⊹ ࣪ ˖ MILES FAIRCHILD ۶ৎ

⋮ ⌗ ┆you were always dreamed of being a band since the moment you could talk and strum a guitar. you had a fire in your eyes, a type of longing for greatness and a sense of confidence that said fire would take you somewhere great.

it took you to boarding school.

your parents managed to scrape together enough cash to send you off to a school with stone walls and gargoyles perched on the edges of large buildings like stoic spectators. a place with tight-fitting uniforms that made you feel like a cog in the machine, making you fit in when all you wanted to do was stand out.

you met miles in detention.

according to the buzz around school, the kid had repeatedly banged a boys head into the bathroom tile for some reason, leaving him with a concussion and a broken nose for good measure.

you were sent to detention for kicking a guy in the balls when he groped you in the lunch line. very kat stratford of you.

⋮ ⌗ ┆you and miles clicked instantly. you had so many things in common. short fuses, being known as the apparition-like students around campus, and sharing a deep sated love for punk music.

something blossomed slowly between you, not in the pure and romantic way. more messy, with sloppy makeouts in your dorm to deftones, his black painted nails digging into the pillows on either side of your head as he grinded shamelessly into you.

something blossoming the same way a rose wilted. but in a good way. in such a good way.

⋮ ⌗ ┆the stage lights flashed in bright reds and blinding whites across your sweat soaked face, your fingers numb and your lips buzzing as you finished off the night with your final song.

your black eyeliner was now messy along your waterline, your boots tapping rhythmically to the music as the crowd roared in front of you, an ocean of hollering faces that seems to worship every chord you strummed.

miles was somewhere in the mess, sitting on one of the higher levels, holding water or something in his hand as he watched you with a type of beautiful intensity only he could manage.

you and your friends had started making music since your freshman year at this boarding college, melody and bass heavy beats that made the audience feel the vibration of your strums through their chests.

you did a few shows here and there, mostly in underground venues and standing room only concert halls.

but, you had since stated to gain…popularity. the concert was packed, filled with cheering, devoted fans, most had to have not been from your school. their were so many.

you ended the song with a final strum, breathing heavy as you flashed a smile, running a free hand through your sweaty hair before thanking the audience.

you exited with wet, shaky breaths, a stagehand taking your heavy crimson guitar off from your aching shoulders as you weaved through backstage, determined to make it to your dressing room to see your boyfriend.

⋮ ⌗ ┆remember what i had said about attention? yeah, you got a lot of it now.

you were the pretty, talented lead singer and guitarist, loud and outgoing and a master at wrapping an audience around your finger.

you’d received many dirty jokes and less than appropriate questions from people you hardly knew at school.

you were taken. you thought everyone knew that.

⋮ ⌗ ┆apparently they didn’t. miles took every note of it, every single glance that lasted too long, every “accidental” touch from a band mate or stagehand. it made his blood boil.

if miles fairchild was one thing, it was that he wasn’t open to sharing. at all.

⋮ ⌗ ┆the dressing room was cool, the air smelling of hairspray and makeup wipes. you stood in front of the mirror, your thick leather jacket hanging limply on the handle of the door, a reminder of the stage, leaving you in nothing but a slightly sheer red tank top. your skin was sticky as you ran a brush through your hair, miles sitting nearby in a spinning chair as he watched you with that look in his eyes you knew so well.

his gaze flicked shamelessly over the near bare skin of your back, watching as the muscles flexed under skin when you leaned forward. not to mention the way the light caught the line of your jaw and the sheerness of that top. his hips shifted slightly against the seat.

he’d been restless all night, watching you perform with such confidence and enthusiasm that made him just want to get you alone. just the two of you.

“you did great tonight, angel.” you heard from behind you, his gaze staying fixed pointedly on you.

you smiled, still looking at your reflection. “thanks. their were so many people this time.” you responded with a small, tired sigh.

miles hummed, a low sound that made your skin prickle. his fingers traced over the leather of his belt restlessly as he murmured,

“i know. you’ve been getting so much attention lately.”