playing with the air // m.h.

change of pressure // part two

change of pressure // pt two

m a t t y // p o v

"Why didn't you just let that guy return it to her?" Adam inquired. We were back at our suite now and everyone, excluding myself, had changed to their lounge wear.

"Sod off mate; we don't even know if he'd actually return it," George interjected, clearly just coming to my defense, "For all we know it could be like her grandmothers last heirloom or something." My eyes scan the case, propped against the wall nearest the door. It was an obvious cheap fender, probably something picked up off a friend or at a thrift shop.

"Aren't you even slightly curious about the girl who broke into our room?" I groan out, feeling like a guilty child on trial for watching porn.

"Our door was technically unlocked," Ross adds in. Thanks mate.

I'm reminded of the last words she said before sliding out the window. Thanks pals. Who the hell says "pals" anyway? She has to be totally off her rockers, she looked wild when she stood in our fitting room anyhow. A fit wild. Oh hush up, bloody brain. Fuck it.

"I'm going to drop it by that address he gave us, she may be looking for it already," I raise from my perch on George's couch.

"Do you want company?" he pushed himself up on his elbows.

"No, no, you're already done up for bed. I'll just call myself a car," I tug on my long coat before reaching for the canvas bag.

"Puh-lease be careful," Hann groaned from his chair.

"This is the only place I have to track her to," the nervous boy handed me a ripped piece of paper, "I'd give you her number, but I worry it'd be invasive. Oh, wait! When you go to knock: do it twice, wait a moment, then knock again. Otherwise they won't answer."

The boys were each sporting their own judgmental looks as I flipped the paper between my fingers and closed the door behind whatever his name was.

"Honest, you must be drunker than I thought," George remarked, rolling his eyes at me, "You see a pretty girl, get literally only her name from a stagehand, and intend to drop off her guitar to a random address that he already confirmed not to be her home?"

"Don't neglect the other fine points," Hann says in a very sarcastic manner, "Like how its all accompanied with 'knocking' instructions."

I tune them out as I rub the edge of the paper between my fingers. A street address scribbled down against a wall, partnered with the word "loft", and her name; which was really the most information I had regarding her.

Destry, I repeat mentally before cramming the note into the front of my jeans, the same pocket that I had slipped that polaroid into.

"This looks to be it, sir." I was snapped out of my reminiscing by the driver's voice. "Shall I wait here?" he turns to look at me. I nod my response before getting out of the car. Its 2:14, if I'm not back in 30 minutes, will he just drive off?

As I stand at the bottom of these metal stairs, my sudden sense of awareness kicks in and I begin to get sketched the fuck out. At least it'll be a cool story for the band,

"Lead Singer Of The 1975 Found Stabbed in an Alley After Trying to Track Down Fit Girl."

"You're welcome, boys," I mumble under my breath and head up the stairs. If the view from the bottom wasn't intimidating enough, this door was definitely tipping the scale. Covered top to bottom in stickers from shitty skate companies punk bands, and just straight up nudity. I remember what venue boy had said about the knock, taking one last deep-breath-turned-fuck-it-groan, and knocking. Behind the door I can hear the obvious sounds of someone getting up and trudging towards the entrance.