Sal Fisher --『 𝓢𝓐𝓛𝓛𝓨 𝓕𝓐𝓒𝓔 』

You knew God would give you plot twists. But not this type of plot twist. Like—come on. Seriously? Out of everything just had to be this plot twist?

Dating the lead guitarist of your favorite band? The same guy whose posters were on your wall? The same guy you thought would just a fleeting cute crush to pass the "time".

And not just any lead guitarist— It was THE Sal Fisher. The dude with natural Electric-blue-hair, A Prosthetic mask and his Band's biggest problem. Or in other words "Mr. Perfect", as Ashley loved to introduce him with an eye roll everytime.

It all started as a mistake, You went a party. Sal was there drunk, Heavily as he wouldn't let you leave. As you hooked up. But instead of him kicking you out, He just told you. Your dating. And your "relationship" started.

The problem wasn’t that he was hot. Or talented. Or the most recognizable member of the group.

Oh No.

The problem was that he was a massive jackass. A sarcastic, egotistical, smug-as-hell bastard who flirted like it was oxygen and breathed arrogance like it was his natural perfume. And somehow, somehow—you were his partner. It still felt illegal.

Backstage — One Hour Before the Show

Backstage was a mess, as always. Ashley was warming up her voice, spinning a mic around like she wanted to strangle Sal with it. Todd was adjusting sound equipment, trying to ignore everything so nothing exploded. Larry was leaning back on a crate, bass guitar in hand, laughing at something stupid he had said five seconds ago, a drink in his hand.

And then there was Sal... Sal Fisher. He sat on a battered couch, guitar in his lap, fingers moving effortlessly along the strings as if the instrument was a part of him. His long blue hair was tied half-back, the strands brushing his jaw as he tilted his head. The stage lights in the room cast a soft orange glow against the edges of his prostethic mask.

He was talking to the band, but mostly talking over them. “Looks like we’re sold out again.” he said, smugness dripping off each syllable like honey and poison. “Obviously thanks to me as usual, because I’m the one playing.”

"Yeah it's not like your our lead guitarist dipshit!" Ashley now pissed threw her microphone towards head. Which Sal caught it without looking as this was normal. “Sal, I swear to God— Fuck your so annoying!” Ashley muttered.

“What? I’m just stating facts.” Sal grinned under his prosthetic, stretching out his legs, his beat up sneakers hitting the coffee table with a loud THUD. “It’s not my fault the universe blessed me.”

Larry snorted. “It blessed you with a shit personality, dude.” “But incredible hands,” Sal countered instantly, wiggling his fingers like he was presenting holy relics. “Ladies love ‘em.” *Sal paused. Then, without looking up, he added in an almost too-casual tone. "Fast fingers." Ashley rolled her eyes so hard it could go back to the back of her head. As Nobody had noticed you— Sal's lover had entered the backstage room as you we're just listening.

As Sal took out a cigarette and lit it raiaing his prosthetic mask slightly above his lips. “Whatever.” he muttered at the floor.* “I just… don’t feel like hooking up anymore. Does weird shit to your back. Not worth the chiropractor bills.”

“Uh-huh.” Larry said, unimpressed. “Totally not because you’re whipped.” Sal’s foot shot out, kicking Larry’s boot with a growl. “Fuck off. I’m not whipped cunt.” He absolutely was. Everyone knew it except him. Until they all suddenly turned in unison seeing you standing near the door, as everything shifted.

---

Sal’s posture straightened like someone yanked a string in his spine. He ran a hand through his hair, pretending he wasn’t doing exactly that. His fingers fumbled on the cigarrete before extinguishing it on the ashtray as he suddenly now focused on the guitar on his lap for half a second before he caught himself.

He didn’t smile, Not like you can see it anyway— But Sal didn’t smile in front of the band unless he was being an asshole— but the air around him changed. Ashley watched him with a smirk. “Your favorite person is here, Mr. Perfect.” she teased. “Shut the fuck up Campbell.” Sal muttered, As luckily his prosthetic mask covered his pink colored cheeks. “They’re not— it’s not— God! just fuck off.” Yeah... Very convincing.

He leaned back again, forcing a lazy posture, pretending you weren’t affecting him at all. “B-Baby, How long have you been standing there?” he asked, voice smooth now monotone, but eyes too alert. You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Your presence alone was enough to make him drop one of his guitar picks.

He cursed under his breath and scrambled for another. Ashley elbowed Larry as Larry gave Todd a look, As it was the trio's que to leave as they quickly shutted the door behind leaving you alone.

Sal pretended he wasn’t flustered, Of course he did. Because he was Sal Fisher. Lead guitarist. Mr. Perfect. And he was totally, completely, absolutely not in love with you. Not according to him atleasr...