Band On The Run

Grace

It was dead silent as I looked around, which was really just as I liked it.

The studio was cramped and dark. There wasn't a window in sight, and the walls were an old panelled wood that looked like a good hard knock would split it in two. I could only imagine that windows that let some light in would do wonders for my skin tone, but ever since The Spares I'd liked to burrow into dark places when I went to record. Some artists liked big open windows and sunlight. Back at the warehouse we'd been somewhere between.

One day I hoped that I'd be one of those musicians that wanted to record on a beach somewhere with palm trees swaying in the ocean breeze. Even the thought of it looked like a glimpse from someone else's life. I supposed I always had this one until then.

Despite the dirt and grime fogging up the window, the sun was determinedly shining in. It lit up the warehouse like something from a fairy tale. All those tattered old blankets suddenly looked vibrant, the guitars lining the wall neatly were gleaming – even the rug didn't look shabby.

And right in the middle of all that was Seth.

He was sitting cross legged on top of that rug that I knew was covered in dirt, but at the moment they were both shining. Or maybe it was just taking an afterglow from him. The sun had practically made a spot light on him, fighting through the window to glint off his dark hair as he sat cross legged with the chipped acoustic in his lap. Gold glinted in his dark hair from the light, tricking me into believing that the colour of his eyes was molting throughout him – even if it was just a fleeting thought.

There was a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach as I refilled my coffee cup, not even bothering to look away from Seth, having to rely completely on muscle memory to not send the scalding liquid all over myself. I didn't know the song he was playing. It was something from his song book that he was staring down at, lip caught between his teeth. Yet just because it was a new song, didn't mean I didn't hear it.

That didn't matter at all, really. I knew what the words would be, already running through my mind. It was a reflective song, something with a tinge of sadness but there was a warmth to it that would be felt through the recording. Seth would lay it down just like this in the studio. The finger noise would bring a level of intimacy to it, and I would sing in a soft voice, never straining, while holding his gaze over a microphone.

Suddenly he stopped playing, and I found myself blinking in response.

There was a bit of a mischievous look to him as he reached down to pick up his own coffee that had been sitting beside the song book. The smirk he wore was evident even from behind the mug. "You wishing you'd chosen a boyfriend that would've taken you to more exotic places to record than a rundown warehouse in the meatpacking district?"

"Eric Clapton would've," I quipped without a pause. Still there was an answering smile on my face. With a carefully slow sip from my own mug, I held his gaze even as he laughed, but then I relented.

"Actually," I admitted, "I was thinking there's no where else I'd rather be."

A buzz in my pocket broke me from the memory, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut for a long moment, gathering myself. I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or to cry. That seemed to be my problem these days. With a deep breath, I pulled the phone out.

I found a text from Nick, reading, 'half an hour warning'.

Nodding despite the fact that there was no one to see it, I sent one last glance to the studio before turning my back on it. And even as the door was closing behind me, I told myself I should leave those memories back where they belonged. Seth wasn't looking at me like that anymore, and it would hurt less if I wasn't constantly remembering the times when he had.