One Shot Requests. [CLOSED]

[AustinCarlile] Confidence - DeathCollector

“That’s not even close to right.” Tino says, laughing while he shakes his head. He sighs loudly, like he doesn’t want to do this, but Bryan said no and he’s the only one who was willing to teach me.

Crossing my arms over my chest, the drumsticks resting on my back, I frown. “I'm not that bad. You didn’t teach me anything. You just told me to hit the drums.”

Shaking his head, he sits down on the stool next to mine, holding his hands out for the drumsticks. Hesitantly, I unfold my arms and hand him the drumsticks, waiting for him to do something quickly and expect me to pick up on it.

Knitting my eyebrows together, knocking down my black rimmed glasses, I chew on my lower lip as I push on the bridge, sliding them back up my nose.

He bangs the drumsticks against the drums, and everything sounds so perfect, so crisp. I know that he’s going to tell me that it’s easy, but it isn't.

A person can’t be thrown into something and just know how to do it flawlessly. They’re not realistic and they have little to no patience when they know how to do something and someone else doesn’t.

It’s quite annoying, but, then again, I spend as much time away from them as possible. Not that I don’t love the guys in my band, I do, they’re like brothers, but there’s no reason to spend so much time with people who are always so annoying.

“See, it’s that simple.”

“Oh, yeah, that simple, right, got it, how could I have been so dim?” Running a hand through my freshly dyed dark red hair, I roll my eyes behind my glasses.

I don’t really want to do this anymore. It’s not what I thought it would be. It’s actually nothing like I thought it would be. Maybe I’ll just wait until the tour ends and we get back home and get a real instructor.

Shrugging my shoulders, I stand up. “I think that these lessons are a bad idea. Thanks, though, Tino.” I don’t wait for him to say anything, I don’t want to hear him apologize for laughing, I don’t really care that he laughed.

His laugh doesn’t bother me. I would have laughed, too, if I heard someone drumming like that. Things like that don’t bother me. I have really no care in the world for what people think about me.

Except for one person.

Austin Carlile.

Singer. Front man. Idol. Hero. And pretty much everything in between.

Well, I care what he thinks, but I don’t at the same time. I wouldn’t change myself if he didn’t like something about me; I’d simply move on.

But, at the same time, I don’t want to move on. I don’t really think that there is anyone else in the world who understands me like he does.

With him, I feel like I can talk about anything. I never do that. I like to keep to myself. But, I don’t know, he makes me feel like he’s willing to talk about anything.

Pain shoots through my body as I walk into something hard, tall and hard. “Sorry,” I whisper, taking a step backwards.

“You should really watch where you’re going, shrimp.” Austin laughs, I know that it’s him without even looking up, his voice is so different from other laughs and his laugh is so real, so rich.

A blush paints my cheeks as I tilt my head up to look at him, smiling. “I didn’t expect a giraffe to be walking around.”

Raising an eyebrow, he cocks his head to the side, silently challenging me. “Oh, is someone talking, I can’t see anyone.” Looking around the room, his eyes scan everything besides me, and I know it’s another one of his lame short jokes.

“How did your drum lesson go?” Crinkling my nose, the rims of my glasses hit against the bridge of my nose, and I roll my eyes as an answer. “Why was it so bad?”

Running a hand through my hair, I shrug my shoulders. “I just figured that I would wait until tour is over. Just get lessons then. From someone I don’t know so it’s not as frustrating.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere grew thick, and I don’t know why. His face turns to stone, like he’s thinking, contemplating, and I'm on the outside of it.

I don’t know if I should say anything, if there’s anything to say to him, considering I have no idea what he’s even pondering.

“What happens after tour?” His voice is soft, quiet, and I swear I heard it crack slightly, just a little, something in his voice is telling me that he’s scared, and I don’t know why.

Shrugging my shoulders, I try to find the right thing to say, but I don’t have anything to say, I only have all of these questions running through my head.

Why is he scared?

Why is he worrying about what happens after tour now?

What is going to happen after tour?

“Keygan, I'm serious. What’s going to happen after tour?” Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he slouches forward.

Opening my mouth to say something, anything, I close it. I don’t know what’s going to happen after this, and I'm not prepared to lie to him and pretend that I do.

Exhaling slowly through my nose, I look up at him. “I don’t know. Whatever we want to happen, I guess. Why? What do you want to happen when this tour ends and you go back home?”

Biting down on his lower lip, causing my stomach to flip, he inhales slowly through his nose, like he’s preparing himself for this grand confession.

It makes no sense to me. I'm practical. I’ve always been practical. And with that, I never really stepped outside of my own little world before I met him. It’s scary.

“When this tour ends, I'm not ready to say goodbye to you.”

Blinking, I knit my eyebrows together, confused, yet I can’t stop the stupid smile from pulling the corners of my lips upwards. “Who says that you have to?”

I don’t know where all of this confidence came from. But, then again, I didn’t know where the knowledge to wrap my arms around his neck came from when he captured my lips with his.

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen after tour. I don’t know what’s going to happen, either.

But, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to have to find someone to teach me drums in California.