Two Bassists > C.T.H.

I like how right after I wrote about Calum's tattoos, he got more.

Kinda sad he got more; I loved all the placements and how they looked good together. The 'ALIVE' one is pretty cool.

-----------------------------------------
January 2021

I was in the same, familiar recording studio in LA. I decided it was going to be a new year for new music, and I planned on released a self-EP.

One thing I didn't expect was someone in the booth when I had a ten a.m. reservation. It wasn't that much after ten, just fifteen minutes, but the music this guy was making was insane.

He was playing drums- and I mean playing. He banged, and banged, and banged. Not even Ella, or Ashton, hit drums like that. I was positive this guy was going to break his sticks, or worse: The set.

"Hope you don't mind," The producer who owned the building, Kevin, stepped towards me. "You weren't here, so I offered my son to have a go."

"Oh, that's totally fine," I smile, "It's actually kind of amusing."

"He's broken seven drum sets in his lifetime," Kevin chuckles while watching his son continously hit the drums.

"Seven?" I gasp, now staring back at his son, "I once dropped my bass and my parents didn't buy me a new one; They made me buy another with my own money."

"Aye, but I have faith in the kid. Been in and out of bands since high school. He has a friend that sings and plays guitar. He'll probably make a band like Twenty One Pilots."

"I actually never knew you had a son, Kevin," I stare up at the older man.

"Divorce, when he was two," He says, "Mom doesn't like me too much. Didn't think my tattoos and habits were appropriate to raise a child. Plus, we were just sick of fighting."

I let out an apologetic hum, and Kevin continues: "Little did she know, my son took after me, not the lawyer she is."

Finally, the bang of the sound-compressed drums slows to a stop.

Kevin walks me to the recording panel and talks into the microphone. "Hey, kiddo, my ten o' clock is here. Time to get out."

His son sends an "Okay", but it's barely audible from his distance away from the nearest microphone.

As Kevin's son came closer and finally out of the studio, my heart dropped into my stomach.

He was a whole different kind of attractive.

There was was three catergories: The geeks, musicians, and jocks.

He could clearly bang the daylights out of any drumset, the muscles from under his Metallica shirt were begging to reach air, and the smile he gave me when he we made eye contact was bright and awkward.

He was a taller guy with light tousled brown hair. Geez, he had Sam Claflin dimples.

Holy cheese potatoes.

"Rhett, this is Mikayla Valencia. Musician and singer-songwriter. Also, master of sarcasm," Kevin jokes at the hazel eyes he shared with his son, Rhett, glanced at me.