Onstage, the crew is taking care of cleanup, and Ryan spots him almost immediately. He's not sure why he feels the need to creep on this kid, but he's playing the piano again and Ryan can't quite keep his mind on anything just now. It's the first time he's ever done something like this, studied a stranger, wanted to get to know someone this bad. It wasn't like this with Spencer, or Brendon, or even Jon. People usually came to him, not the other way around.
Ryan tries to act nonchalant as he walks onto the stage, towards the bottles of water near the front. He almost bumps in to one of the sound check guys and feels his face flush at his own clumsiness, glad that Piano Boy isn't looking at him. A moment later, the gratefulness is gone, and he so badly wants to be noticed that his chest constricts painfully, leaving him breathless. This isn't how it's supposed to happen. He's not supposed to feel this way. He has Brendon, for crissake, and Spencer, and Jon. He doesn't need anyone else, he doesn't.
But he wants him. He does, and he can't pretend because he can't even bring himself to think about anything else at the moment, can only take in how the kid's hair is obscuring his eyes, and the gentle confidence with which he plays, on someone else's piano no less. Ryan has seen this look on Brendon more times than he can count.
He takes a step forward. He's hesitant, and the bottle of water clutched in his fist crackles under his tense fingers, but it's a step, it's something, and he's not going to chicken out. Soon, he's standing directly behind Piano Boy, and he feels odd, feels like he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be disturbing this guy he doesn't even know. But he is playing Brendon's piano. And Ryan talks to random people all the time. It should be easy. It should, but it isn't.
"Smashing Pumpkins," Ryan says, and it's too quiet, he'll look like an idiot of the guy hasn't heard him. But the shoulders tense, the fingers freeze, the music stops. Slowly, Piano Boy turns around, cocks his head to the side, smiles. It's the kind of smile Ryan sees all the time, slightly forced like it's supposed to seem as though they've known each other a long time; too friendly. He takes a step back, shrugs sheepishly. "Sorry," he finally, motioning to the bottle as though that will explain something. "You were playing. I shouldn't have, uh--" he blushes again, looks away. The kid stands, shakes his head.
"Nah, I shouldn't even be touching that thing," Piano Boy chuckles, but he runs his fingers along the keys softly when he looks back at the piano. "I thought you guys would be backstage until it was time to go," he admits, digging the toe of his right shoe into the rubbery, black, mat on the stage. He looks up at Ryan again, like he wants to say something else, but doesn't. They stand awkwardly for the next few seconds, and it seems to stretch into hours, into an eternity of locking eyes and then nervously looking away. Ryan's about to say something, anything, because this silence is oppressing and he doesn't like it, but before he can even open his mouth, Brendon is bounding onto the stage and calling his name.
Once he's close enough, Brendon snags one of Ryan's beltloops, grinning and pressing himself close; too close, but then again, this is Brendon. "There are some kids waiting outside," he explains, and then his attention is pulled away from Ryan, towards the stranger standing a few feet away. "Hey," he says easily, stepping away from Ryan and snatching the bottle of water still held loosely in his band mate's long fingers. He unscrews the cap and gulps down half the water before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It's no use; his lips still glisten, wet and full and neither Ryan nor the Piano Boy can tear their eyes away. "Brendon," he finally says, sticks out his hand. The kid's eyes (green, so different from BrendonandSpencerandJon, Ryan notes) flick down for a moment before he grips Brendon's hand.
"Uh, yeah," he chuckles, eyebrows drawn together. "I know." And it seems that maybe this is the end, maybe Piano Boy will forever have to stay just that, because he doesn't give a name back, until-- "Oh, Colin," he adds, stuffing both of his hands into his front pockets and clearing his throat.
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teaserrrrr.
Date: 2009-01-09 01:21 am (UTC)Ryan tries to act nonchalant as he walks onto the stage, towards the bottles of water near the front. He almost bumps in to one of the sound check guys and feels his face flush at his own clumsiness, glad that Piano Boy isn't looking at him. A moment later, the gratefulness is gone, and he so badly wants to be noticed that his chest constricts painfully, leaving him breathless. This isn't how it's supposed to happen. He's not supposed to feel this way. He has Brendon, for crissake, and Spencer, and Jon. He doesn't need anyone else, he doesn't.
But he wants him. He does, and he can't pretend because he can't even bring himself to think about anything else at the moment, can only take in how the kid's hair is obscuring his eyes, and the gentle confidence with which he plays, on someone else's piano no less. Ryan has seen this look on Brendon more times than he can count.
He takes a step forward. He's hesitant, and the bottle of water clutched in his fist crackles under his tense fingers, but it's a step, it's something, and he's not going to chicken out. Soon, he's standing directly behind Piano Boy, and he feels odd, feels like he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be disturbing this guy he doesn't even know. But he is playing Brendon's piano. And Ryan talks to random people all the time. It should be easy. It should, but it isn't.
"Smashing Pumpkins," Ryan says, and it's too quiet, he'll look like an idiot of the guy hasn't heard him. But the shoulders tense, the fingers freeze, the music stops. Slowly, Piano Boy turns around, cocks his head to the side, smiles. It's the kind of smile Ryan sees all the time, slightly forced like it's supposed to seem as though they've known each other a long time; too friendly. He takes a step back, shrugs sheepishly. "Sorry," he finally, motioning to the bottle as though that will explain something. "You were playing. I shouldn't have, uh--" he blushes again, looks away. The kid stands, shakes his head.
"Nah, I shouldn't even be touching that thing," Piano Boy chuckles, but he runs his fingers along the keys softly when he looks back at the piano. "I thought you guys would be backstage until it was time to go," he admits, digging the toe of his right shoe into the rubbery, black, mat on the stage. He looks up at Ryan again, like he wants to say something else, but doesn't. They stand awkwardly for the next few seconds, and it seems to stretch into hours, into an eternity of locking eyes and then nervously looking away. Ryan's about to say something, anything, because this silence is oppressing and he doesn't like it, but before he can even open his mouth, Brendon is bounding onto the stage and calling his name.
Once he's close enough, Brendon snags one of Ryan's beltloops, grinning and pressing himself close; too close, but then again, this is Brendon. "There are some kids waiting outside," he explains, and then his attention is pulled away from Ryan, towards the stranger standing a few feet away. "Hey," he says easily, stepping away from Ryan and snatching the bottle of water still held loosely in his band mate's long fingers. He unscrews the cap and gulps down half the water before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It's no use; his lips still glisten, wet and full and neither Ryan nor the Piano Boy can tear their eyes away. "Brendon," he finally says, sticks out his hand. The kid's eyes (green, so different from BrendonandSpencerandJon, Ryan notes) flick down for a moment before he grips Brendon's hand.
"Uh, yeah," he chuckles, eyebrows drawn together. "I know." And it seems that maybe this is the end, maybe Piano Boy will forever have to stay just that, because he doesn't give a name back, until-- "Oh, Colin," he adds, stuffing both of his hands into his front pockets and clearing his throat.