Your Eyes Sing Despair (Technically AndyXReader)

  Finally, it was here: the best day of your life; a joint date sharing your birthday and a BVB concert. You’d be leaving in just a few hours to head a few states away to the venue, and spend the night in a hotel so close to your boys. You could barely stand it, and you were glad you picked out your outfit the night before – you were too frantic and excited to think about it now.

  From top to bottom, you put even Alicia Vigil to shame: the newest BVB shirt you owned (of course, it only had Andy on it; and it was in color, for god’s sake), a black leather belted jacket (definitely staying on, even if it was sweltering inside the venue), black skinny jeans with holes at the knees (filled with spider-web lace, of course), black combat boots that finally stopped halfway up your calves, and those skull gloves you’d found online that you had to have because you saw Andy wear them once in a very old pic.

  You looked in the mirror and checked your makeup for the zillionth time, checking every little detail: the silver-gray eyeshadow, that supposedly clump-crushing mascara you already had to un-clump twice, and the new half-liquid-half-pencil eyeliner the store-of-stores Hot Topic had provided you with a few days before specifically for this occasion. You checked the Egyptian lines you made on your lids and made sure they stayed perfectly Egyptian. You contemplated putting Andy’s old stitch lines across your cheeks, but settled for the white bandage line across the nose instead. You took a comb and parted your hair to the right – just like, you guessed it, Andy’s – and teased the back half a little more than you probably needed to.

  You were being called by your ride to get ready to leave or else you’d be late. Even though you had tickets guaranteeing you to see your boys (a short signing session only, but still enough to make your mind race over what you’d say), you knew you didn’t want to be too late getting there. You were halfway out the door before you darted back inside, grabbed the conjoined Happy-Birthday and Get-Those-Fuckers-To-Sign-This picture of the boys your friend drew for you, and your BVB IV album, and rushed back out the door, locking it behind you. You half-stumbled-half-ran down the drive and threw yourself into the car. Once you got buckled, you were on your way; headphones in, world out. Just don’t fall asleep – you’ll mess up your makeup.

***

  You made it to the venue just in time. It was okay you hit almost the back of the line – you justified to yourself – because you were still guaranteed to see them. A skinny guy with a bright yellow SECURITY vest came out of the venue, and called for people with “SIGN” tickets to head on in. You followed suit, carrying your two things to be signed, and your heart raced.

  Inside the building, your hand was stamped so that, when going back in for the actual concert, you would be among the group guaranteed to be let in first. They took half your ticket, and sent you in to another room. This was the actual room where the concert would take place. The stage had multiple wires running all over it, and a drum set with the logo for a band you didn’t recognize. You didn’t even think to look up the opening act for the night; there was only one thing that mattered: Andy.

  Speaking of, where was he? There were still twenty or so people filing in behind you, but the boys weren’t in the room; only fans (mostly girls) dressed in different degrees of emo. Your heart dropped. Had the rules changed? Did you read it wrong; was this for the other band you didn’t look up? You checked your ticket stub, but the half that had the signing info had been removed. You swallowed hard, and gripped the album tighter – careful not to scratch it – and you forced your other hand to loosen slightly on the drawing so as not to crumple it.

  Many of the girls toward the front of the line starting screaming, and your pulse went back to normal for a beat before you saw him, when it returned to take its place in your throat, pounding hard and fast. You could barely see them – damn this long line – but it was clearly your boys coming out and sitting at the table at the front of the line. From left to right sat CC (already shirtless), Ashley (with his damn Captain’s Cap), Andy (thankfully not wearing those fucking overalls), Jinxx (he teased his hair?), and Jake (looking less high than he normally manages to look).

  It moved slowly, but at least the line was moving. You stumbled over words in your head, but kept your mouth from moving. You couldn’t tell him you loved him – that’d be creepy. You can’t say you’re his biggest fan – so is everyone else here. You can’t say he saved your life – because, let’s face it, he didn’t. What could you say? Oh yeah! It’s your birthday! Tell him that, but don’t forget, okay? You were half-bouncing where you stood, now, and thankfully didn’t look weird, since every other girl was doing it the closer they got.

  Finally, you were next. The girl in front of you had obviously met them before, since she was talking at length with Ashley and Andy. You put your two things on the table for Jake.

  “Who is this for?” he asked, smiling. You were surprised to see how good he looked when he smiled.

  Shakily, you told him your name. “C-could you also write ‘Happy Birthday’ on the drawing for me?” you asked. “M-my birthday is today…”

  He laughed sweetly at how nervous you were. “Sure thing.” He signed his name on the front of the album, then wrote “Happy birthday” in surprisingly neat handwriting on the drawing, writing your own name after it. He passed the items down to Jinxx, shook your hand – you kinda dead-fished it, since you were dying inside – and looked to the girl behind you.

  You slid down. Jinxx was probably your favorite second only to Andy. He smiled even sweeter than Jake did, and looked at your items.

  “Your birthday, huh? Just don’t let Ashley know-” he started signing your stuff, but it was obvious he wanted Ashley to hear.

  “Don’t let Ashley know what, Jinxx?” he called over Andy.

  Jinxx shrugged and gave a coy smile. “Oh, nothing. We’ve got a birthday girl, here.”

  “Sweet! You legal, baby? I got nothin’ better to do tonight~” He tipped his cap to you, and you heard CC whistle.

  From somewhere deep inside you, enough courage welled up that you could coherently respond. “Sorry, but I’ve got a concert to see.”

  All the other boys – except Jake, who was completely oblivious to what was going on – made the “oooooh” noise, and Andy’s face was lightly flushed from laughing. Jinxx pushed your stuff down to him and, through laughs, he started signing his name.

  “Hey, good one, babe,” he said. “Never seen a girl confident enough to turn Ashes down on anything!” He pointed to the drawing. “You do this?”

  “No, sadly,” you said. “My friend draws. They drew this for my birthday, and wanted to make sure you signed it for me.

  “It’s really good. Here.” He started scribbling at the bottom corner of the drawing. It eventually came together, and you saw it was a little skull like the bigger ones he drew for ‘Biersack’. “Now you got two drawings for your birthday.” He smiled and stood. “Birthday hug?” You nodded, and you both leaned over the table. God, he smelled good. You wanted to stand there forever, but knew you were starting to hold on too long. You both let go, and he pushed your stuff down to Ashley – who signed your stuff half-grumbling-half-laughing (and then kissed you on the cheek) – and he then passed it to CC (who hugged you and commented on Andy’s ‘damned little skull-buddy’).

  You followed the guard’s direction back outside and stood back in line, looking over your things. They each signed right about the torso of themselves on the drawing. Andy’s signature was too gorgeous – you couldn’t stop looking at it. Carefully, you rolled the drawing, and used a spare hair tie on your wrist to hold it together like a miniature poster – which, of course, it now would become.

  The clock ticked down…twenty minutes 'til doors opened…twenty…damn…minutes.

***

  You didn’t even pay attention to the opening act, even though you had squeezed your way slowly from third to first row. Your hands gripped the stage, and a security guard called to you and told you to watch your fingers. You pulled your hands back, blushing.

  It was almost an hour in, and the first band had finally left the stage. They were popular enough people were screaming, but you didn’t care. No, what mattered was seeing your boys, your brothers, your babies. When the new hour rolled around, they came out on stage. CC came out first, took up his drumsticks, and played himself a nice solo as the others came out and took their places. Andy appeared last and, when he did, you joined the hundreds of other screaming voices.

  Their first song was Knives and Pens. Of course it was; the song that brought them forth into the world.

  You recognized almost every song they did had a music video with it. Andy cracked a few stupid jokes here and there – god forbid you’d be smart enough to remember them in your love-drunken state – and his fingertips brushed yours occasionally. You were just barely off-center, too, which meant he was more likely to come down to you, since exactly center was hard to get to from all the wires and amps. He walked in front of you plenty of times, as well, and you and the other fans nearby practically screamed yourselves mute whenever he did so. Lyrics spilled out of you as effortless as the sweat did (damn the jacket), but the only thing that mattered was that you were sharing air with Andy Motherfucking Biersack.

  He took a few requests at the end – which ended up all being songs they’d previously covered (Jake did a Hell of a job replicating Zakk Wylde’s solo in Unholy) – and they came back out for an encore of In The End. You were sure that was it but, no, there was one more. You were confused: it was a song you hadn’t listened to for a long time. It wasn’t one of their most popular; in fact, it was generally skipped over whenever it came up. Die For You. Weird. Why would they pick this one? You sang along anyway, enjoying the fact you could hear Andy’s voice for just a little longer.

  There. Suddenly he was…there. You didn’t even notice you’d put your hand up to him, let alone that he had grabbed it. He had intertwined his fingers into yours and knelt down to be as close to you as he could without getting off the stage or lying down.

  “With every breath, I feel you there,” you heard him, so close. “Falling in love is fallin’; your eyes sing despair.” As soon as the guitar solo hit, you saw him mouth “happy birthday.” He stood back up, slowly letting your hand go.

  The rest of the world came back just as slowly. Sound and air returned, and you remembered you had to breathe to live. The girls around you were staring half-shocked-half-pissed and more than a pinch jealous of what they just witnessed. You and Andy had just shared a piece of life together, and they hadn’t been in on it – they weren’t chosen; you were.

  As the song finished and Andy wished everyone goodnight, you were still fighting to catch your breath. The nicer girls nearby told you how lucky you were, and joked you should never wash that hand again; the not-so-nice ones shot daggers so hard through you the blood was almost tangible. In a daze, you left the venue, and met your ride.

  “How’d it go?”

  “I-I’ll tell you tomorrow,” you said dreamily. “Can’t think straight…”

***

  At the hotel, everyone else had fallen asleep. You had to keep reminding yourself to breathe. You absently checked your Facebook, sending out generic thank-you’s for all the birthday wishes, and posted a short status: “Concert awesome. Too stoked. Will tell tomorrow.”

  You lay back on the bed, staring at the pitch-black ceiling. Your ears were still ringing, and your head wasn’t swimming; it was performing a triathlon with a cracked-up athlete. Did Andy really touch you? Yeah, he did. Did he really wish you a personal happy birthday? Check; that really happened. Still…it wasn’t the fairy-tale way to go. He hadn’t pulled you on stage and kissed you and confessed his undying love to you. You shook your head. What was this, a fanfic or something? No, this happened. Sometimes, life doesn’t happen the way you imagine it to, but it did happen like this: Andy wished you happy birthday, drew you a picture, hugged you, and even remembered you and picked you out of the crowd to hold your hand and share a moment of his precious life with you.

  Sure, maybe he was right: he didn’t kiss you, so your eyes must’ve had some despair singing within them. Did that matter? He told you: “With every breath, I feel you there.”

  That was good enough.