Like Normal People Do

Captured

As they did every concert, the boys were having the time of their lives. On stage, they can let out everything they keep trapped in their chests and behind their eyes. They can let their problems wilt under the brilliant light that shines from each pair of eyes surrounding them.

Contrary to popular belief, all four of the boys held equal contributions to the lyrics they were sending to the skyline. Four stories intertwined to create a beautifully tragic reality for strangers far and wide to find themselves in.

Dream's favourite thing to do at concerts was to watch people reactions as he sung. To gauge which line dug straight through one's heart and flew straight past another's.

It was the last song of the night, Dream's last chance to find familiarity in a strangers face, when Dream saw him. He'd heard him all night - how couldn't he, with a scream like that - but now he'd finally found the culprit. It was in The Overpass, composed of parts of Bad's life alongside stories he'd witnessed, that their eyes finally met.

Dream felt relatively flirty during certain songs anyways, but this was simply begging for action. There, dead centre and three rows back, stood a boy who, in that moment, was nothing short of effervescent. His hair was dark, seemingly pitch black in the hall's light. There was a sheen to his pale skin that trickled down from his hairline and Dream was ever thankful for the boy's choice of clothing. His shoulders were slim but in no way weak seeming and the pale blue of his tank top made it seem as though his skin was glowing.

And when Dream met the boy's eyes, he felt as if the stage had been ripped from beneath him. He was falling into an endless void, framed by long, dark lashes. Dream only had his thoughts in the void.

'I don't know who this guy is, I've never met him before, but I want him. Now.'

Dream decided he needed to do something. Something more then simply stare into the beautiful stranger's eyes - though that seemed to be doing fine for now as a beautiful red dusted over the apples of his cheeks, rivalling the shade of Bad's eyeshadow. As Dream realised what line he'd reached, his eyes lit up. 'That might work for something'

"Everything about you is perfect down to your blood type but I remember every time. Meet me, meet me at the overpass, at the overpass.
Sketchy girls and lipstick boys Troubled love and high speed noise I know you wanna meet me"

Just for good measure, Dream winked. He revelled in the wide eyed stare the boy held him in - plush pink lips open in a small o shape - for a split second before returning his gaze to the crowd to finish the night right.

Goodbyes were always the worst part of the concert but the dream team tried to assure themselves that it was fine because at least it wasn't the last one. Clay was having a hard time not grieving the loss of his mystery man.

When they reached the dressing room, Darryl and Zak took a seat on one couch while Clay threw himself across the length of the other, leaving Vincent to stand.

"Hey, we've got another concert sooner than you think, it'll be fine." Darryl reassured gently, watching as Clay buried his face further into the cushions and groaned. Darryl, Vincent and Zak shared a look.

"We can always come back to London some other time," Vincent offered, giving Clay an odd look. Usually Clay was the first reassuring the rest of the band. Clay let out an unintelligible grumble into the couch.

"What?" Vincent asked and Clay flipped onto his back, throwing his arms up.

"But he won't be here!" Clay exclaimed before dramatically dropping his arms to cross over his face. Darryl, Vincent and Zak shared an even more perplexed look.

"Who won't be here?" Zak asked, shifting up from his slouched position. Clay began sliding off of the couch and onto the floor.

"He," Clay replied, dragging out the word until his was entirely laid out on the floor.

"Who is 'he'?" Darryl asked, head slightly tilted right. Clay looked over at Darryl. Clay looked like a mess to say the least. His cheeks were tinted pink - which must have meant his face was a blaring red for the pigment to reach through his mask of foundation - and his pupils were blown wide. His hair was messy and he had a wide, goofy smile on his lips.

"The prettiest boy I've ever seen," Clay sighed, standing up. He began pacing back and forth. Darryl and Zak watched from their shared couch while Vincent stood, arms crossed. 'Mhm' Vincent hummed, sarcastically.

"Vin, you don't understand!" Clay exclaimed, grabbing Vincent shoulders and shaking him back and forth. "You should have seen him, I swear he was staring straight at me," Clay uttered dreamily. Vincent was about to make a comment about how that's sort of what you do at a concert and that if Clay didn't stop shaking him, he would kill him when Zak jumped in with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Maybe he's a fan!" Zak shouted, putting a hand on Clay's shoulder. Clay seemed to melt slightly, letting go of Vincent.

"God, I hope so..." Clay murmured and Vincent and Darryl groaned. Zak simply laughed. There was a knock at the door.

"Freshen up, lads, you've got backstagers in thirty!" Somebody yelled into the dressing room and the four looked at each other before Clay legged it towards the shower, closely followed by his band mates. The others were simply too slow.

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970 words

Y'all ever gay panic so bad you forget you're at your own concert? Because, same.

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!!

~Dandelion