warnings: none! description: when Nez first lays eyes on Reader in the crowd, it doesn't take long for him to fall for the girl in front of him — requested
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The stiff air inside The Troubadour smelled heavily of cigarette smoke, which wafted in from the outside night air. It hazily lingered in the atmosphere and attached itself to your clothes and hair, the overpowering scent of a night that held a hopeful promise.
You were watching a crowd of people shuffle inside the doors and congregate near the front of the stage; there was a good handful of men, but mostly women in attendance. Standing at the back of a club wasn't your ideal way to spend a Friday night, but you had grown tired of the routine of clocking out of work, driving home, and sitting around the house waiting for one of your friends to call on the phone so the two of you could talk through the evening.
Tonight was different; you dragged yourself out of the house and dressed up, taking yourself for a night out on the town. Going to a concert wasn't outside of your comfort zone at all, it was just that you hadn't been to one in a long time. Now was the more than perfect opportunity to change that.
From those standing next to you, it was easy for you to pick up on the talk of who was about to take the stage. You heard mention of the singer being well known on the club circuit and playing here often, clearly a familiar performer to those in attendance.
Standing on the tips of your toes, you attempted to peer over the heads of the crowd. Now more intrigued to see the singer about to walk on stage, you began shuffling closer toward the stage. You managed to squeeze a good way through, not quite at the front, but close enough now to have a clear view of center stage, when a middle-aged man appeared at the microphone. Suddenly, you could feel the excited, anticipatory buzz that radiated from everyone standing around you. You weren't sure why you felt nervous, you weren't the one about to play to an audience of dedicated fans, but it sure felt similar to what you'd imagine it to. The butterflies in your stomach making their presence known as the lights dimmed.
"Good evening, Hollywood. Please put your hands together and welcome tonight's performer, a name who I'm sure you're all very familiar with — Mister Michael Nesmith!"
A tall, lean man stepped out on the tiny stage and glided toward the microphone. His face became soaked in the bright stage lights, he wore a humble close-lipped smile, the leather strap of the guitar slung diagonally on his back as the sounds of clapping ushered him in. Some piercing whistles and louder than average claps sounded above the rest of the introductory noise, but it all sounded muffled in your head from the moment you set eyes on him.
You watched as he gently strummed the chords of the song he was about to open with, as he explained to the audience how happy he was to be performing on stage. His super-deep, drawling voice with "Texas" stamped all over it came through crystal clear in the speakers. He humorously made mention of how he wrote many of his own songs, except this one, which a dog wrote, immediately charming the audience with his casual delivery and quick wit. A smile played on your lips as you watched him charismatically warm up and go right into his song.
A fixture of light seemed to encircle him, giving him an outlining glow that made him look like something out of a dream. Whether it was just the placement of a stage light or his natural aura that made him appear luminous, his face lit up with a certain magnetism. Every person's eyes in the room were locked on him as soon as he opened his mouth to sing, a heavenly, enveloping voice as warm and sweet as honey. In that moment, it seemed pointless to try and pinpoint the feeling you felt as you watched him on stage, instead you surrendered yourself completely to the sound and scene that was unfolding before you.
Mike tore through his short set with his own original folk and country-inspired songs, a few familiar covers from more popular bands, and the occasional interjection of his clever sense of humor in the form of commentary. If he was nervous at all, he never let it show on his face. He was cool and confident, and he wore it well.
Halfway through the song he currently played, he finally looked up from the ground and scanned the room with his eyes. His brown eyes swept across the faces standing in front of him before catching sight of you. The corner of his lips tugged into a boyish half smile, one that indicated he was somewhat bashful now that he realized you were watching him. His eyes flickered away to other faces in the crowd before wandering back to you. It was as if he was communicating with you through his fond gaze, subtlety and implicitly trying to let you know that he liked your attention on him.
Flawlessly, he played through his songs without any errors, giving you the inclination that he was a natural born performer. His stance and his presence on stage gave off the impression that he was comfortable, that this was something he'd been doing for a long time.
He only tore his eyes away from you briefly, to segue into his final song and introduce it as a love song of sorts. Mike gazed down at his guitar, started strumming slowly, and then looked up to meet your gaze once again. Of all the women in the room, his eyes remained fixated on you.
"I've known for a long time, the kind of girl you are," he sang, his half smile turning into a grin as his eyes closed momentarily in pure happiness of being on stage doing what he loved, while having the eyes of a girl he was more than smitten with on him. "Of a smile that covers teardrops, the way your head yields to your heart."
As you watched him from your spot in the crowd you couldn't help the warm feeling you felt in your chest as you listened to his lyrics. It felt like every word he sang, every poetic lyric that he uttered was specifically for you and only you. Your heart swelled in your chest, a wave of innocent adrenaline brightened your veins. His voice seemed to slide all over you, to saturate the air, so that you felt pinned in place. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, even if you could imagine there was any other place you could go.
The brilliant glow of the stage lights only caused you to lose yourself further in his performance, completely mesmerized by the aura around him. Never once did he tear his eyes away from you.
"I know I've been blind, to not have loved you all this time," he continued, "but the image of you wasn't clear, I guess I've been standing too near."
The soft white light made him all the more alluring and beautiful, falling on his chiseled features and rounded nose in an angelic glow that could not have been more attractive to you. Tunnel vision was in full effect, the rest of the people in attendance seemed to melt away into a dark nothingness.
"Yes, I've known you for a long time, but I've just begun to care," he finished the lyric, his eyes flitting quickly to you before he turned back to his guitar, a wide, sweet smile threatening to spread across his face as he tried to remain focused. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he did so, eliciting a smile of your own.
As the crowd of dedicated admirers erupted into a roar of applause, he uttered a quick "thank you" into the microphone and stood on stage for a few long moments, soaking in the love, but secretly wanting nothing more than to hop off the stage and talk to you — which he eventually made his number one priority.
It was easy to understand why he had this large crowd of followers. He looked amazing; he sounded amazing; he was amazing. There was no denying that he was thoroughly enjoying himself up on the stage. You only knew his name, but you felt as if you'd know his gaze your entire life. His warm brown eyes sparkled with humor, and were soft with caring. To you, he was a vision of utter perfection and his clear fondness of you made your head feel light in a happy swoon. There was no denying that something had just been set in motion.
