he knows that he wasn’t at all welcome here — the room was currently occupied by two members of the other band, after all. not that he cared — jace davenport had never been known for being considerate. but this was the green room, after all — it was a bloody waiting room, and should therefore be considered neutral territory by both bands. no words could justify his next actions, though — by now it was fairly clear that he was merely trying to get a rise out of the other male. “ so what do you think of the tour, hmm? ” he asks the other front man. “ i mean i reckon you’re not too pleased that we’re here, but i suppose we can make the most out of what we have, yeah? ”
his fingers fall wearily on the chords of his worn guitar, strings plucked aimlessly as he tries to web the words with the melodies. he’s got his feet propped on asher’s lap, jumbled lines pouring from his lips as if they’re prayers — quiet, dripping silence. “i’ve had enough, there’s a voice in my he—” deep breath. it’s useless to pretend his stomach doesn’t knot when he looks at the boy, bronzed skin and chocolate eyes. “what the fuck makes you feel so welcome here? because whatever that is, it has to go.” his fingers curl around the guitar’s neck, the ringing in his ears getting violent. he feels asher’s glossy eyes rake over his face, and dax knows he’s preoccupied by the way he tenses up. “no, we can’t. i don’t want you here. asher doesn’t want you here. harley doesn’t want you here. the band doesn’t want you here. get the fuck out before i break your teeth.”
