Throwback Thursday: Musical Dreams

 Dare gets lost in music only he can hear.

Since childhood, it’s rolled through his mind, drowning out the rest of the world. When he comes back to himself he has the notes and lyrics for the songs his band plays. But he wonders if such talent is worth it, when the rest of his life is such a mess.

All Sionn ever wanted was Dare’s attention.

But that won’t happen as long as Dare has his ‘musical dreams’, so he keeps his attraction a secret. Too bad it’s impossible to keep anything secret when you live with your three best friends. When Sionn’s temper reaches breaking point, he sets Dare on a quest to ‘fix’ himself, in the hopes of gaining the love of the man he adores.

But Fate has a funny way of twisting things. And ‘normal’ is just a state of mind, isn’t it? 

Dare sighed, leaned his head against the cool metal of the railing, and shivered. He was unaware how long he’d been outside, or even what time it was now. He had the song, though. Words and music pulled from lines in the air were imprinted on his fingers and in his heart as surely as if he’d written them down. It was always this way; a fact he often marveled at and wasn’t sure he fully understood, much like the dreaming itself. Not that he ever wished it gone. On the contrary, he was afraid that without it he’d lose his music and everything that made him who he was.

Dare closed his eyes for a moment and shivered again, realizing that he was tired and hadn’t had a meal all day. He climbed to his feet, his guitar clutched in one hand and the other gripping the railing as he swayed. Damn, he thought as he waited for the dizziness to pass. It had to be pretty late if he was feeling this dizzy and weak. With a tired sigh he shuffled inside, tucked his guitar back into its case, and wandered into the kitchen to see that the clock read a quarter to five. Holy shit. No wonder he was starving and ready to drop; he’d been on that damned porch all fucking day. He vaguely remembered heading out there at ten, with a cup of coffee, his cigarettes, and his guitar. He checked his pocket and found the pack, happy he hadn’t burned through too many. Sometimes he smoked them all without realizing it. A waste really, or at least that’s the way he saw it. If he was smoking something, he wanted to at least remember the taste of it.

His hands shook as he poured himself a glass of milk. Then he sat at the table, drinking the milk and eating an apple. It would have to do until he could get dinner cooked. He knew the others would be home soon, and hungry. Not that they really wanted him messing with the stove. His dreams were unpredictable, and twice he’d started unintentional fires, staring off into space while the pan beside him burned. Today, though, he figured it would be fine, easy really, to cut up an onion, brown some beef, and toss soup into the pot on top of it to make a meal. He tried hard not to hum as he worked. He tried not to think of music at all. Instead, he wrote out a grocery list while the meat browned, stirring it occasionally so it didn’t burn. He forced himself to focus on what they needed and not the soft rhythm pulsing in the corner of his mind.

It helped to think of the last time he’d burned a meal and Sionn’s disgusted reaction as he’d stood with the fire extinguisher in hand, red-faced, and screaming about how Dare couldn’t manage to go thirty goddamned minutes without drifting away to dreamland and how he could have burned the whole place down goddammit all to bloody hell! Dare focused on how ashamed he’d felt over the mess he’d made and how angry he’d made Sionn, and he finished cooking the meal without incident. He checked the time. They’d all be out of work by now, unless one or more had been asked to work overtime, in which case, they’d all be late, coming home in the car they shared. Dare sat at the table listening to the tick of the clock and idly drumming his fingers against the wood.

While he waited, he let the music take over. He lay his head down on the table and stared at the counter, his eyes glazing over as he entered the waking dream. He was oblivious to the roar of the Charger’s engine as it pulled up to the house, the slamming of doors, and the chatter of voices as the other members of the band came in.

“OCH, NOT AGAIN!” Sionn declared when he caught sight of Dare and the pot on the stove. He raced over, only to find it was already off, that everything was off, and nothing was damaged or burned. He nudged Dare’s chair, not really expecting a response but trying anyway. “Dammit.”

“How bad is it this time?” Tommy asked from the doorway, shoulders slumping a bit as he saw the blank look in his brother’s eyes.

Sionn turned a relieved look toward Tommy, and Paul, who’d joined him in the doorway. “It’s fine. He managed to cook and turn everything off this time. Smells pretty good too.” The last part was said grudgingly, and the Scot frowned at the smirk Paul was giving him.

“So wake him already so we can eat,” Paul told him, chuckling.

“Why don’t you wake him?” Sionn grumbled, angry and stubborn as he nudged the chair again.

“’Cause it takes me longer than it takes you.” Paul slid past Tommy and began setting the table.

Sionn nudged the chair a third time, but Dare didn’t even blink. “Bloody bastard,” Sionn muttered, not certain himself to whom he was referring.

He knelt beside Dare’s chair and fisted the thick strands of chestnut hair in one hand so he could move it away from Dare’s ears. Leaning in, Sionn could smell the lingering scent of Marlboros and the spicy-sweet peppermint of Dare’s soap. He paused, cursing himself as the desire to lick Dare’s throat overrode the annoyance he always felt at being the one to call Dare back from the dreams. Why they couldn’t just give him some damned drug to keep this from happening, Sionn had never understood. There had to be a way to prevent this, to give Dare a chance to be normal and Sionn a chance to finally admit the way he felt about the younger man. God, he hated this, hated the dead, lost look in Dare’s eyes when the dreams overtook him, hated how still and silent he got, and the creepy, almost persistent humming that damn near drove him mad. There were days when Sionn longed to beat the hell out of Tommy for allowing his brother to endure this; yet the Scotsman never said a word to any of them about the way he felt. He just grumbled through stories of his childhood, breathing in the scent that was uniquely Dare until the younger man began to wiggle and mumble and moan.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Mark chuckled as he stepped into the room just in time to see green eyes clear and focus. Dare sat up and Sionn let him go, cutting Mark a scathing look.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “What’s your problem?”

“I’m tired of this shite,” Sionn growled. “That’s what the hell my problem is. He zones out like a fuckin’ space cadet and you all just sit and laugh and make a joke of it. I’m goddamned tired of being the bloody one to bring him back. And for what? He’ll space out again in an hour or two anyway.”

Dare frowned, looking back and forth between Sionn and Mark. “I remembered to turn the pot off this time.”

“And it’s a good thing too,” Sionn snapped. “But did you ever think that it might not be a good idea for you to be trying to cook at all?”

Dare looked down, biting his lower lip. “Just wanted ta have dinner ready for ya’ll when you came in. Sorry.”

Paul plunked a bowl of soup down on the table in front of Dare. “Ech, don’t worry about him, he just had a pissy day at work and now he’s gonna be an ass for the rest of the night.”

Sionn shot Paul a withering look and sent one at Dare too for good measure. “Kiss my arse, you bastard.”