(no subject)
Title: PS, I love you.
Part: 4/?
Rating: 12 - Deals with the aftermath of a death.
Pairing: FletchJones.
Storyline: Based on the book "PS, I love you" by Cecelia Ahern.
Disclaimer: I own Danny. That is all.
Posted in: mcflyslash and mcslash.
“Hello?” Tom called through the big, stainless steel door. He felt a little stupid as he knew it would be impossible for anyone to hear him, but would feel rude barging in. “I’m… I’m sorry, I know it’s not open time, but… I’d like a word with the manager?” There was still no reply.
Tom stepped back, sighing. He looked up to a big neon light sign reading “Aqua”, the club Danny had mentioned in his letter. At night time, he imagined it to glow a bright blue colour and the walls to be bumping along with the beat. If it wasn’t for the big sign, you wouldn’t have imagined it to be a club, more like a warehouse.
“S’open!” Shouted a voice from inside. Tom’s eyes widened in surprise at the fact he had been heard and stepped towards the door. He moved his ear closer to hear the voice again, just to be sure they were talking to him. “Bugger!” What sounded like a male voice cursed, followed by a series of bangs and crashes.
Tom turned the big handle, struggling a little as he pushed open the heavy door and stepped in quickly, flinching as it slammed shut a little too loudly behind him. The room he had stepped into was dark; the only light coming from the bar, which was where the noises were coming from. He walked towards the bar slowly, craning his neck to peer over it.
“Alright, how can I help?” A dark haired boy popped up, his face a tint of red from rushing around, looking straight at Tom - who had jumped out of his skin in surprise.
“Oh, erm.” Tom cleared his throat. “Hi, erm. I’m Fletcher. Er… Tom Fletcher.”
“And would you like a Martini, shaken not stirred, Mr Fletcher?” The boy’s small lips curled into a smirk, resting his hands on the bar.
“Oh no, I didn’t come for a drink! I don’t want to bother you.” Tom blurted, oblivious to the bartender’s joke.
“Yeah, I was just joking with you, mate. You sounded a bit like ‘Bond, James Bond’, s’all. Pretty funny, and I’d be a little concerned if you came to get a drink at 9am in the morning! But, Tom, nice to meet you. The name’s Harry.” He held his hand over the bar towards Tom. Tom stared silently at it for a few moments, his lips wanting to speak. “Haha, dude, you won’t catch anything. I might smell a bit sweaty and of stale beer after a night shift, but I’m perfectly healthy, I can assure you.”
“Oh. Yes, yes. Sorry.” Tom blushed, lightly shaking Harry’s hand. He looked up to him. He really did smell like he’d been working all night, but could tell from his eye contact that he was a friendly, open character.
“What can I do you for?” Harry asked with a smile, breaking the handshake to continue busily rearranging glasses on the shelves.
“If you’re busy, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to trouble you.” Tom said, hoping Harry would say he was too busy to talk. He just wanted to go back home and curl up in bed, like he had been every morning at this time.
“I may not be a woman, but I sure as hell can multi-task. It’s what I’ve learnt from being in this business. You get a thousand people shouting their order, whilst you’re running around trying to remember whose drink it is you’re pouring out now, remembering you have to collect their cash, all the while consoling some guy with a glass of brandy as he moans about the wife and kids! Anyway!” Harry caught up his drawn out breath, placing a glass down and leaning forward on the bar again. “Getting carried away. Shoot, mate, what’s up?”
“Heh. I’ve just come to talk about the talent night you have-”
“Yes!” Harry interrupted, startling a nervous Tom. It was already becoming apparent that this boy had a lot to say for himself. “It’s tonight. S’always a laugh, y’know. What about it?”
“Am I on the list?” Tom asked, feeling a little stupid.
“Well, that depends on whether you put your name down in advance. Did you?” He responded, reaching under the till for a black book and opening it.
“Well, the thing is, it wasn’t me who put my name down. My… erm.” Tom looked around the room, trying to make his eyes seem busy as they dared to fill with tears. “My partner did.” He mumbled.
“Oh, I see.” Harry laughed. “Your girlfriend enter you into it for a joke or something? Ha, we’ve had a few of those, so you’re not alone, mate.” Tom found his lip moving on its own according, wanting to reply to Harry and explain, but no noise was coming out. He decided to leave it, as Harry flicked through the black book. “Aha! One “Fletcher, Tom Fletcher” right here. Starts at 7pm and you’re second on.” He looked up with a smile. “Alright?”
“S-second on?” Tom stuttered, tilting his head to look over the list where, sure enough, his name was written. “Did you see who put my name down? Did they come in here and talk to you? What did they say?!” Rushed from his lips.
“Whoa, no, sorry!” Harry raised his hands and eyebrows slightly, noticing a suddenly animated Tom. “My Dad owns this place, so he usually takes the bookings. I thought you said your girlfriend put your name down, anyway?”
“No, you presumed!” Tom snapped, to a now completely bemused bartender. Tom sighed, relaxed and resumed his usual meekly slouched position, fighting back the tears once again. He turned his neck to look back to the door. It was so close that he could make it out of here in a couple of seconds, run all the way home again, lock himself in his room and pretend none of this had happened. But he knew he couldn‘t. He knew he had to stay here. “I… I’m sorry.” Tom whispered, cheeks burning red as he turned back to look at Harry, who was still a little taken back and was watching Tom.
“It’s fine. Even though… I’m not quite sure what happened there; it’s fine.” Harry nodded, smiling warmly.
“I’ll be here tonight.” He sighed, trying his best to smile back, then turning a little too quickly on his heels and pacing towards the door. He felt embarrassed by the whole exchange.
“Yeah, mate, I’ll see you later.” Harry called, as Tom opened the door and left without looking back, just as quickly as he’d come.
The rest of the day passed too quickly for Tom’s liking. He sat on his bed, guitar strap loosely hanging from his shoulders, and his beloved acoustic guitar lying on his lap. He’d been twiddling his plectrum between his fingers for the last hour or so, wondering where to even begin. He’d only got as far as re-tuning the guitar, after it hadn’t been played for a good few weeks, and then had drifted off into his daydreams once again.
“And through it ALL, SHE OFFERS ME PROTECTION,” Danny sang, deliberately off-key, his cheeky grin beaming to Tom. “A LOTTA LOVE AND AFFECT-” Danny halted as Tom stopped strumming the strings of his guitar.
“Danny!” He laughed. “For God’s sake, how am I supposed to play over that racket?”
“I am offended, Thomas Fletcher! That was my best singing voice, thank you very much.” He picked up a pillow from the bed they were both sat on, throwing it in Tom’s direction.
“Oi!” Tom huddled himself over his guitar. “Watch my baby!”
“I can’t believe I am in a relationship with a boy AND a guitar!” He exaggerated, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, play it again.”
“Again?! I’ve played it through five times now, Jones, five times! I can play other things, y’know.”
“But it’s my favourite song! Ever, ever, ever. Please, Tom, one more time and then that’ll be it, I promise. I won’t sing either, I’ll let you sing this time.” Danny fluttered his eyelashes jokingly, causing Tom to emit a dry laugh before sighing.
“Fine, fine. But this is the last time, you hear?” Tom exaggerated a sigh as Danny nodded quickly, taking a firm grip of his plectrum and arranging his fingers into the familiar chords.
Tom snapped out of his memory again, looking down to his guitar. He found his fingers had subconsciously organised themselves, ready to play “Angels”. He swallowed hard; his shaking fingers drawing the plectrum down the strings as he began to play. He didn’t even have to look at the chord changes anymore, after being ordered to play it so many times in previous months. When Danny had been ill, bed-bound, it was all he ever wanted to hear and Tom would sit at the end of the bed, playing and singing softly where Robbie Williams would have, as he watched Danny fall asleep.
His voice was croaky, aching, as he tried to sing, only able to softly whisper the words. Each line had an ironic sting to it. Lines that he didn’t think he’d be able to sing to a crowd without his throat closing up and tears streaming. Right now, an hour or so before he would be on stage, he decided to sing with free-rolling emotion, in hope that it would be released before his spot. His voice grew louder as he let all feeling consume him. The act of crying didn’t need any effort. He found himself completely unaware that tears were flowing, feeling numb to it.
Dougie stopped outside Tom’s bedroom door, thinking twice before turning the handle and stepping in. His bit his lip as he stood for a moment, his skinny posture slumped, listening intently to Tom. He’d always stood outside of Tom’s room when he was singing “Angels” to Danny, too shy to ask to disturb something that was special to them both, but he’d always loved it. He’d sit against the wall, next to the closed door, closing his eyes and completely relaxing to Tom’s soothing voice, and then silently make his way back to his own bedroom when Tom reached the final chorus. He sighed as he heard Tom finish his last strum and gingerly lifted his hand to knock on the door.
“Erm, one second.” Tom wiped his cheeks hurriedly, placing his guitar on the bed, and generally straightening himself up. “Come in.” He continued, clearing his throat.
Dougie turned the door handle and opened the door. He didn‘t step in, but peered around the wooden door, almost nervous about what he might see. He saw a scruffy, red-cheeked Tom, standing by his bed and clearly putting all of his effort into smiling. Dougie immediately looked to the floor as he noticed Tom had been crying again.
“I thought I’d come tell you that, erm, we should probably get going now. Are you ready?” Dougie asked, his eyes busying themselves as he looked around the room.
“Yep, I’m all ready to go. All prepared to sing.” Tom lied, picking up his guitar and pacing a little too eagerly over to Dougie. Dougie stepped to the side of the doorway, letting Tom pass through and make his way down the stairs. He switched off the bedroom light and followed behind him.
“Alright?” Dougie muttered, his hands pushed deeply into the pockets of his three-quarter length trousers, tilting his head to the side to look up to Tom as they both walked along the road to the club.
“Fine. Completely.” Tom stated, becoming aware that Dougie had probably noticed that he was shivering. “Just a little cold.” He felt foolish, seeing as it was quite obviously warm, even for a summertime evening and was therefore a stupid excuse to cover his nerves.
“I would offer you my jacket, but I didn’t think I’d need one. Maybe you‘re just nervous?”
“No, I’m not nervous. It’s only singing in front of a few people, for God’s sake!” Tom snapped and Dougie, as usual, looked back to the floor and nodded silently. “Ugh. I’m sorry. Again.”
“It’s fine.” Dougie smiled, slowing as they reached the club.
“No, it’s really not, Dougie. I-”
“We’re here!” Dougie interrupted, halting another awkward conversation. In front of them was the building Tom had visited earlier in the day. Sure enough, the neon sign was a bright blue colour to suit the name of the club, and a beat could be heard coming through the now-open steel doors. They both looked to one another briefly, before Tom stepped through the door. Inside, the room was dark with a few blue lights dotted around, keeping it light enough to see the people facing the stage, listening to a girl singing some Christina Aguilera song. The bar was bright and busy, with bar men and women pouring drinks, serving the swarms of customers on the other side. Tom’s stomach flipped as he realised how buzzing with people the place was.
“Ah, hello, mate!” A hand fell on Tom’s shoulder, causing him to jump a mile and turn around. Behind him was a grinning Harry, dressed in a smart black shirt and jeans hanging loosely on his hips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to give you a fright. Got your guitar, I see. I thought you weren’t going to turn up for a moment, seeing as you’re on next, after my girlfriend.” He gestured to the stage. “All ready to go?”
“Next!? Erm, yeah. Fine. Totally ready. And stuff.” Tom could feel his face drain of colour and immediately changed the subject to take his mind off what was about to happen. “Not working tonight?”
“No, no, night off, thank God. This place is far too hectic to work two nights in a row. Especially on Open Mic night, like tonight, where we get flocks and flocks of customers.”
“Y-you do? Flocks?” Tom tried to swallow a large lump in his throat.
“Yeah, it’s very popular.” Harry paused for a moment, noticing Dougie and offering his hand to him. “Hi, I’m Harry, by the way. I met Tom this morning and my Dad owns this place.”
“Oh, hey.” Dougie smiled meekly, distractedly shaking his hand as he noticed Tom staring at the stage, completely pale and taking some deep breaths. “Tom, are you-”
“Yes, I’m fine! I need… I just need to go to the toilets for a moment. Where are they, Harry?”
“Go straight ahead along that corridor, and Gents are on the left.” Before Harry could finish, Tom had already bolted off in that direction, with his guitar case strapped over his shoulder. Dougie stepped after him but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Give him a few minutes, Dougie, he’s got until my girlfriend finishes. He needs time to prepare himself on his own. Shall I show you to your table?”
Dougie nodded silently, his eyes fixed on the corridor Tom had disappeared down whilst Harry led him to his seat.
Tom burst in through the doors of the Gentlemans’ toilet, finding that, luckily, it was empty. With that, he flung himself to the closest sink, bringing up what little food he had eaten before he left home.
His leant his hands on the sink, coughing and spluttering until his throat felt raw. Tom groaned lifelessly, turning on the tap to wash away the remnants, and lifted his head to look at himself in the mirror in front of him. The pale white colour of his face reflected brightly, almost causing him to squint, and enhanced his big, chocolate brown eyes even more so. They were, of course, drowning in tears and on the verge of over-spill. Determined not to cry again, he cupped his hands under the flowing water of the tap and splashed some over his face. The cold water hit him sharply, sending a shiver down his spine and blood to start rushing back to his cheeks. But still, he looked terrible.
He heard the door to the toilets open with the sound of applause gushing in. Turning around, Tom saw Dougie’s head peering from behind the door; his eyes small with a look of concern.
“Harry’s girlfriend’s finished.” Dougie cleared his throat. “You’re on.”
“Oh God!” Tom exhaled, leaning back onto the sink as his legs turned to jelly. The blood draining from his cheeks again. “I can’t do this.”
“You can, Tom.” Dougie stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind himself. He felt awkward; like a spare part, as he stood on the tiles and looked to Tom.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to sing in front of all of those people. There must be at least 500 out there!” He exaggerated.
“And next up, we have Tom Fletcher! The stage is yours, Tom.” They both heard a man’s voice announce enthusiastically from the stage.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” Tom cursed, now pacing around nervously in circles. “Dougie, please. Please make an excuse for me. Say that I’m ill. I’ll do it another time, I swear, just not now. I can’t do it now!”
“I can’t.” Dougie said quietly, giving his head a small shake.
“Dougie!” Tom stepped over to him, going to grasp Dougie‘s shoulders, but thinking otherwise. “I get major stage fright!”
“But… this is your dream, isn’t it?”
“No!” Tom shook his head. “Well… yes, but I never told Danny how much I hate singing in front of anyone else. How stupid does it sound if I said that my dream was to break into the music business, but I’m petrified of setting foot on stage!”
“It doesn’t sound stupid at all, Tom. It’s expectable. Everyone’s going to be nervous when it’s their first time on stage.” Dougie said, calmly.
“Tom? Do we have a Tom Fletcher here?” The voice from the stage asked.
“Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick again!” Tom swallowed, going to turn to the sink before feeling a hand placing itself lightly on his shoulder. He looked to Dougie who had stepped a bit closer and whose eyes were fixed on his own hand.
“Tom, you aren’t going to be sick; it’s nerves. Just take deep breaths and it will go. Ignore the guy on stage for a moment. Harry knows you’re here and he’s not going to let it carry on without you, so chill. Just breathe and listen to me, alright?” Dougie almost whispered. His eyes occasionally fluttering from his hand to catch eye contact with Tom, whose body was lifting and sinking from the exaggerated breaths he was taking. “I believe you can do this. I KNOW you can do this. You’re talented and a brilliant singer. Your voice is… amazing. The audience will be amazed! And love you-”
“But how do you know? Have you ever heard me sing?” Tom interrupted, wondering how Dougie knew what he sounded like when he had only sung to Danny before. Dougie blushed a little, remembering that everytime he had heard Tom sing was from the hallway.
“I… erm, I overheard you sometimes. Not that I was being nosy!” Dougie rushed. “But what I’m trying to say is… It’s July 31st, the last day of the month, which means it’s the last chance you have to do this before the month is up and you have another… task thing. Danny obviously believes you can do it. You’ve come all this way; you made a promise that you’d do it. You can’t let him down. Tom… do it for Danny.”
Tom bit his lip, his gaze falling to the floor.
“Okay then, on with the next act!” The boys heard the man announce on the stage. Tom saw Danny's face in his mind. He was laid in their bed, looking up to Tom, grinning away.
"Sing it again!" Danny's voice echoed so clearly in his mind. "Just one more time, Tom." He knew he had to do this.
“Not before I’m finished!” Tom stated, as firmly as he could, stepping away from Dougie and grabbing his guitar case. Dougie’s face lit up.
“You’re going to do it?” He asked, watching Tom rush over to the door of the toilets before he found himself chickening out again.
“Yeah.” Tom nodded, ignoring the weak feeling in his legs and his shaking hands. “Can’t let Danny down, can I?” He gave Dougie a smile before turning on his heels and heading out the door. Dougie smiled to himself, leaning back against a sink, listening to the crowd cheer as Tom must have been stepping onto the stage. He took in a deep breath of air, allowing his body to relax; proud of himself for encouraging Tom to do this. He knew Danny would have appreciated it.
Dougie pushed himself off of the sink and walked out of the toilets. He looked over to the stage, where Tom was fumbling around with his guitar and lifting the strap over his shoulders. Tom stepped closer to the microphone, his face still a shade of grey, and cleared his throat before talking into it.
“Um… hi. Hello.” Tom mumbled quietly. “I’m Tom, sorry for the wait.” He froze as he looked out to the audience; what felt like a thousand eyes were staring at him. He looked ahead, down the small corridor, where he saw Dougie step out and give him a reassuring smile. “This is ‘Angels’ by Robbie Williams. And, erm, it’s for Danny.” He placed his fingers onto the strings to form the right chord and began to strum with his other hand.
“I sit and wait,” Tom sang softly. “Does an angel contemplate my fate…” He continued singing the song that he held so dear to him, whilst the rest of the audience watched and occasionally sang along, giving Tom the confidence to continue. Dougie remained stood at the back; happy that he could finally hear his friend sing without hiding behind Tom’s bedroom door. A proud feeling for Tom washed over him, and he knew Danny would be feeling the same right now. Where ever he was.