“Are you alright?” Mike asked.

“Well, I can’t see, I’m in a house I’ve never been in, and I’m afraid that you and your brother are messy boys and I’ll trip over your shit,” I admitted with a laugh.

“I guess that’s reasonable. Don’t worry, we cleaned up before you got here,” he reassured.

“We?” I smirked.

“Okay, fine. Vic did,” he paused. “Why? How in the world can you tell that I am not the cleaning type?” he asked, sounded a little offended. I laughed because I knew my accusations were correct.

“Just because I don’t have eyes, doesn’t mean I can’t see!” I sang with a wink.

“Yikes,” he laughed. I rolled my eyes and tightened my grip on his arm. “So why did you want me to come here?” I asked.

“To see you of course,” he chimed.

“Hm.”

“And I’m teaching you how to play the drums,” he added, swooping me up into his arms before I had the chance to question him. I gasped shortly and gripped onto his t-shirt in shock before relaxing as he bounced up a set of stairs.

I let my neck relax, too, dangling my head back. “Don’t hit my head against a corner, Fuentes,” I threatened. “I can’t believe I’m putting my life in your lanky arms. I guess I didn’t have a choice,” I mused to myself. He just chuckled and slowed down his pace, walking calmly into what I assumed was either his room or his music room. In a swift motion, he set me down safely to my feet.

“So, the drums?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he said, his voice showered with excitement.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Well for starters, I’m blind. I really hate saying that so much, but I feel like you need reminders,” I laughed. “What is it with you and doing activities that require eye sight?” I put my hand on my hip.

“Sassy,” Mike laughed, taking my hand off of my hip. He didn’t let go of it, though; instead, he pulled me in another direction, and I, of course, blindly followed.

“Anyway,” he said. He pushed down on my shoulders gently and sat me down in a chair. “You don’t need eyes to play the drums,” he said.

“Says the famous drummer.”

“It’ll be fun!” he tries. I could hear in his voice how excited he was about it—it was his passion, after all—so I smiled and decided to humor him.

“You always have a plan, don’t you?” I laughed.

“You bet I do,” he said, a grin evident in his voice.

I shook my head and sighed with a smile. “Okay, well. Do your thing,” I gestured.

“Hey, wait.” I raised my eyebrow at him. “Er, drums are loud when you sit right next to them. I mean, I won’t go all out on them, but it’ll be loud. Are you okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?’ I tilted my head to the side.

“Because,” he started. “Y’know, when we met you guys on the beach, and the guys and I were goofing off with fireworks…” his voice trailed off and my face burned.

“Oh, right. Yes. That,” I said flatly.

“Yeah, you guys said that your ears are sensitive…. How were you at the concert, by the way? I didn’t even think about that…”

“I was fine. It’s, uh, more like I’m sensitive to the sound of explosions,” I said quietly. “Music is fine.”

“Oh,” he said softly. “Why did that scare you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay,” I mumbled, ducking my head down. I took a shaky breath and shook memories out of my head.

“Well, I’m here if you need to talk about it,” he said gently.

“Thanks, Mike,” I smiled. “Talking and thinking about… things… makes nightmares worse. I try to distract myself from it. It was a long time ago. It’s fine now. So how about those drums?” I rushed.

He patted my arm. Luckily, he didn’t say anything else on the matter. It wasn’t like I was hiding it from him; I just didn’t want to talk about it. He could ask Phoebe if he really cared to, I just didn’t want to be around the conversation. Talking about it put the past into the present and I really just didn’t want to have to endure that in my sleep.

“Okay, I’ll play something simple, and then I’ll show you how to do it. How does that sound?” he asked with enthusiasm and energy in his voice.

“Perfect,” I grinned.

“Okay, you stay there,” he said.

“Where else do I have to go?” I laughed, shaking my head.

“Right. Okay, here’s just… no, I’ll get carried away with that…” he mumbled to himself, and I giggled. “Okay, yeah, no, I can’t teach you one of our songs. I’ll end up forgetting about you, yeah, no,” he continued to mumble to himself. I covered my mouth with my hand to suppress laughter as I listened to him continuing to contemplate to himself.

I felt something poke my rib cage, but it felt too solid to be a finger.

“Did you just poke me with a drum stick?” I laughed.

“Yes. Why are you laughing?”

“You’re talking to yourself. You’re funny,” I laughed.

“Oh, these babies make me crazy,” he sighed, and I raised my eyebrows at him. “The drum sets,” he sighed again dreamily.

“Sets? As in plural?” I looked around the room, as if doing so would make a difference. I laughed at myself for my ridiculousness.

“Well, yeah,” he said, as if it was an obvious fact. “We’re at the most basic set right now. It was my first set ever, and I refuse to get rid of it. Come here, and I’ll show you all the parts to it,” he said.

I laughed once again at his enthusiasm. It was kind of funny, but mostly adorable. “A little help here,” I laughed.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I keep forgetting,” he mumbled.

“Interesting,” I murmured.

“What was that?” he asked as he placed a hand on the small of my back, leading my over to another spot. I sat down and the stool I was in swiveled around a little.

“Nothing. So…” I held my hands out to try and feel what was around me. I traced my fingers around the edges of the parts of the drum set.

“You’re sitting on the throne right now,” he said.

“The wha—the throne?” I laughed.

“Well that’s what I call it,” he said indifferently.

“Because you’re the king of drumming. Cocky asshole,” I teased.

“No! Because it’s the middle of the set. And on stage the kit is raised, so it’s kind of like a throne. I don’t know, dude. I didn’t come up with it!” he defended. I laughed and shook my head—something I seemed to do a lot in his presence.

“Okay, anyway,” he laughed lightly. “We’ll go left to right,” he said, grabbing my hands. I nodded and smiled, letting him do his thing. “Here is a type of cymbal. It’s a hi-hat, and I use my left foot to operate it. The two cymbals just bash together, and you can adjust how far away they are depending on the sound you want,” he said, guiding my hands over the cymbals. I smiled and traced my thumb over the edge of the circular plate.

“That’s cool,” I said. I have never seen a drum kit before; I was eleven years old so I wasn’t really concerned with all the parts of music. I had a general idea of what they were like, but I still couldn’t visualize much. It helped to touch what I was trying to “see”, and I was a little surprised that Mike knew to do that. I smiled softly to myself.

“Yeah, want to try it?” he asked.

“Sure,” I grinned. Even though coming here was to serve as a distraction from my earlier appointment, I was becoming less and less concerned with my medical situation and more and more concerned with being happy in Mike’s company. I was genuinely interested in what he had to say, and it was cool because no one has ever had the patience to really teach me new things like this for fun (unlike Phoebe, of course).

He placed a hand on my knee and nudged it to the left until my foot found a pedal. “Go for it.”

I gently pressed my foot down, the cymbals lightly touching together. I didn’t put a lot of force into it, so they only chimed briefly. I found this entire thing amusing, and I smiled again as I made the sound ring a little longer.

“On the ground is the kick drum. You also use a pedal for it. It gets me so pumped up, I love the bass drum,” he said energetically.

I pressed down on the pedal that my right foot found. “Yeah, I like that sound, too,” I nodded. “You can really feel it,” I added.

“Exactly.”

“I feel like a toddler right now, so easily amused by smashing things together,” I laughed.

He ruffled my hair but didn’t say anything else for a few moments. “Okay, this here,” he moved my hands to what I assumed was the top of a drum, “is the snare drum.”

I nodded. “Give it a whack,” he said.

“Uh,” I laughed.

“Go on.”

I shrugged my shoulders and gently tapped the top of the drum with the stick that he placed in my left hand.

“We’ll work on it,” he chuckled. I just smiled and allowed him to continue. “These are the two toms, just another type of drum,” he said, moving my hands up and on to two neighboring drums. “And there’s also a floor tom, here,” he said, guiding my far hand to another drum top. “You play all of these with the sticks, obviously. “And this is another cymbal you use your stick with,” he added quickly, and a ringing sound flooded my ears pleasantly when he hit it with his stick. “So, yeah, that’s, like, the basic jist of it,” he said.

“This is cool. It seems confusing, though. How do you know which ones to hit?”

“You kind of get into a rhythm with it. I don’t really know, honestly. I don’t really think when I play,” he said. “I mean, I had to think a lot before, though. To get to this point. I would go to so many shows just to watch the drummer, and I’d take a few things I liked about them and tried them out at home. I’ve always just learned by ear,” he explained.

“Wow, that’s impressive,” I said genuinely.

“Yeah,” he breathed lowly with a tiny laugh. “But you have really good ears, right? I’m sure you’ll be better than me in no time,” he said, nudging me a little.

“Oh, yeah. You better watch out,” I laughed.

“Wanna try playing it all?”

“It’ll sound like a train wreck. I need a beat!”

“I’m interested to hear what you figure out, though,” he laughed, swinging an arm around my shoulder and giving me a gently squeeze. I felt him place the sticks into each of my hands.

I laughed. “It’s your ears…” I warned, shrugging my shoulders. He chuckled and sat back behind me, his chin on my shoulder and his breath on my neck.

I tentatively reached out with the sticks and hit what I thought was the snare drum and a cymbal at the same time. It was a weird sound—a sound that screamed that I didn’t know what I was doing.

“This is weird,” I said.

“Don’t be shy. Really smash it. When I’m angry or upset, I beat the shit out of my drum kit. Nicely, of course. I don’t want to break anything. But you can really pound on them,” he said. I laughed, imagining how one could “nicely” beat the shit out of drums.

“Show me how,” I held up the sticks.

He chuckled and reached around me to grab them, but instead of taking them out of my hands he wrapped his fingers on top of mine. He stood up behind me and leaned over, like my hands were his puppets. A small giggle escaped my mouth as he wordlessly brought my hands down onto the drums and cymbals, playing a short and simple beat. I smiled and allowed my hands to go limp, making Mike do all of the work.

Mike’s face lowered into the space between my shoulder and neck, and I heard him laughing along as he continued to play from over my shoulder. My mind drifted to how warm his chest was against my back and how the stubble on his face occasionally brushed against my ticklish cheek. I would have thought that him being this close to me would make me nervous or uncomfortable, but I felt very content and relaxed. I figured that later when I would be trying to go to sleep I would freak out over being so relaxed in the company of a guy I’ve only known for a few weeks, calling myself a moron, but presently I didn’t really care. My mind was completely free of all worries—even the worries of having future worries exploded away with each bang of the drums.

Mike laughed in my ear, pulling me back into reality. “Starry eyes,” he whispered.

“Oops.”

He chuckled and it was the only sound I heard—I realized that he had stopped playing, and I blushed slightly hoping that I wasn’t thinking in silence for too long.

“Stop being adorable,” he groaned.

I laughed out loud. “I am not adorable.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” he said. I laughed and shoot my head. “Are you hungry, Faye?” he asked quickly after.

I shrugged my shoulders. His head bobbed against mine and I realized that his head was still resting on my shoulder.

“C’mon, I’ll make us something to eat. It’s late already and I kind of forgot,” he said, standing up.

“Okay. No worries, I’m not super hungry,” I said, standing up, too. I cursed under my breath when I stood up too unsteadily, knocking the top of my head into Mike’s.

“I’m so done with you,” he declared. I giggled softly.

“It’s your—”

“Don’t you try to blame this on me!” he sang, and I pursed my lips.

“Did you just quote your own band?”

“Aw, you listen to us?” he dodged the question. “Creep,” he teased, poking my side. I squeaked.

“I have a good memory. Things stick with me,” I defended myself, referring to how I had heard them play whatever song he was quoting live.

“Ah, right,” he murmured.

“You should stick to drumming, by the way,” I scrunched my nose up. He just laughed—probably accepting the fact that I was right—and wrapped his arms around me, lifting me up into his arms.

“Is this going to become a regular thing?” I laughed, shaking my head as he casually carried me down the stairs.

He laughed, but, thanks to my excellent hearing, I detected a hint of sadness in his laugh.

“What’s wrong, Mikey?” I asked, my eyes slightly widening at the nickname that slipped. Mike was my friend, though. Friends could nickname each other, right? Besides, he had one for me. Starry eyes. I shook my head, realizing that I was thinking too much into it.

“Oh, noth—” I gave him a stern look, causing him to stop mid-word. “I want it to become a regular thing,” he said quietly.

I bit the inside of my cheek. “What, sweeping me off my feet?” I joked lightly. He laughed as well, but only for a second.

“Sometimes it sucks meeting new people when you’re in a touring band. We go away in a few months again and it’s going to be a huge year of touring since we just released an album,” he admitted. I frowned slightly and he set me down. “I mean, it’s a lot of work and a lot of fun and it’s the best job a guy like me could ever ask for, and I love it to death, but it does have its downsides,” he added.

“Aw,” I said quietly. “Well you don’t have to worry about that right now. Your life’s a wild ride I bet with all of the traveling and concerts and stuff, but whoever you meet I’m sure will appreciate that, and you can just rock out the time you’re away and then treasure the little time you have at home,” I said positively, as if it were that simple. I never really thought about how the guys felt when they toured so much. They never really talked about it, besides how tired they were. Tired, in a good way, though. I really admired these boys because they sacrificed so much for music.

“By ‘meeting new people’, I meant you, you idiot,” he laughed, nudging me slightly.

“I was speaking generally,” I blushed, scratching the back of my neck. He poked my probably-red cheek, and I couldn’t stop from grinning a little.

“Well, anyway,” he mumbled, moving on. “Tacos?”

I smiled. “Tacos.”


“Professional drummer and a chef? Damn, Mike Fuentes. What else can you do?”

“Stop that, I’m flattered,” he said in a valley-girl tone, causing me to laugh.

“It’s really good, though,” I said seriously.

“Thank you. I learn from the best,” he said.

“Your mom?”

“No, Vic.”

I chuckled. “Well thanks for dinner!”

“No problem-o!” he said. “What do you want to do now?” he asked. I heard his chair scrape the floor and the clanking of dishes. After a minute, I felt his hand touch my shoulder to let me know that he was back.

“I don’t care,” I shrugged my shoulders.

“So if I said another cheesy movie that will make you cry—”

“Okay, maybe I do care a little,” I laughed. “No movies, and no nights ending in me falling asleep on your shoulder.”

“Aw, why not?” he asked, swinging an arm around me and helping me stand up.

“Because it’s silly,” I said.

“Want to listen to music together?” he suggested. I smiled like an idiot.

“That sounds lovely,” I said calmly. He chuckled and pulled me in the direction I figured to be towards the staircases. He led me down a hallway and pulled my to my left and into a room.

“This is my room,” he said.

“It’s very nice,” I shot him a playful glare.

“Right,” he chuckled. “What kind of music do you listen to?” he asked.

“Anything, really. Whatever you like!”

“What’s your favorite song? I probably have it,” he said. He walked more into the room, nudging me down so I was sitting on a cushiony surface—a bed. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, his voice wandering away, probably to whatever he played his music out of—an iHome, a stereo…

I scooted back and felt around until my back was against a bunch of pillows. I snickered to myself, imagining that Vic made his bed for him.

“Hm,” I thought. “I have too many,” I admitted.

He chuckled softly. “Okay, I’ll just put it on shuffle. Then we can be surprised!”

I nodded and gave him a thumbs up. At least, I thought it was in his direction.

“The wall appreciates the thumbs up, sweetie,” he laughed, and I wobbled a little when the bed shook and the mattress too my left indented—Mike, jumping onto the bed.

“Oops,” I blushed.

I sat with my legs crossed, smiling when Mike’s music started. It happened to be one of my favorite songs.

“I like this song,” I said, humming along. It was short but sweet—My Understandings by Of Mice & Men. “I don't mind it, I don't mind if you're overrated, or if you're staring at the edge of the world. Keep in mind that I'm a sore eye with blurry vision, but I can see it has to be your love that I've been dreaming of… And if we climb this high, I swear we'll never die,” I sang quietly, leaning back against the headboard again and relaxing my eyes. The song progressed into the repetition of the single verse, and I bobbed my head, enjoying the song. It ended too soon.

“Wow,” Mike breathed, his chin on my shoulder and his breath on the side of my face.

“Whoops, I forgot where I am again,” I muttered, realizing that I had zoned out, locked myself into my own head, and sung out loud, completely neglecting Mike. “Sorry,” I blushed.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said softly. Another song came on, a song that I didn’t recognize but actually did like.

“Hey,” I poked Mike in what I generally believed to be his shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“I like your music taste. Will you make me a playlist one day?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure!” he said excitedly.

“Cool. I love new music,” I smiled.

“Me too,” he said.

We sat back, sitting close next to each other and making small talk as his music danced around the room.

“Oh!” Mike said. He rolled away and the spot on the mattress he had been laying on lifted, and I heard the thump that indicated he had hopped up. He turned the music down. “Hello?” he asked, and I realized he had gone to answer his phone.

“Yeah, sure, man. Did you have a good time? Sweet. Yeah, same. Yup, see ya,” I heard.

“Hey, Faye,” he tapped my shoulder. I raised an eyebrow expectantly. “I have to take you home now,” he said. I stuck my bottom lip out in a pout but stood up.

“Aw, okay. They’re back?”

“Yeah, Vic is at yours and I have to go get him,” he explained. I nodded.

“Oh, okay,” I said. I grabbed his arm and he led us out of the room.

“That was a lot of fun, thanks Mike,” I grinned, walking carefully down the stairs with one of my arms hooked through his. I was not only thanking him for making me happy, but also for taking my mind off of everything. I guess those go hand in hand with each other—distractions and happiness—but still, I felt genuine about them. I didn’t just hang with Mike because he was distracting my busy head, although that definitely was a factor.

“I had fun, too. Thank you,” he said happily.

“Thank me?”

“I like your company,” he said simply.

I smiled. “I like your company, too. It’s nice to be a way from Phoebe for a change,” I joked.

He laughed. “I bet. It’s nice being away from my annoying big brother, too,” he added.

“Well this worked out well, didn’t it?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said happily. I heard the sound of the door swinging open, but then I heard Mike sigh and the door closed. “Hey, Faye?”

“Yeah?”

“You really are beautiful, I hope you know that. Inside and out,” he said quietly.

I smiled softly. “Aw, well… thanks Mike. That means a lot to hear,” I said. Even though it was random, it made my heart throb.

“Although, you don’t know that much about me. I could be a psychopath for all you know,” I said devilishly, lifting the awkward tension that I personally felt but didn’t think he did.

“That would be a shame,” he laughed. “But I could be a psychopath, too,” he added.

“I was genuinely afraid of that at first,” I admitted.

“Really?” he laughed.

“Well, yeah. If your name isn’t Phoebe Montgomery, you start out as a psychopath in my book,” I said. “Strangers can’t be trusted,” I poked his chest three times as I spoke. He laughed and caught my hand as I went to pull it away. He cradled it in his own, and my eyebrows slightly furrowed while the corners of my mouth slightly lifted.

“I’m not a stranger anymore, though, right?” he asked.

“Right. You passed the Phoebe test. I don’t know how, though…” I bit my lip mockingly and smirked at him. “I don’t know much about you except you like cancer sticks, Christmas movies, throwing girls over their shoulders when they least expect it, drumming, and—how could I forget?” I smirked at him. “—making innocent girls cry with your irresistible charm.”

“Cancer sticks,” he scoffed, completely disregarding my last sentence. I guess he didn’t have a problem with that, I laughed to myself. “Well that sounds like a pretty good start, if you ask me,” he said. I nodded in agreement, realizing that just through the little things he did I was getting to know more about him—more than what he could simply tell me. It was about what he showed me. “Although, I’m afraid I don’t know that much about you.”

“Really? I’m an open book!” I mocked, rolling my eyes.

“Well, I know your blind. But that’s not important,” he began. My breathing hitched at that simple yet powerful sentence. But that’s not important. The way he said it so casually, like being blind was of the same significance of having a stubbed toe, that it didn’t truly make a difference…

Mike didn’t notice my reaction, and carried on with his list. “I know you like being abusive towards men, specifically my face, and… shit. You are a psychopath! I need to get out of here!” he said frantically. I laughed and shook my head. He chuckled and carried on. “And you’re a very thoughtful person. Your eyes go all starry whenever you think, and you think a lot,” he said. “I know you’re really strong and brave, sometimes a little snarky, and surprisingly very fun to be around.”

“Surprisingly?” I raised my eyebrows as I laughed. He chuckled but didn’t say anything for a few moments. I had forgotten that he was holding my right hand until his hands gently squeezed around it.

He breathed slowly, and his other hands brushed across my cheek. “How would you feel if I kissed you?” he asked carefully.

My eyes widened a little and the butterflies in my stomach roared to life. I made sure to keep my head on straight, though. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” I admitted fearlessly, shrugging my shoulders.

“Really?” he sounded shocked.

“Well, yeah. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I laughed. “I don’t trust men.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Do I have any reason not to?”

“No, I’m perfectly trustworthy,” he said.

“Then, still no,” I said with a slight smirk. I reached out and patted what I hoped was his arm. It was. “Sorry, bud. I don’t trust easily,” I shrugged my shoulders again. I chuckled when I heard an audible groan escape his mouth.

“Were you expecting me to be easy?” I asked. He coughed and I mentally laughed at how flustered he was—all the while keeping my fierce mask on.

“Shit, no. Not at all,” he rushed. I shook my head and laughed.

“I know you don’t,” I smiled softly.

“So you do trust me?” he tried. I fought a smile and shook my head again.

“I’m not kissing you, Michael,” I rolled my eyes. I straightened up and held up our still interlocked hands with a smile. “But I will let you hold my hand. Now, take me back, please.”

Notes

Hi! Yay for another update.

Mike cuteness overload in this chapter!!!!
Let's take a moment together and bask in the greatness that is Mike Fuentes (in real life and in fictional character form). I'm having a lot of fun writing him (That sounds creepy but it's a fan fic so)
P.S. All of the stuff Mike says about the drums is thanks to @fuentits. Go read her stories. She's the best person eva.

And I especially liked the end. Mikey asking to make a move. Aw. But was that too soon, you think? I like to know your honest opinion because I really don’t want to rush this at all!

Thanks for all of the comments and stuff, guys. I squeal like a little toddler at all of your enthusiasm. Like the Energizer Bunny it keeps me going. <3