine wondered if he'd done something impolite and checked his white shirt for any ghastly stains that might've appeared unnoticed, only to find none.
The guitarist looked up at the crowd again, but it didn't take as long to finally lock eyes with Tine. Tine's breathing quickened as he finally held the man's gaze. The man furrowed his brows for a moment, then nervously averted his eyes, opting to focus on his guitar.
The band stopped after their last song to introduce themselves one at a time, though Tine didn't quite pay attention until the lead guitarist went up to the mic stand.
"Can I skip the introduction this time?" the man asked, disinterest clear in his tone. Unphased by the disappointed groans from the audience, he nodded in resolution and stepped back from the microphone. The lead singer shrugged and continued closing as students trickled out of the bar, some stopping to snap photos before leaving.
Tine was one of the few customers left.
He'd come without his usual group of close friends, so he hadn't spoken to anyone, nor did he plan to. The band had begun to carefully pack up their instruments as Tine looked on. He shifted uncomfortably when the unnamed guitarist threw unreadable glances his way, but decided to at least finish off his drink before leaving.
Tine finally rose from his seat and started making his way towards the exit. On the way out, he still felt the man's gaze searing the nape of his neck. Tine quickened his pace to escape the feeling, only to suddenly ram into another body. The stranger remained in their spot, not uttering a word.
Tine was indignant at the lack of apology, and the alcohol had given him nerve.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked, trying to maneuver around the stranger to no avail. Tine looked up to make eye contact.
"Fucking asshat, move-"
Tine immediately paused his swearing upon meeting the eyes of the guitarist who was on stage a moment ago. The man's eyes were black, much like his own, but somehow deeper. Deep enough to hide something. Unsettled, Tine tried to break the oppressive silence in the now-empty bar.
"W-what's up with you? Quit staring!" Tine blurted, hoping that'd somehow startle the man into moving. Somehow, it worked. The man suddenly perked up, as if he'd been awoken on the train or had snapped out of a trance.
