EnglandXSinger!Reader: Famous Last Words

You sighed, flicking a hand through your hair to get it out of your face. You and your band were about to go play a tiny gig in a park, a groovy little spring festival. Behind the stage your bandmates warmed up, making plenty of noise. It didn't matter, the chicks on stage were blasting their rendition of "Call Me Maybe" so loud you could scream bloody murder and no one would notice.

So far since you had arrived in your piece of shit van, the music had consisted of nothing but poppy, upbeat tones. It started to seem like the guys running this concert had needed one more band and slapped yours down to keep ahead of the deadline. They didn't know who you were very well, because you certainly couldn't call your band pop. Upbeat maybe, but not pop at all.

Matt, who had been fiddling with his bass, finally decided to speak up. "I don't think we belong here," he shouted over the music while nervously tonguing his lip ring.

"No shit, man!" His brother responded, twirling a drumstick. "We're gonna get booed off the stage!"

"Quit it, Al!" You clapped a hand on Matt's shoulder. "We'll be fine, Mattie." You offered him a smile, only half believing your words. He nodded, though there was still a crease in his brow, and turned back to his bass.

"You think we'll be okay?" You asked Berwald, one of the guitarists. He mutely shrugged as "Call Me Maybe" finally ended (thank God).

"Yeah, yeah, whatever happens happens," Eliza cheered as the girls packed up their stuff and started off the stage. "Just don't knock too much shit over, eh ______?"

You had to grin. She knew of your stage antics too well. "I'll try. Hey, Berwald, can you c'mere for a sec?" You pulled him to the side.

"Look," you started quietly. "I have a really, really big feeling these guys out there aren't going to like what we've got for them." Berwald started to open his mouth, but you held up a hand to shush him. "Hold on, let me finish. No; I'm not saying we should play some mainstream crap; we won't be into it and it'll be totally fakey." You let out a sigh, continuing, "I think we should give them one of our own songs, and if they don't like it, then we should give them something big. Something powerful. We should give them..." You stood in tiptoes and whispered into his ear. When Eliza came forward to try and cram her way into earshot, you hooked your boot around her waist and pushed her away.

"Secrets don't make friends!" She cried, huffing. You stuck your tongue out quickly.

"Okay?" You asked. His deep blue eyes were a fraction larger than normal.

"Are y'u s're, ______?"

You swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I want to do it. I really do." You flung an arm over his shoulders to lighten the mood.

"Got it?" You said in a louder voice. He nodded, his lips curling into a small smile.

"Alright, everyone. Let's do this!" You shrugged off your jacket and tightened your ponytail. Everyone grabbed their intruments and circled around up onto the stage. As you adjusted the microphone, you could finally get a good look at your audience.

"Fuck," you hissed quietly. These people didn't look anything like your usual crowd, already there were confused and sometimes contemptual stares at you and your band's old jeans and rock t-shirts. You squared your shoulders defensively. Yeah; so what if Mattie has some piercings and you have dyed hair and Berwald has tattoos? Hell, who cares if Eliza has all three? They didn't have to look at you like you were trash.

You felt yourself get pissed. Baring your teeth at the audience, you said right into the mike, "we're Coma Therapy from ______, and we shoot motherfuckers like you!" You snarled, quoting your band's main influence. Eliza was so going to kill you later, but it was worth it. Some people's mouths dropped open, others just kept staring, and a group of guys towards the back shot you rude gestures. You flipped them right back off as the guitars started up fo your first song.

Now, the girls before you had been good. To be fair, they really did have pretty voices. But you could tell, while you didn't see them, that they were smiling through the whole song, barely moving from their positions on the stage.

In comparison, your voice was anything but pretty. It was rough, it was low, it was loud. You were known for getting very into the song you were singing, contorting your face and moving around erratically, all over the stage. Your bandmates knew by now to stay the fuck away from you when you were like that, when you got going you could even knock Berwald to the ground.

When your first song ended, the reaction was pretty weak. A few people clapped awkwardly, ceasing when no one joined in. There was a smattering of laughter at your awkward position on the stage, you had ended on one knee with the other leg behind you.

You raised a brow, but threw on a grin as you lifted yourself back up. Making a quick gesture to Alfred, he started a light rhythm on the cymbals, just something to keep the sound going while you talked. Eliza and Matt exchanged looks behind you. You had a glint in your eye; that couldn't mean anything good.

"Now, y'all are like a bunch of bones out there," you said into the mike, pacing on the stage. "I'm sorry, we got off to a bad start. Let's start over! My name's ______. You must be waiting for something, right? You want something to get you going right?"

A few nods. A couple shouts of yeah! and uh-huh.

"What the hell, guys, I can't even hear you!" You yelled. "I said do you want it?"

"Yeah!"

"Do you?"

"YEAH!"

"Then stand the fuck up and hear some Famous Last Words!" You screamed, throwing an arm back to Berwald. Knowing of your plan all along, he started up his guitar with the beginning chords. Placing the mike back in its stand, you started to sing in a low voice.

Now I know

That I can't make you stay

But where's your heart

But where's your heart

But where's your--

And I know there's nothing I can say

To change that part

To change that part

To change--

You continued, your voice getting louder and louder. Your other bandmates quickly caught on, having played the song several times at rehearsal, and their instruments all joined in, until the song was complete. You screamed into the microphone, throwing yourself to the stage ground as you reached the chorus.

I am not afraid to keep on living

I am not afraid to walk this world alone

Honey, if you stay I'll be forgiving

Nothing you can say can stop me going home

This song had gotten you through hell. A few years ago, after you had first heard it on the radio, it was the only thing that had kept you going. Now, you looked upon it as a treasure, something everyone should know about.

You poured all your emotions from years past into your singing. You clawed at your face, your clothes, clutched the microphone as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

As the sun set, the stage lights blazed on, giving the audience eerie shadows that danced and weaved across their faces. as the song reached its climax, you shielded your eyes with your arm and leaned away.

These bright lights have always blinded me

These bright lights have always blinded me

I say--

You fell onto your knees and hand, your face showing how broken you once were. Your eyes landed on the first other pair you could find, two dull, cold green ones that seemed as lost as you had been.

I see you lying next to me

With words I thought I'd never speak

Awake or unafraid

Asleep or dead

'Cause I see you lying next to me

With words I thought I'd never speak

Awake and unafraid

You slowly drew yourself back up, letting the hope seep back into your voice, empowering you. You thrust your hand out, pointing to those green eyes, willing them to listen.

Asleep or dead

'Cause I see you lying next to me

With words I thought I'd never speak

Awake and unafraid

Asleep or dead

Berwald joined in, filling the other vocals, layering them, as you screamed your guts out. You held your gaze on those eyes the whole time, never letting your voice falter, letting them see how much you had gotten through.

Or dead

I am not afraid to keep on living

Or dead

I am not afraid to walk this world alone

Or dead

Honey if you stay, I'll be forgiving

Or dead

Nothing you can stay can stop me going home

The guitars, bass, and drums faded out, and after you belted out the last note, there was dead silence for an instant. You reveled in the way everyone, everything, turned blank.

Doubt flooded into your mind like a broken dam.

They hated it.

But then: Those green eyes, belonging to a young, fair-haired man, lit up with the purest happiness you had ever seen. The man threw his arms up, as did the rest of the audience, and he started whooping and cheering as everyone else went wild.

You could only murmur a breathless "thank you" before you dropped the microphone and the rest of the band surged forward, hugging you, ruffling your damp hair, Al even gave you a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Eliza whacked your head.

"Dammit, ______! That was the stupidest thing you have ever done, in the fifteen years I've known you!" She sighed. "But it worked, so I should also say it was awesome." Her grin fell and she reached a hand out to your face. "Aw--I didn't hit you that hard, did I? Why're you crying?"

You blinked a few times. "I'm not," you said, dragging your hand across your face. It came back smeared with moisture and makeup.

"Oh." You said dumbly. "I guess I am."

You didn't understand. You didn't feel sad, you felt elated, but the whole time you were cleaning up the stage, packing up your gear, and heading home, tears kept running down your face, for no reason at all.

...

Three weeks later, you sat in a coffee shop, basking in the quiet and warmth of the sun. As you turned a page in your worn paperback, the door swung open, the bells hanging over it jingling softly. You didn't look up, but you felt your gaze shift when your light was covered.

Green eyes. Blonde hair. A grin of sincerity and admiration.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," the man said, offering his hand to you, "and you saved my life."