The air of the club was thick and silent as it always was, and Elane was taking her sweet time to put her things back, as she always did. For an ordinary person, putting a guitar in a case would've taken mere seconds. For her, though, it took many minutes. She had to slowly, ever so slowly, slide the instrument gently in. She had to take in the background of the club--she needed to see every molecule of the dark walls, every spec of dust on the neon lights that clung to the ceiling. The audience was long gone and half the band had left. Backstage, she sat alone, taking as long as possible to leave, should it be that she had to actually go home this night.
Except for Jaime, of course.
Jaime stood, leaning against the wall with his amp in one hand and his bass in his case, which was strapped securely to his back. He stood there, smoking a cigarette, patiently waiting for Elane to finish, as he always did. Sometimes, his tired lids would droop low enough to actually close his eyes, but he'd always open them, making him even sleepier. He would stand there for a few more hour-like minutes until she was ready. When she was, they would walk for a short time. Then, he would casually invite her over. She would accept the offer, and spend the night. Just like always.
It wasn't like she forced him, though. He knew what happened at her house. He knew about her father she never wanted to see. Was it wrong for a young man of twenty-two to take in an eighteen year-old girl?
Perhaps.
But it wasn't as wrong as her having to go home.
"Hey" he heard her call. She slapped him a few times gently on his cheek. "Come on, you're drooling all over your cigarette."
His eyes flickered open suddenly, but it took a moment for them to focus. There she was, case on back and amp in hand, looking up at him with her other hand gently caressing his face. She smiled that sad smile of hers, and he smiled back.
"Sorry," he murmured.
"Don't be."
They walked together then, close, but not touching each other. A period of silence passed them, filled with both fatigue and anxiety. Finally, they both stopped on the corner of the brick street.
Another moment passed.
Elane opened her mouth to speak, but Jaime suddenly cut her off.
"Why do you always worry so much?"
"What do you mean?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Like you don't know."
She shrugged. She was too tired to answer to such things this early in the morning. They both resumed walking to his car.
*****
"Elane," he cooed. "Come on. Wake up for a sec."
How he managed to stay awake while driving was a miracle in itself. His arms were tired, his eyes were half closed, and his legs felt like cement.
That is, until he turned around and saw her passed out in his car.
Then his legs felt like lead.
They both hobbled to together to the apartment building and up the stairs, latched onto each other for support. It was only when they went inside they both loosened their grip.
If he had a bed, he would've taken her to it, but for now, one of the two couches would have to suffice. She trudged to the one nearest her, still not letting go of his hand. He followed her, and she turned around. Her hands moved their way up to his sides, and she wrapped herself around him tightly.
He froze. She had never done this before.
"You're my best friend," she hummed, her face hidden in his shirt.
He hunched over to reach her height and kissed her raspberry-colored hair.
Hugging back, he mumbled, "Yeah."
They were the best of friends.
And that always tore him apart inside.
