pretty when you cry ☆ {serj tankian}

☆

Serj's curls bounced as he walked, had a thoughtless grin plastered across his face. He was clearly high, his eyes and speech made that obvious. His left hand held a cigarette, smoke trailing from the end, seemingly forgotten about, his cargo pants wrinkled and soaked at the bottom from walking through puddles, and his sneakers even worse.

He was so effortlessly beautiful, even in such a simple moment like this. He had round eyes which always had some sort of gleam in them, unexplainable. His snout was long and came to a point, his freckled face had stubble up to his sideburns. The light always seemed to hit his face just right. As much as I loved to analyze every detail of him, I wished that he was less attractive.

I was so infatuated with the man that the "butterflies" that I was supposed to get where replaced with some sort of hungry animal, trying to claw it's way through my stomach. I felt like throwing up when he even looked in my direction. The worst part was that I felt I was of no romantic interest to him.

We'd shared moments that seemed far past platonic in the past, both while intoxicated. Small intimate kisses, soft caressing of the skin. Whenever I recalled these moments I longed for them to repeat, for him to notice me this way once more. The blanket of intoxication had put us both under a spell— well, more so him.

I felt guilty about my feelings, as he'd been someone I'd known for years. A best friend of sorts. I was the manager/ promoter for the band, I wasn't supposed to be that attached to the frontman. He was supposed to be a friend, maybe a business partner, nothing more. The two of us were closer than close, but I was so hungry for something more. My desperation was pathetic.

Serj and I continued walking down the rain-soaked sidewalk. I was slightly trailed behind him. He hummed some song that must've been stuck in his head, and every few minutes he would glance in my direction, as though he were checking if I was still there.

We arrived at the destination we were headed, one of the few venues that we thought we would have a chance with. Our plan was to talk to whoever ran the place about performing, and if he said no, we would either try to negotiate or move on to another place. System needed to perform more shows, or they were destined to stay a garage band.

Serj looked back at me with an 'I'm not so sure about this' face, and I tried to give him a reassuring smile as he opened the door and stepped inside.

The lighting was dim, almost eery. We knew we were supposed to find the owner of the venue's office, and that we did. We walked down the even darker hallway, which held a room whose door was wide open, a bright yellow hued light illuminating Serj's figure as he led me inside. The bright light inside was a huge contrast from the darkness of outside.

Inside the office, two of the overhead lights occasionally flickered, and inside of them it could be seen that they were riddled with boxelder bugs. The walls were in dire need of a paint job. The lazy few coats of baby blue paint over the old wall paper (which should've been peeled off before painted over) was chipped and turning slightly brown in some spots.

"Close the door behind ya and have a seat," the man who was assumed to be the owner had his legs sitting on the desk, his body leaned the chair back. He didn't look at me but instead eyed Serj. "Call me Calvin, by the way,"

I told him my name, as did Serj. We both sat on the folding chairs stationed across from the plump man sitting before us.

"You guys got a demo?" was the first question he asked.

I immediately worried that Serj had forgotten to bring the tape, but to my surprise he set it down on the desk, sliding it toward the man.

The two continued to converse, and it seemed that I was of no use in the conversation. Every time I tried to pop in, I was ignored. That was fine by me, although technically it was my job to be the one doing the talking.