(no subject)
Title: Without A Change (We're Going Fast)
Rating: PG-13/R
Pairing(s): Nick/Tyson, William/Gabe, Chris/Darren and any others you might care to see.
Notes: Totally disclaimed. Didn't happen. Written for the band_princesses challenge. I chose Snow White for my prompt and then everyone from bandom decided to be in it. Endless thanks to fizzyblogic for constant support and a speedy beta ♥ Part two linked at the bottom.
"We think, sometimes, there's not a dragon left. Not one brave night, not a single princess gliding through secret forests, enchanting deer and butterflies with her smile.
We think sometimes that ours is an age past frontiers, past adventures. Destiny, it's way over the horizon; glowing shadows galloped past long ago, and gone.
What a pleasure to be wrong. Princesses, knights, enchantments and dragons, mystery and adventure. . .not only are they here-and-now, they're all that ever lived on earth"
-Richard Bach
Through various periods in time, in all corners of the earth, there have been those who have posited a link between music and spirituality, claiming that through song and the act of singing we can connect to some higher plane. At this particular moment in time, however, in the corner of the small bedroom where Tyson lay with his headphones on full blast, the only thing that carousing along with Bonn Scott to declare that he was, in fact, back in black connected him with was the back of William’s hand. And unless William had started drinking earlier than usual, Tyson was pretty sure there was nothing spiritual about the experience.
Tyson took his headphones out and squinted up at William. “What?” he asked, hand instinctively going to the spot on his head that had just been cuffed.
“Get out,” William replied, gesturing to the door with his head. Tyson sat up while the muscles in his face arranged themselves into a look of bleary-eyed confusion.
“Out where?” he asked.
“Of the apartment,” said William, pulling Tyson off the bed with a little more force than necessary. William might've been wiry, but he could be pretty heavy-handed when he wanted. Tyson could practically feel the ghosts of William’s fingers painting his skin. He rubbed his arm pointedly. Either William didn’t notice or chose to ignore him. Tyson suspected the latter.
“Gabe’s coming over in a minute,” William continued, “and I don’t want you here making a racket and getting in our way.”
“I’m in my room,” Tyson protested, not budging.
“Yeah, in my apartment, and I want you gone while he’s here. Can’t you get a fucking job or something and get out from under my feet?”
“It’s not like I’m not trying,” Tyson squeezed out through gritted teeth. “It’s a two-way system, you know, Bill. I can’t help it if no one’ll hire me.”
William rolled his eyes. “Look, whatever,” he said, grabbing Tyson’s wrist and pulling him towards the door, “Just make yourself scarce for a couple of hours, alright?”
Tyson had been living with William for two years now. They’d never been what you could call close- William frequently made snide remarks about Tyson’s Midwestern roots, usually revolving around the words “white” and “trash”- but they’d managed. Recently, however, things had come to a head. Tyson shook William’s hand from his arm indignantly, jaw clenched. He stared back defiantly for a few moments as William glared at him, before eventually backing down with an audible sigh of annoyance. Tyson grabbed his keys and a jacket and slammed the door of the apartment behind him.
Back when Tyson had first moved in, William, in a rare state of openness brought on by a rather more frequent state of drunkenness, had told Tyson how he wanted more than anything to make it big in the music scene. He might not be able to play anything, but he could sing. Sort of. Besides, the singer was usually the focus and really, that was all William wanted to be. He’d said Tyson couldn’t possibly understand, not having grown up in Chicago, where every sidewalk pounded with the music of people and a different melody floated round every corner if you were just willing to stop and listen.
Every other person Tyson had met in Chicago dreamt of being on the music scene, and whilst he had been brought up on rock and roll, singing classic rock tunes for his dad so he could stay up late, Tyson had no interest in making a career out of it. William however seemed set on it. He was kind of fascinating to watch. He kept his ear to the ground; going to every gig he could, going out of his way to meet anyone that was remotely connected. For almost a year, nothing had come from his efforts. Then he met Gabe. Gabe was in one of the better-known bands that William followed. He was well connected and established on the scene, but his band was currently on hiatus and Gabe had been itching to start something new.
It had been pure chance that their paths had crossed, but William wasted no time in seizing opportunity with both hands. Tyson first met Gabe on the same night William did, a few hours later. Tyson had been half asleep and on his way to the bathroom at the time and his impression was one of a tall, naked vaguely ethnic man who may or may not have been embalmed with tequila. It was only the trail of hastily shed clothes leading to William’s room that convinced Tyson he hadn’t dreamed the encounter.
That was two months ago, and William and Gabe had been sleeping together ever since. Tyson had barely spoken two words to Gabe in that time. Whenever Gabe came over to the apartment, William kicked Tyson out. When he wasn't having sex with him, William had been trying to convince Gabe that he was the front man he’d been looking for and that they should start a new band together. How successful he’d been, Tyson wasn’t sure. All he knew was that William could be kind of scary when it came to getting his own way. He wouldn’t risk anything or anyone coming between him and the spotlight, especially not some trailer trash Okie like Tyson.
With Gabe's visits becoming more and more frequent, Tyson had developed a sort of routine to make the hours before he could return to the apartment less tedious. Lately it had involved him walking a couple of blocks to the park and wandering around there until it got too cold, which was when he'd head back to the streets and find somewhere he could sit in the warmth. This varied depending on what time Gabe came round and what kind of mood he was in.
Sometimes he'd find himself in the corner booth at a bar, reading the backs of beer mats, observing people through the bottom of a beer bottle and hoping he didn't look too pathetic. Other times he'd be in a club, talking happily with the rainbow of strangers he encountered there. If Gabe came over in the afternoons, he'd usually browse through whatever store was open, keeping an eye out for any vacancies.
This particular time, he just wanted to sit in a cafe with a hot drink. There was a Starbucks fairly close by, but Tyson knew William's friend Jon was the store manager there, which put him off going in. Although Tyson had seen Jon couple of times in the apartment, he'd never actually spoken to him. William seemed to have made his disdain for Tyson well known because none of his friends ever acknowledged another person living there when they stopped by.
He came to the Starbucks and hovered on the sidewalk opposite, wondering whether to go in. He knew he was being stupid, but the bruises that were forming on his arm really didn't want to be around any friend of William's just then. As he stood, hesitating, he noticed the soft strum of a guitar close by. He wondered for a minute if he was hearing one of Chicago's innate melodies that William had talked about until he recognised the tune as 1999. He looked around and spotted the source of the music. A busker was stood playing on the corner of the street.
Tyson felt his chest squeeze, like his lungs were telling him not to forget about a certain thing called breathing and how it might be good to start doing that again soon. He obliged, his breath escaping in a soft sigh to meet the notes that floated on the air. The busker stood alone, an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. His mouth wasn't moving, but Tyson swore the busker was singing. His whole person rang out with enthusiasm and happiness, like there was nothing in the world he'd rather be doing. It was as though there was no one in the world but him and his guitar. Tyson thought if that were true, it would be no bad thing.
He stood and watched, captivated by the image and sound of the busker and his guitar, until a group of girls walked past, chatting loudly about something jostled him out of his little bubble. He looked at his watch. Gabe should be going soon. Tyson walked towards the busker, trying not to stare too obviously. He was playing a different tune now, one Tyson didn't recognise, but no less enthralling. Tyson fished around in his jacket pocket and found a couple of dollars. He dropped them into the guitar case at the busker's feet as he passed him.
“Thanks,” the busker said, as Tyson met his eyes. He smiled a wry sort of half-smile and really, Tyson thought, that was just not fair when his brain was already trying to deal with putting one foot in front of the other. The walk home went by more quickly than usual, the sound of the busker's guitar punctuating every step, long after he was out of earshot.
Tyson opened the door to the apartment cautiously.
“He's gone, you can come in,” came William's voice from the lounge. Tyson didn't answer. He shut the door behind him and headed straight for his room.
“Wait a second,” William called, “I need to talk to you.”
Tyson ambled over to the couch that William was strewn over watching TV, and waited for him to speak.
“Set your alarm clock early, you’ve got to be up for work tomorrow.”
Tyson blinked. “Huh?”
“I told you, I'm sick of you moping around here all day. You said nowhere would hire you, so I called my friend Jon, he pulled a few strings and got you a job as a barista in his store. He wants you to go in early so he can show you the ropes. Don't say I never do you any favours.”
Tyson blinked again.
“Thanks?” he said, trying not to sound the question mark that followed. He didn't know the first thing about coffee, or about Jon. But it was a job. He could use the money, and he could definitely use the time away from William. He fell into bed a few minutes later, set his alarm clock, and drifted into dreams perfumed with coffee and set to the gentle strum of a guitar.
Jon Walker, it turned out, was nothing like what Tyson had come to expect from William's friends. Tyson wasn't sure if it came from years of serving hot drinks, but everything about Jon, from his friendly brown eyes to his open, familiar smile, exuded warmth and welcome. He wouldn't normally have hired someone with no experience, but Bill had been pretty adamant about it, so he'd agreed to take Tyson on. Jon needn't have worried, though; Tyson took to the job with much more ease than he'd expected him to.
Jon gave him encouraging smiles and made sure he was talking to the other baristas, although Jon himself only really spoke to Tyson when he had to. Although Tyson got on well with all the staff, he was definitely closest to Darren. Darren had worked in Starbucks for a couple of months now. He knew a lot of the regular customers and whenever it was quiet in the store, he'd point people out to Tyson and together they'd weave whole life stories for their clientele. There were the Latte Lovers, a couple who came in every day just after twelve, ordered two grande lattes to sit ignored on the table between them for an hour while they gazed at each other and chatted. There was the All-Americano Girl, a drama student who could take five shots of espresso in one go and who came in at least twice a day for her caffeine fix. The customer Tyson was most interested in, however, didn't come in until his second week at work. Darren introduced him as the Black Coffee Busker.
Tyson's eyes widened as Darren moved to take the guy's order. It was the busker he'd seen playing nearby a couple of weeks ago. Tyson had seen him a couple of times since on the same street corner when he came to and from work, but this was the first time he'd been in the store when Tyson was working. Tyson watched from behind the espresso machine as Darren served the busker. He ordered a black coffee, no room for cream. Tyson couldn't help feeling like he'd been denied a special treat when the busker uttered the words 'to go'.
As Darren was fixing his coffee, the busker's eyes wandered idly round the store and eventually landed on Tyson. Tyson quickly busied himself with the carton of milk in front of him and hoped the busker hadn't seen him staring. He risked a glance upwards. The busker smiled at him, with a calculating look, as he took his coffee from Darren. Tyson watched him all the way to the door. It was surely breaking some kind of law for someone to have that attractive a walk, Tyson thought as he pried his gaze away from the busker's ass.
“I know, right?” Darren grinned, seeing the direction Tyson was staring in.
“So, uh,” Tyson started, trying to sound casual, “Is he a regular customer?”
Darren's grin widened. “He comes in every now and again. Always orders the same thing. He plays just down the street, so. This is a pretty convenient place for him, I guess.”
Tyson was going to ask more about the Black Coffee Busker, but a large group of students walked in and his focus was soon forced to return to espresso.
Tyson thought Darren must have been understating when he said the busker only came in now and again, because he started dropping by almost every day. Darren was always working the register when he came in and Tyson never got to serve him. Darren hadn't been exaggerating when he said the busker always ordered the same thing. Tyson wished that he'd just once order a latte. Over steamed milk probably wasn't the best place to try and start a conversation with someone, but it would've been better than not talking at all.
Friday arrived, and when their lunch hour came around, Tyson and Darren decided to get take out and eat it in the record store where Darren's boyfriend, Chris, worked. Chris and Darren were an odd pair, but they somehow fitted together perfectly. Tyson liked being around them. Darren never smiled quite as brightly as he did when he was with Chris. They seemed to become one entity when they were together, but Tyson never felt excluded. It was, however, difficult to win an argument when they'd invariably side with each other. Today was no exception.
“There isn't even a question, it's just pure fact,” Chris said, pointing a chopstick menacingly at Tyson. “Ninjas are better than pirates.”
“How can you say that? Pirates are the fucking rock stars of the sea, dude.”
“What, blind drunk and riddled with VD?” Chris asked, with as much scepticism as he could fit around a mouthful of Chinese.
“Fuck yeah!” Tyson said, throwing up the horns.
Darren laughed. “Dork.”
“No point asking you what you think. You'll just side with Faller.”
“Better watch out,” Darren warned Chris, “he's using last names.”
Tyson poked Darren in the arm with his chopsticks.
“Shut up. Pirates are cooler and you know it,” he said taking a dignified sip of his Coke that seemed to say so there. Chris opened his mouth to retaliate, when the bell on the door rang to announce a customer's arrival. Tyson's stomach did a back flip when he looked around to see the Black Coffee Busker thumbing through the CDs. He tried to think of winning lines, of some way to introduce himself as someone other than That Barista Who Always Stares At You, But Never Serves You. He wasn't having much luck and then the busker was walking up to the counter, a CD in hand.
“Hey, Nick,” Chris greeted the busker casually. Nick, Tyson said to himself, taking a minute to shape the name around the person.
“Hey,” Nick grinned. His eyes swept across the counter, taking in the empty cartons of food that littered it. “Not interrupting, am I?”
“No, no,” Chris said, trying to clear the cartons away, “we were just having that age-old discussion of ninjas vs. pirates. Tyson here was losing spectacularly.”
Tyson willed his brain to shape some kinds of words for his mouth to say, but it seemed rather distracted at the moment.
“That's a stupid argument,” Nick said. “Pirates clearly win. Ninjas don't even enter into the equation.”
Tyson fought back the strong urge to hug Nick. He just about managed that but in doing so, failed to stop himself letting out a small “Ha!”
Nick turned to Tyson for the first time, his face lighting up. “You agree?”
Tyson nodded dumbly.
“Aww, Nick, man,” Chris sighed. “You let me down. How can you side with pirates?”
Nick shrugged. “The Muppets have never made a movie about ninjas is all I'm sayin',” he said, as though that was all the validation anyone could ever need. It took all of Tyson's self-control not to let out the small squeaking sound that was forming in the back of his throat.
Nick was still looking at him.
“You work in the Starbucks, right? Across the street?”
Tyson nodded again. Words, he thought, words would be good.
“I thought I recognised you.” Nick smiled and let his eyes run down the length of Tyson's body and back. When Tyson didn't say anything, Nick turned back to Chris.
“Just the one CD today,” he said, holding up an album. Tyson recognised the cover.
“Oh, cool, 'Purple Rain'!” he blurted out.
Nick perked up, “Yeah! You a fan of the Purple One?”
Tyson nodded. “I heard you playing 1999 the other week. It was really good. That's a great album,” he said, indicating the CD in Nick's hand. “Good choice.”
Nick smiled and Tyson noticed that he really rather liked it when Nick did that.
“Thanks. I actually already have a copy,” Nick said, “but I lent it to my sister and now it's all scratched up. She's going to give me the money for the replacement. Of course, she doesn't know that yet.”
Tyson laughed. Nick handed the CD over to Chris. He paid him, and took the bag and his change, before turning again to Tyson and saying goodbye.
“Bye,” Tyson said, with the smallest sigh, as Nick walked out. He was glad they didn't have to head back to work just yet. He figured he'd need a couple of minutes before his legs would function properly again. He wondered vaguely if maybe he'd be able to trade jobs with Chris for a week. Clearly the place to build a rapport with cute guys was over CDs, not espresso machines.
Tyson tried not to sound too keen when Darren asked if he wanted to eat lunch in the store with him and Chris a couple of days later. Judging from the annoyingly knowing smile Darren gave him, it didn't quite work. According to Chris, who Tyson had casually quizzed the day before, Nick was a pretty regular customer. He quietly hoped Nick's sister had scratched a few more CDs. Chris laughed when Tyson had come in to the store and then worked his mouth into that same knowing smile that Darren had given him not ten minutes ago.
“Is it that obvious?” Tyson asked, as he set down next to Darren.
“Please,” Chris said, pinching one of Darren's fries, “you might as well be wearing an I ♥ Nick shirt.”
“I do not heart the guy. I've only spoken to him once!” Tyson protested unconvincingly, smacking Chris' hand away as it reached for his fries.
“Like that matters!” Darren said through a mouthful of burger.
“Yeah,” Chris agreed. “Look at all those princesses in fairy tales. They only see the guy once before deciding they want his babies. Sometimes they don't even speak to them.”
“I am not a princess. And I don't want Nick's babies,” Tyson pouted, and added quietly, “I'd be happy with just a date.”
Chris and Darren clutched each other and awwed at him. Tyson had to laugh, but threw a fry at them on principle.
Half an hour went by and Tyson gave up hope of Nick coming in the store before they had to go back to work. He ate his lunch slowly, occasionally chipping in, but mostly just listening to Chris and Darren talk, a fond smile settled over his features. At some point, the conversation came around to Tyson's habit of singing loudly to whatever happened to be playing at work. If Darren hadn't been getting tired of hearing Paul McCartney on repeat already, Tyson belting songs out as they cleaned up every closing time certainly wouldn't have helped. Tyson feigned physical pain when Darren told him as much and clutched his chest dramatically.
“You cut me to the quick, Mr. Wilson! I'm not that bad, surely?”
Darren laughed.
“No, no, it's not you,” he insisted, “it's the songs. I'm sick of hearing them. I'd ask if we could play a different CD, but God forbid I should ever say a bad word against a Beatle in front of Jon. You've actually got a really great voice. Like, seriously great.”
Tyson beamed. Chris demanded to hear this so-called wonder voice and went to pick a song to put on the stereo for him to sing along to. Tyson rolled his eyes, but he didn't really mind. He actually really liked singing. It was one of those things he was naturally good at. He didn't sing so much at home though; it always earned him even more jibes and dark looks from William than usual. Tyson could only assume it was something to do with William's self image: he was the singer in that apartment and no one else could be.
“Here's one just for you, Ty,” Chris grinned as he hit the play button.
Tyson adopted his best 'we are not amused' face as he heard Crazy Little Thing Called Love start up, but started singing along anyway. It was a great song, after all. He soon got into it, standing up to give Chris and Darren their own mini performance. He was so wrapped up in the song that he didn't even notice the shop door open. It was somewhere in the solo, which Tyson was faithfully recreating on air guitar, that Chris and Darren sat up and exchanged identical mischievous looks.
“Hi,” a voice close behind him said. Tyson immediately put down the air guitar and turned to see Nick watching him with a look of what Tyson took to be amusement. He was vaguely aware of Freddie Mercury's voice coming from the stereo crooning that he had to be cool, relax. Tyson silently thanked him for the advice.
“Hey,” he answered, just about managing to squeeze the syllable out of his throat. Be cool, he reminded himself, relax. This was about the only chance he had to actually talk to Nick about something other than coffee and he was going to make the most of it. If his brain and mouth were willing to cooperate.
“That was quite a performance,” Nick grinned.
Tyson grinned back. Chris announced he'd be sorting stuff in the storeroom if anyone needed him and pulled Darren into the back with him. Tyson beamed his gratitude to them before turning back to Nick.
“Thanks,” he said. “I'm available for private functions too. Weddings, christenings, Bar Mitzvahs. You name it.”
Nick laughed. “I'll keep that in mind. But seriously though, I meant it. You've got an amazing voice.”
Tyson was surprised to feel himself blushing. “Thanks,” he said, softer this time.
“See, I can play,” Nick went on, “but I can't sing. If I could, I'd try going solo. As it is, I gotta try and find a band I can stick with for more than a month if I'm ever gonna make something out of this. Much as I like busking, I'm not exactly earning big bucks.”
“That's hard to believe. You're really great,” Tyson said, fitting all the sincerity he could into his words. “Any band'd be lucky to have you.”
Nick gave him a smile that seemed to radiate from every particle. “Well, what about you? You shouldn't be stuck serving coffee when you can sing like that.”
Tyson shrugged, “Nah, I'm not really interested. Maybe if I could play, but. A good voice ain't much use without something to back it up, y'know?”
“So,” Nick said, moving closer, “you can sing and I can play, huh?”
“Yeah,” Tyson breathed into the increasingly smaller space between the two of them.
“Well,” Nick said, barely two inches away from Tyson now, “maybe we should get together some time.”
He paused for a second, eyes darting down to Tyson's mouth, before letting a crooked grin spread across his face and moving back a step. Tyson let out the breath he'd been holding. Nick eyed him for a moment longer, before adjusting his guitar and flashing a final grin and leaving the store. A sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper escaped from Tyson's throat and his spine felt strangely liquid. Chris and Darren came back out when they heard the bell on the door go.
“Well?” they asked.
Tyson just about managed to tell them what had been said. What they didn't get from words they worked out from the gleam in Tyson's eyes and the hand gestures he made, that seemed to be trying to quantify the incredible amount of sexual tension in the air.
“That's it,” Darren said, when Tyson had finished. “When he next comes in, you're serving him.”
It was quiet in work the next afternoon. Tyson and Darren were lounging by the espresso machine when Nick walked through the door, guitar case slung casually over his shoulder. Tyson practically leapt behind the cash register, ignoring the snort of laughter Darren let out. Tyson's stomach squirmed as Nick walked up to the counter, pushing his sunglasses up to rest on his head. A slow smile spread across Nick's face as his eyes landed on Tyson.
“Coffee,” Tyson said before Nick had even opened his mouth. “Black, right?”
Nick grinned. “Right,” he said.
“Venti?”
“Yup.”
“Sitting in or taking out?”
“Take out.”
Tyson nodded, smiling as he grabbed a cup and went over to pour Nick’s coffee. From the corner of his eye Tyson could see Darren giggling silently, making encouraging gestures. He made a mental note to hit him later.
“So, uh,” he heard Nick's voice from over his shoulder, “you're a Queen fan too?”
Tyson jerked his head around to look at Nick, nearly spilling Estima blend all over himself as he did. “Sorry?”
“In the store. Yesterday. You, uh, you were singing Queen.”
“Oh! Yeah, sorry, yeah. Big fan. I mean, Brian May,” Tyson said, pressing a lid onto the cup.
“I know right?” Nick enthused, grinning as Tyson walked back over to the counter. “He’s one of my heroes. I even got a Queen tattoo.” He shifted his guitar and rolled back the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal the pattern inked into his skin.
“Wow,” was about all Tyson could get out. His free hand helpfully gripped the counter just as his knees threatened to give away. An increasingly warm, prickling feeling beneath the pads of his fingers gently reminded him that he was still clutching Nick’s coffee. “Oh, uh, here’s your drink,” he said, holding it out.
Their hands brushed together as Nick took the cup and Tyson could feel the calluses on Nick’s fingers. “Thanks,” he smiled, eyes fixed on Tyson’s.
“Um,” Tyson managed after a moment, when some blood had made its way back to his brain. “That’s, uh. That’ll be $2.15, please.”
“Oh,” Nick started, fumbling in the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. He paused for a few seconds, biting his bottom lip and the entire length of Tyson’s spine tingled pleasantly.
“Could I, uh. Could I get a, uh-” Nick’s hand went to the back of his head to mess with his hair as he scanned the display “- uh, one of those parfait things as well?”
Tyson grinned. “Sure, what flavour?”
“What you got?” Nick's eyebrow arched up, along with one corner of his mouth in a way that was surely too attractive to be allowed.
“Strawberry and banana, or peach and raspberry.”
“Which would you recommend?” Nick asked, resting against the counter.
“Well, personally,” Tyson leaned in conspiratorially, a smile flashing across his eyes, “I like banana better than peach, but. They're both good.”
“Hmm,” Nick hummed thoughtfully, his gaze flickering down to Tyson's grin briefly, before coming back up to meet his eyes. “I'd have to agree. Strawberry and banana it is.”
If another customer hadn't walked through the door just then, Tyson would've asked Nick if he knew about their range of coffees for sale, or if he wanted to get a Starbucks card, or if he wanted to buy a mug, or something to keep him talking for a while longer. As it was, he reluctantly rang up Nick's order on the register, handed him his change and wished him a good day. Nick thanked him and gave him a lingering smile. With great difficulty, Tyson tore his eyes away from observing the way Nick's ass moved as he walked to the door.
“Hi, there,” he said, painting his Starbucks smile back on as he turned his attention to the girl now stood at the counter. “What can I get for you?”
For the following weeks, Tyson felt like his life had finally assumed a shape it could be happy staying in. Nick came in every afternoon without fail and Darren had started letting Tyson man the register whenever Nick was there. A cash register was also a superior place to the espresso machine when it came to holding a conversation. Some days they'd be able to talk for a good few minutes before another customer came along. Other times, they'd be really busy and there'd only be time for a brief exchange. Whenever that happened, Tyson tried to make up for lack of time by flirting even more outrageously than usual.
Things with William had settled down since Tyson had started work. He worked every afternoon and some evenings. Sometimes Jon would put him down for extra shifts with little notice. Tyson suspected those shifts had something to do with William from Jon's tone and manner whenever this happened. Tyson didn't really mind though; it meant he got to stay out of William's way for longer and get paid for it.
One Tuesday afternoon, Tyson had a rare day off work. He had covered for Gerard last week when he'd been at his little brother's wedding, so Gerard was doing Tyson's shift that day. William wasn't at home. He'd been out since Tyson got back from work the day before. Tyson assumed he was at Gabe's. A day in the apartment by himself was a rare occurrence these days, and Tyson planned to take full advantage by eating pizza and watching movies on the big TV in the living room.
It was evening before Tyson peeled himself off the couch. He stuck a CD on and went into the kitchen to grab a snack, singing along at the top of his voice. He was just working up the key change in the song that was playing, when the music cut out abruptly. Tyson carried on singing for a couple of seconds before he noticed. Frowning, he went into the lounge to see what was wrong with the stereo.
William was stood next to the stereo, a look like a thunderstorm flashing across his eyes. Gabe was a few feet behind him.
“Oh,” was all Tyson said.
“Why,” spat William, like every word was laced with poison, “aren't you at work?”
“Gerard and I switched shifts. I covered for him last week, remember?”
William's eyes flashed again, his jaw clenching. He and Tyson stood in deadly silence, eyeing one another. Tyson could almost feel the heat coming off William. Gabe was apparently oblivious to the dangerous levels of anger radiating from his boyfriend, or whatever the hell William was.
“Was that you singing?” Gabe asked, giving Tyson an appraising look.
It was a few seconds before Tyson replied, tearing his gaze away from William's glare. “Uh, yeah. Yeah it was.”
“Wow.” Gabe sounded impressed. “You've got an really great voice. Ever thought about joining a band?”
Before Tyson could reply, William seemed to finally snap out of his rage-induced paralysis and grabbed Gabe's arm, pushing him back towards the door.
“Come on, Gabe, let's just go back to your place or something. We won't get any privacy here.”
Even if Gabe had wanted to protest, it would've been useless to even try. Tyson knew an angry William was a force to be reckoned with. Gabe called goodbye to Tyson as he left. William stood in the doorway and glared at Tyson for a moment. He was strongly reminded of a volcano that had been lying dormant but was just now waking up. Tyson winced as William slammed the door with enough force to take it off its hinges. Tyson went to bed a few hours later, hoping another night with Gabe would give William time to cool off, glad that he had work tomorrow.
Tyson was in from opening to closing time the next day. It was long hours, but Tyson was glad to be avoiding William. Besides, he was looking forward to Nick stopping by in the afternoon. But two o’clock rolled round and Nick hadn’t stopped in. After that, Tyson’s smile wasn’t quite as perky as it had been in the morning. He kept glancing out of the window, straining his ears to try and hear the steady strum of Nick’s guitar every time the door opened. Darren noticed the drop in Tyson’s mood and spent the rest of their shift trying to cheer him up.
It was half an hour before closing and things had quieted down considerably. Jon told Darren and Tyson to start clearing up now so they could get away earlier. Darren set to wiping the tables and collecting mugs, while Tyson cleared the cakes from the display case and manned the register in case any stragglers came in. Tyson had his head in the display, counting the leftover cookies when he heard one such straggler open the door.
He straightened up, ready to paste on his service smile. His heart skipped a beat and a genuine smile rushed across his face as a flustered looking Nick greeted him.
“Hey,” said Tyson, affection pouring into every letter. “You’re in late today.”
Nick smiled apologetically.
“I know, sorry. I was having lunch with my sister. I swear, that girl does not stop talking.”
Tyson grinned broadly.
“Well, you’re just in time, we’re about to close up.”
“Yeah, I know. I was worried for a while back there. Thought I wasn’t gonna get my fix today.” He smiled in that way that turned Tyson’s entire lower half into jelly.
“One black coffee, coming right up.”
Tyson poured Nick’s drink out for him and handed the cup over. Nick paid him and then stood looking down at the lid of his coffee, a finger tracing patterns along the plastic.
“So, uh,” he started, still looking at the cup in his hands, while Tyson rifled through the register to get his change. “Tell me. How many cups of coffee does a guy have to buy before you’ll ask him out on a date?”
Tyson’s head shot up. Nick was looking right at him now, a coy smile playing over his features. Tyson froze completely and then composed himself one step at a time. He made sure his legs weren’t about to give way, that his brain was still capable of sending words to his mouth. He locked away the small elated sounds that had been building up in his ribcage, took a deep breath and then arranged his mouth into what he hoped was a mysterious and alluring smile.
“Oh,” he said, handing Nick his change, “I think one more should do it.”
Nick eyed him intently for a minute, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.
“Well, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Tyson agreed.
Darren, who had been listening nearby, rushed over in case Tyson needed help staying upright, a huge grin plastered across his face.
“Dude,” was all he could say, and really Tyson thought, that pretty much summed it up. Even the thought of the pissed off roommate who would, no doubt, be prowling around the apartment when he got home couldn’t spoil Tyson's mood.
Nick came in promptly the next day. He didn't even bother ordering any more. Tyson just grabbed a venti take out cup and set to getting him his coffee.
“So,” he said, handing Nick his drink, “you free Saturday?”
Nick beamed at him from his entire body. Tyson thought he could spend the rest of his life trying to make Nick smile like that, and not have wasted a minute.
“That depends. I might have a date Saturday night with this really hot guy. I've been flirting with him for weeks. Thinking Saturday might be the payoff.”
Tyson grinned. “Think you'll get lucky?”
Nick bit his bottom lip softly, his eyes gliding up and down Tyson's whole body. “We'll just have to see, won't we?”
“I guess so,” Tyson smiled, a small pool of heat collecting at the base of his spine.
His stomach dropped when the door opened and some girls came in, chatting brightly.
“So, look, I have to serve these guys now, but we're on for Saturday right?” he rushed, not wanting to let Nick get away before they'd settled on a day at the very least.
“Definitely,” Nick grinned. “I'll be in tomorrow, you can let me know the details then.”
Nick sashayed out of the store, an air of victory following in his wake. Tyson felt Darren nudge him with his elbow. Darren looked almost as gleeful as Tyson felt. He nodded to the storeroom, saying go ahead, take a moment- I'll cover for you with the gesture. Tyson beamed his thanks and practically skipped into the back where he gave voice to the gleeful noises he'd been compressing in his chest. He allowed himself a small victory dance to accompany his delighted sounds before composing himself and getting back to work.
Tyson was still grinning stupidly when Jon approached him a couple of hours later.
“Hey,” Jon said, quietly, his eyes looking everywhere but Tyson's, “when you're done serving this customer, I need to speak to you.”
Tyson's grin faltered momentarily, but he agreed and made his way into the back once he'd bid the customer good day. Jon greeted him with a sad sort of smile and told him to sit down. Tyson frowned slightly as he slid onto a chair. Only unpleasant conversations started with sitting down.
Jon sighed heavily.
“Listen,” he said, running one hand through his hair. “I, uh. Don't really know where to start. Okay, um. You're being transferred.”
Tyson blinked. That? That he hadn't been expecting. “Oh.”
Jon paused, considering Tyson, before continuing.
“You're being transferred to Nevada.”
It took Tyson a few seconds to react, his brain going over the words he'd just heard and trying to make sense of them.
“What?”
“Yeah," Jon sighed heavily. "Look, I hate to have to do this, I really do. But, uh. It's like this. William thinks you're trying to muscle in on Gabe and steal his limelight or something. He called me the other day, completely insane and told me he wanted me to get rid of you. Get you transferred and away from his scene.”
Tyson couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
“I've been racking my brains, trying to think of a way to get round this but. Bill can be scarily single-minded. You know what he's like. I mean, you live with him. I just. I think it'd be best for everyone if you went away ’til he's calmed down.”
This was not happening. It couldn't be happening.
“When?” Tyson managed to squeeze out. His throat felt uncomfortably tight.
“Tomorrow.”
To his credit, it looked like the word gave Jon almost as much pain to say as it gave Tyson to hear. Tyson stuttered incoherently for a minute before lapsing back into a stunned silence.
“Listen, a friend of mine's got a cabin just outside Vegas. He's staying there for a few months with a few other guys while they work on some stuff. I called him yesterday and he said you can stay with them for as long as you need, okay?”
A couple of months. Tyson stared at Jon, incredulity coming off him in waves. Jon placed a hand on Tyson's shoulder and smiled sadly.
“Believe me, if there was some other way around this, I'd take it. If Bill had any say, you wouldn't even be in the fucking country right now. He doesn't know you'll be staying at Pete's and it's best to keep that way, ok? He wants you away from the scene, and well. Pete pretty much is the scene."
Tyson nodded dumbly.
“Here's the address,” Jon said, handing him a slip of paper. “The number of the Starbucks you'll be working at's on there too. You don't start ’til Monday, but it'd be better for you to get out there as soon as possible. I told Pete to expect you by Saturday.”
Saturday. The word cut through Tyson like a knife. Saturday was supposed to be his date with Nick.
“Can't you just-” Tyson breathed, trying to hide the desperation in his voice, “Can't you talk to him? I mean. I can't- I.”
Jon looked at him, pity pooled in his warm eyes.
“I'm really sorry. There's just no reasoning with him when he's like this. It's only for a month or two. And you'll be with some really good guys. They'll take care you, I promise.”
Tyson nodded again, staring down at his shoes.
“You can have the rest of the day off. Use it to pack.” Jon squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and left Tyson alone.
Tyson sat for a minute. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to blink the last five minutes away. It didn't work. He read over the piece of paper Jon had given him again and again, trying to find some hidden solution to this mess in between the lines. He grabbed his bag and went back out into the store. Darren looked at him questioningly. Tyson just shook his head, the smallest of movements. It was easier to let Jon tell the staff whatever he liked than to go in and say goodbye himself. He had to speak to Nick first. What he was going to say, he had no idea. He walked out of the store and headed in a daze to the corner where Nick played. It was a minute before he noticed something wasn't right. There was no music. Nick had gone.
Tyson panicked. It's okay, he told himself. He's probably gone over to the record store. Tyson made his way across the street, his feet moving as quickly as his heart was racing. Nick wasn't there either. He hurried over to the counter.
“Chris,” he said urgently, “Have you seen Nick at all?”
Chris grinned. “Yeah, he was in a couple of hours ago. Mentioned something about a date Saturday night.”
Chris' grin dissolved when he saw Tyson's expression.
“Why, what's up?”
Tyson didn't know where to begin. “I just. I need to speak to him. I've been transferred. And I have to leave tomorrow.”
“Transferred? To a different Starbucks?”
“Try a different state.”
Tyson related most of what Jon had told him and asked Chris to speak to Darren for him. Get him to explain to Nick. Tyson needed him to know this wasn't his choice. He could kick himself for not getting Nick's number earlier. Chris assured him Nick would get the message and pulled him into a warm embrace. Tyson felt an enormous rush of gratitude towards Chris and thanked him before heading home.
When Tyson got back to the apartment, William was in the lounge. He glanced round as Tyson walked in, a smug look settled on his face. Tyson balled his fists and fought a strong desire to wipe that smirk clean off. Instead, he stormed out and set about packing his things. It was made difficult by not knowing how long he'd be gone for or if he'd be coming back here when things had blown over. Tyson laughed darkly. If he did come back, he thought, it wouldn't be for long. He'd start looking for a new place the second he got through the door.
Tyson had been planning to get a good night’s sleep and head to the airport first thing to catch the earliest flight he could. The satisfied smirk and baiting remarks William kept shooting him soon changed his mind. He wasn’t going to spend another minute in that place. As soon as he’d packed, he called a cab and went outside to wait for it. Tyson shivered as an icy wind lashed at his face, grazing his skin. He looked up at the night sky, clouded over and dimmed by the streetlights. If there was ever a time to wish on a star, he thought, this was it.
*
Part Two
Rating: PG-13/R
Pairing(s): Nick/Tyson, William/Gabe, Chris/Darren and any others you might care to see.
Notes: Totally disclaimed. Didn't happen. Written for the band_princesses challenge. I chose Snow White for my prompt and then everyone from bandom decided to be in it. Endless thanks to fizzyblogic for constant support and a speedy beta ♥ Part two linked at the bottom.
"We think, sometimes, there's not a dragon left. Not one brave night, not a single princess gliding through secret forests, enchanting deer and butterflies with her smile.
We think sometimes that ours is an age past frontiers, past adventures. Destiny, it's way over the horizon; glowing shadows galloped past long ago, and gone.
What a pleasure to be wrong. Princesses, knights, enchantments and dragons, mystery and adventure. . .not only are they here-and-now, they're all that ever lived on earth"
-Richard Bach
Through various periods in time, in all corners of the earth, there have been those who have posited a link between music and spirituality, claiming that through song and the act of singing we can connect to some higher plane. At this particular moment in time, however, in the corner of the small bedroom where Tyson lay with his headphones on full blast, the only thing that carousing along with Bonn Scott to declare that he was, in fact, back in black connected him with was the back of William’s hand. And unless William had started drinking earlier than usual, Tyson was pretty sure there was nothing spiritual about the experience.
Tyson took his headphones out and squinted up at William. “What?” he asked, hand instinctively going to the spot on his head that had just been cuffed.
“Get out,” William replied, gesturing to the door with his head. Tyson sat up while the muscles in his face arranged themselves into a look of bleary-eyed confusion.
“Out where?” he asked.
“Of the apartment,” said William, pulling Tyson off the bed with a little more force than necessary. William might've been wiry, but he could be pretty heavy-handed when he wanted. Tyson could practically feel the ghosts of William’s fingers painting his skin. He rubbed his arm pointedly. Either William didn’t notice or chose to ignore him. Tyson suspected the latter.
“Gabe’s coming over in a minute,” William continued, “and I don’t want you here making a racket and getting in our way.”
“I’m in my room,” Tyson protested, not budging.
“Yeah, in my apartment, and I want you gone while he’s here. Can’t you get a fucking job or something and get out from under my feet?”
“It’s not like I’m not trying,” Tyson squeezed out through gritted teeth. “It’s a two-way system, you know, Bill. I can’t help it if no one’ll hire me.”
William rolled his eyes. “Look, whatever,” he said, grabbing Tyson’s wrist and pulling him towards the door, “Just make yourself scarce for a couple of hours, alright?”
Tyson had been living with William for two years now. They’d never been what you could call close- William frequently made snide remarks about Tyson’s Midwestern roots, usually revolving around the words “white” and “trash”- but they’d managed. Recently, however, things had come to a head. Tyson shook William’s hand from his arm indignantly, jaw clenched. He stared back defiantly for a few moments as William glared at him, before eventually backing down with an audible sigh of annoyance. Tyson grabbed his keys and a jacket and slammed the door of the apartment behind him.
Back when Tyson had first moved in, William, in a rare state of openness brought on by a rather more frequent state of drunkenness, had told Tyson how he wanted more than anything to make it big in the music scene. He might not be able to play anything, but he could sing. Sort of. Besides, the singer was usually the focus and really, that was all William wanted to be. He’d said Tyson couldn’t possibly understand, not having grown up in Chicago, where every sidewalk pounded with the music of people and a different melody floated round every corner if you were just willing to stop and listen.
Every other person Tyson had met in Chicago dreamt of being on the music scene, and whilst he had been brought up on rock and roll, singing classic rock tunes for his dad so he could stay up late, Tyson had no interest in making a career out of it. William however seemed set on it. He was kind of fascinating to watch. He kept his ear to the ground; going to every gig he could, going out of his way to meet anyone that was remotely connected. For almost a year, nothing had come from his efforts. Then he met Gabe. Gabe was in one of the better-known bands that William followed. He was well connected and established on the scene, but his band was currently on hiatus and Gabe had been itching to start something new.
It had been pure chance that their paths had crossed, but William wasted no time in seizing opportunity with both hands. Tyson first met Gabe on the same night William did, a few hours later. Tyson had been half asleep and on his way to the bathroom at the time and his impression was one of a tall, naked vaguely ethnic man who may or may not have been embalmed with tequila. It was only the trail of hastily shed clothes leading to William’s room that convinced Tyson he hadn’t dreamed the encounter.
That was two months ago, and William and Gabe had been sleeping together ever since. Tyson had barely spoken two words to Gabe in that time. Whenever Gabe came over to the apartment, William kicked Tyson out. When he wasn't having sex with him, William had been trying to convince Gabe that he was the front man he’d been looking for and that they should start a new band together. How successful he’d been, Tyson wasn’t sure. All he knew was that William could be kind of scary when it came to getting his own way. He wouldn’t risk anything or anyone coming between him and the spotlight, especially not some trailer trash Okie like Tyson.
With Gabe's visits becoming more and more frequent, Tyson had developed a sort of routine to make the hours before he could return to the apartment less tedious. Lately it had involved him walking a couple of blocks to the park and wandering around there until it got too cold, which was when he'd head back to the streets and find somewhere he could sit in the warmth. This varied depending on what time Gabe came round and what kind of mood he was in.
Sometimes he'd find himself in the corner booth at a bar, reading the backs of beer mats, observing people through the bottom of a beer bottle and hoping he didn't look too pathetic. Other times he'd be in a club, talking happily with the rainbow of strangers he encountered there. If Gabe came over in the afternoons, he'd usually browse through whatever store was open, keeping an eye out for any vacancies.
This particular time, he just wanted to sit in a cafe with a hot drink. There was a Starbucks fairly close by, but Tyson knew William's friend Jon was the store manager there, which put him off going in. Although Tyson had seen Jon couple of times in the apartment, he'd never actually spoken to him. William seemed to have made his disdain for Tyson well known because none of his friends ever acknowledged another person living there when they stopped by.
He came to the Starbucks and hovered on the sidewalk opposite, wondering whether to go in. He knew he was being stupid, but the bruises that were forming on his arm really didn't want to be around any friend of William's just then. As he stood, hesitating, he noticed the soft strum of a guitar close by. He wondered for a minute if he was hearing one of Chicago's innate melodies that William had talked about until he recognised the tune as 1999. He looked around and spotted the source of the music. A busker was stood playing on the corner of the street.
Tyson felt his chest squeeze, like his lungs were telling him not to forget about a certain thing called breathing and how it might be good to start doing that again soon. He obliged, his breath escaping in a soft sigh to meet the notes that floated on the air. The busker stood alone, an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. His mouth wasn't moving, but Tyson swore the busker was singing. His whole person rang out with enthusiasm and happiness, like there was nothing in the world he'd rather be doing. It was as though there was no one in the world but him and his guitar. Tyson thought if that were true, it would be no bad thing.
He stood and watched, captivated by the image and sound of the busker and his guitar, until a group of girls walked past, chatting loudly about something jostled him out of his little bubble. He looked at his watch. Gabe should be going soon. Tyson walked towards the busker, trying not to stare too obviously. He was playing a different tune now, one Tyson didn't recognise, but no less enthralling. Tyson fished around in his jacket pocket and found a couple of dollars. He dropped them into the guitar case at the busker's feet as he passed him.
“Thanks,” the busker said, as Tyson met his eyes. He smiled a wry sort of half-smile and really, Tyson thought, that was just not fair when his brain was already trying to deal with putting one foot in front of the other. The walk home went by more quickly than usual, the sound of the busker's guitar punctuating every step, long after he was out of earshot.
Tyson opened the door to the apartment cautiously.
“He's gone, you can come in,” came William's voice from the lounge. Tyson didn't answer. He shut the door behind him and headed straight for his room.
“Wait a second,” William called, “I need to talk to you.”
Tyson ambled over to the couch that William was strewn over watching TV, and waited for him to speak.
“Set your alarm clock early, you’ve got to be up for work tomorrow.”
Tyson blinked. “Huh?”
“I told you, I'm sick of you moping around here all day. You said nowhere would hire you, so I called my friend Jon, he pulled a few strings and got you a job as a barista in his store. He wants you to go in early so he can show you the ropes. Don't say I never do you any favours.”
Tyson blinked again.
“Thanks?” he said, trying not to sound the question mark that followed. He didn't know the first thing about coffee, or about Jon. But it was a job. He could use the money, and he could definitely use the time away from William. He fell into bed a few minutes later, set his alarm clock, and drifted into dreams perfumed with coffee and set to the gentle strum of a guitar.
Jon Walker, it turned out, was nothing like what Tyson had come to expect from William's friends. Tyson wasn't sure if it came from years of serving hot drinks, but everything about Jon, from his friendly brown eyes to his open, familiar smile, exuded warmth and welcome. He wouldn't normally have hired someone with no experience, but Bill had been pretty adamant about it, so he'd agreed to take Tyson on. Jon needn't have worried, though; Tyson took to the job with much more ease than he'd expected him to.
Jon gave him encouraging smiles and made sure he was talking to the other baristas, although Jon himself only really spoke to Tyson when he had to. Although Tyson got on well with all the staff, he was definitely closest to Darren. Darren had worked in Starbucks for a couple of months now. He knew a lot of the regular customers and whenever it was quiet in the store, he'd point people out to Tyson and together they'd weave whole life stories for their clientele. There were the Latte Lovers, a couple who came in every day just after twelve, ordered two grande lattes to sit ignored on the table between them for an hour while they gazed at each other and chatted. There was the All-Americano Girl, a drama student who could take five shots of espresso in one go and who came in at least twice a day for her caffeine fix. The customer Tyson was most interested in, however, didn't come in until his second week at work. Darren introduced him as the Black Coffee Busker.
Tyson's eyes widened as Darren moved to take the guy's order. It was the busker he'd seen playing nearby a couple of weeks ago. Tyson had seen him a couple of times since on the same street corner when he came to and from work, but this was the first time he'd been in the store when Tyson was working. Tyson watched from behind the espresso machine as Darren served the busker. He ordered a black coffee, no room for cream. Tyson couldn't help feeling like he'd been denied a special treat when the busker uttered the words 'to go'.
As Darren was fixing his coffee, the busker's eyes wandered idly round the store and eventually landed on Tyson. Tyson quickly busied himself with the carton of milk in front of him and hoped the busker hadn't seen him staring. He risked a glance upwards. The busker smiled at him, with a calculating look, as he took his coffee from Darren. Tyson watched him all the way to the door. It was surely breaking some kind of law for someone to have that attractive a walk, Tyson thought as he pried his gaze away from the busker's ass.
“I know, right?” Darren grinned, seeing the direction Tyson was staring in.
“So, uh,” Tyson started, trying to sound casual, “Is he a regular customer?”
Darren's grin widened. “He comes in every now and again. Always orders the same thing. He plays just down the street, so. This is a pretty convenient place for him, I guess.”
Tyson was going to ask more about the Black Coffee Busker, but a large group of students walked in and his focus was soon forced to return to espresso.
Tyson thought Darren must have been understating when he said the busker only came in now and again, because he started dropping by almost every day. Darren was always working the register when he came in and Tyson never got to serve him. Darren hadn't been exaggerating when he said the busker always ordered the same thing. Tyson wished that he'd just once order a latte. Over steamed milk probably wasn't the best place to try and start a conversation with someone, but it would've been better than not talking at all.
Friday arrived, and when their lunch hour came around, Tyson and Darren decided to get take out and eat it in the record store where Darren's boyfriend, Chris, worked. Chris and Darren were an odd pair, but they somehow fitted together perfectly. Tyson liked being around them. Darren never smiled quite as brightly as he did when he was with Chris. They seemed to become one entity when they were together, but Tyson never felt excluded. It was, however, difficult to win an argument when they'd invariably side with each other. Today was no exception.
“There isn't even a question, it's just pure fact,” Chris said, pointing a chopstick menacingly at Tyson. “Ninjas are better than pirates.”
“How can you say that? Pirates are the fucking rock stars of the sea, dude.”
“What, blind drunk and riddled with VD?” Chris asked, with as much scepticism as he could fit around a mouthful of Chinese.
“Fuck yeah!” Tyson said, throwing up the horns.
Darren laughed. “Dork.”
“No point asking you what you think. You'll just side with Faller.”
“Better watch out,” Darren warned Chris, “he's using last names.”
Tyson poked Darren in the arm with his chopsticks.
“Shut up. Pirates are cooler and you know it,” he said taking a dignified sip of his Coke that seemed to say so there. Chris opened his mouth to retaliate, when the bell on the door rang to announce a customer's arrival. Tyson's stomach did a back flip when he looked around to see the Black Coffee Busker thumbing through the CDs. He tried to think of winning lines, of some way to introduce himself as someone other than That Barista Who Always Stares At You, But Never Serves You. He wasn't having much luck and then the busker was walking up to the counter, a CD in hand.
“Hey, Nick,” Chris greeted the busker casually. Nick, Tyson said to himself, taking a minute to shape the name around the person.
“Hey,” Nick grinned. His eyes swept across the counter, taking in the empty cartons of food that littered it. “Not interrupting, am I?”
“No, no,” Chris said, trying to clear the cartons away, “we were just having that age-old discussion of ninjas vs. pirates. Tyson here was losing spectacularly.”
Tyson willed his brain to shape some kinds of words for his mouth to say, but it seemed rather distracted at the moment.
“That's a stupid argument,” Nick said. “Pirates clearly win. Ninjas don't even enter into the equation.”
Tyson fought back the strong urge to hug Nick. He just about managed that but in doing so, failed to stop himself letting out a small “Ha!”
Nick turned to Tyson for the first time, his face lighting up. “You agree?”
Tyson nodded dumbly.
“Aww, Nick, man,” Chris sighed. “You let me down. How can you side with pirates?”
Nick shrugged. “The Muppets have never made a movie about ninjas is all I'm sayin',” he said, as though that was all the validation anyone could ever need. It took all of Tyson's self-control not to let out the small squeaking sound that was forming in the back of his throat.
Nick was still looking at him.
“You work in the Starbucks, right? Across the street?”
Tyson nodded again. Words, he thought, words would be good.
“I thought I recognised you.” Nick smiled and let his eyes run down the length of Tyson's body and back. When Tyson didn't say anything, Nick turned back to Chris.
“Just the one CD today,” he said, holding up an album. Tyson recognised the cover.
“Oh, cool, 'Purple Rain'!” he blurted out.
Nick perked up, “Yeah! You a fan of the Purple One?”
Tyson nodded. “I heard you playing 1999 the other week. It was really good. That's a great album,” he said, indicating the CD in Nick's hand. “Good choice.”
Nick smiled and Tyson noticed that he really rather liked it when Nick did that.
“Thanks. I actually already have a copy,” Nick said, “but I lent it to my sister and now it's all scratched up. She's going to give me the money for the replacement. Of course, she doesn't know that yet.”
Tyson laughed. Nick handed the CD over to Chris. He paid him, and took the bag and his change, before turning again to Tyson and saying goodbye.
“Bye,” Tyson said, with the smallest sigh, as Nick walked out. He was glad they didn't have to head back to work just yet. He figured he'd need a couple of minutes before his legs would function properly again. He wondered vaguely if maybe he'd be able to trade jobs with Chris for a week. Clearly the place to build a rapport with cute guys was over CDs, not espresso machines.
Tyson tried not to sound too keen when Darren asked if he wanted to eat lunch in the store with him and Chris a couple of days later. Judging from the annoyingly knowing smile Darren gave him, it didn't quite work. According to Chris, who Tyson had casually quizzed the day before, Nick was a pretty regular customer. He quietly hoped Nick's sister had scratched a few more CDs. Chris laughed when Tyson had come in to the store and then worked his mouth into that same knowing smile that Darren had given him not ten minutes ago.
“Is it that obvious?” Tyson asked, as he set down next to Darren.
“Please,” Chris said, pinching one of Darren's fries, “you might as well be wearing an I ♥ Nick shirt.”
“I do not heart the guy. I've only spoken to him once!” Tyson protested unconvincingly, smacking Chris' hand away as it reached for his fries.
“Like that matters!” Darren said through a mouthful of burger.
“Yeah,” Chris agreed. “Look at all those princesses in fairy tales. They only see the guy once before deciding they want his babies. Sometimes they don't even speak to them.”
“I am not a princess. And I don't want Nick's babies,” Tyson pouted, and added quietly, “I'd be happy with just a date.”
Chris and Darren clutched each other and awwed at him. Tyson had to laugh, but threw a fry at them on principle.
Half an hour went by and Tyson gave up hope of Nick coming in the store before they had to go back to work. He ate his lunch slowly, occasionally chipping in, but mostly just listening to Chris and Darren talk, a fond smile settled over his features. At some point, the conversation came around to Tyson's habit of singing loudly to whatever happened to be playing at work. If Darren hadn't been getting tired of hearing Paul McCartney on repeat already, Tyson belting songs out as they cleaned up every closing time certainly wouldn't have helped. Tyson feigned physical pain when Darren told him as much and clutched his chest dramatically.
“You cut me to the quick, Mr. Wilson! I'm not that bad, surely?”
Darren laughed.
“No, no, it's not you,” he insisted, “it's the songs. I'm sick of hearing them. I'd ask if we could play a different CD, but God forbid I should ever say a bad word against a Beatle in front of Jon. You've actually got a really great voice. Like, seriously great.”
Tyson beamed. Chris demanded to hear this so-called wonder voice and went to pick a song to put on the stereo for him to sing along to. Tyson rolled his eyes, but he didn't really mind. He actually really liked singing. It was one of those things he was naturally good at. He didn't sing so much at home though; it always earned him even more jibes and dark looks from William than usual. Tyson could only assume it was something to do with William's self image: he was the singer in that apartment and no one else could be.
“Here's one just for you, Ty,” Chris grinned as he hit the play button.
Tyson adopted his best 'we are not amused' face as he heard Crazy Little Thing Called Love start up, but started singing along anyway. It was a great song, after all. He soon got into it, standing up to give Chris and Darren their own mini performance. He was so wrapped up in the song that he didn't even notice the shop door open. It was somewhere in the solo, which Tyson was faithfully recreating on air guitar, that Chris and Darren sat up and exchanged identical mischievous looks.
“Hi,” a voice close behind him said. Tyson immediately put down the air guitar and turned to see Nick watching him with a look of what Tyson took to be amusement. He was vaguely aware of Freddie Mercury's voice coming from the stereo crooning that he had to be cool, relax. Tyson silently thanked him for the advice.
“Hey,” he answered, just about managing to squeeze the syllable out of his throat. Be cool, he reminded himself, relax. This was about the only chance he had to actually talk to Nick about something other than coffee and he was going to make the most of it. If his brain and mouth were willing to cooperate.
“That was quite a performance,” Nick grinned.
Tyson grinned back. Chris announced he'd be sorting stuff in the storeroom if anyone needed him and pulled Darren into the back with him. Tyson beamed his gratitude to them before turning back to Nick.
“Thanks,” he said. “I'm available for private functions too. Weddings, christenings, Bar Mitzvahs. You name it.”
Nick laughed. “I'll keep that in mind. But seriously though, I meant it. You've got an amazing voice.”
Tyson was surprised to feel himself blushing. “Thanks,” he said, softer this time.
“See, I can play,” Nick went on, “but I can't sing. If I could, I'd try going solo. As it is, I gotta try and find a band I can stick with for more than a month if I'm ever gonna make something out of this. Much as I like busking, I'm not exactly earning big bucks.”
“That's hard to believe. You're really great,” Tyson said, fitting all the sincerity he could into his words. “Any band'd be lucky to have you.”
Nick gave him a smile that seemed to radiate from every particle. “Well, what about you? You shouldn't be stuck serving coffee when you can sing like that.”
Tyson shrugged, “Nah, I'm not really interested. Maybe if I could play, but. A good voice ain't much use without something to back it up, y'know?”
“So,” Nick said, moving closer, “you can sing and I can play, huh?”
“Yeah,” Tyson breathed into the increasingly smaller space between the two of them.
“Well,” Nick said, barely two inches away from Tyson now, “maybe we should get together some time.”
He paused for a second, eyes darting down to Tyson's mouth, before letting a crooked grin spread across his face and moving back a step. Tyson let out the breath he'd been holding. Nick eyed him for a moment longer, before adjusting his guitar and flashing a final grin and leaving the store. A sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper escaped from Tyson's throat and his spine felt strangely liquid. Chris and Darren came back out when they heard the bell on the door go.
“Well?” they asked.
Tyson just about managed to tell them what had been said. What they didn't get from words they worked out from the gleam in Tyson's eyes and the hand gestures he made, that seemed to be trying to quantify the incredible amount of sexual tension in the air.
“That's it,” Darren said, when Tyson had finished. “When he next comes in, you're serving him.”
It was quiet in work the next afternoon. Tyson and Darren were lounging by the espresso machine when Nick walked through the door, guitar case slung casually over his shoulder. Tyson practically leapt behind the cash register, ignoring the snort of laughter Darren let out. Tyson's stomach squirmed as Nick walked up to the counter, pushing his sunglasses up to rest on his head. A slow smile spread across Nick's face as his eyes landed on Tyson.
“Coffee,” Tyson said before Nick had even opened his mouth. “Black, right?”
Nick grinned. “Right,” he said.
“Venti?”
“Yup.”
“Sitting in or taking out?”
“Take out.”
Tyson nodded, smiling as he grabbed a cup and went over to pour Nick’s coffee. From the corner of his eye Tyson could see Darren giggling silently, making encouraging gestures. He made a mental note to hit him later.
“So, uh,” he heard Nick's voice from over his shoulder, “you're a Queen fan too?”
Tyson jerked his head around to look at Nick, nearly spilling Estima blend all over himself as he did. “Sorry?”
“In the store. Yesterday. You, uh, you were singing Queen.”
“Oh! Yeah, sorry, yeah. Big fan. I mean, Brian May,” Tyson said, pressing a lid onto the cup.
“I know right?” Nick enthused, grinning as Tyson walked back over to the counter. “He’s one of my heroes. I even got a Queen tattoo.” He shifted his guitar and rolled back the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal the pattern inked into his skin.
“Wow,” was about all Tyson could get out. His free hand helpfully gripped the counter just as his knees threatened to give away. An increasingly warm, prickling feeling beneath the pads of his fingers gently reminded him that he was still clutching Nick’s coffee. “Oh, uh, here’s your drink,” he said, holding it out.
Their hands brushed together as Nick took the cup and Tyson could feel the calluses on Nick’s fingers. “Thanks,” he smiled, eyes fixed on Tyson’s.
“Um,” Tyson managed after a moment, when some blood had made its way back to his brain. “That’s, uh. That’ll be $2.15, please.”
“Oh,” Nick started, fumbling in the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. He paused for a few seconds, biting his bottom lip and the entire length of Tyson’s spine tingled pleasantly.
“Could I, uh. Could I get a, uh-” Nick’s hand went to the back of his head to mess with his hair as he scanned the display “- uh, one of those parfait things as well?”
Tyson grinned. “Sure, what flavour?”
“What you got?” Nick's eyebrow arched up, along with one corner of his mouth in a way that was surely too attractive to be allowed.
“Strawberry and banana, or peach and raspberry.”
“Which would you recommend?” Nick asked, resting against the counter.
“Well, personally,” Tyson leaned in conspiratorially, a smile flashing across his eyes, “I like banana better than peach, but. They're both good.”
“Hmm,” Nick hummed thoughtfully, his gaze flickering down to Tyson's grin briefly, before coming back up to meet his eyes. “I'd have to agree. Strawberry and banana it is.”
If another customer hadn't walked through the door just then, Tyson would've asked Nick if he knew about their range of coffees for sale, or if he wanted to get a Starbucks card, or if he wanted to buy a mug, or something to keep him talking for a while longer. As it was, he reluctantly rang up Nick's order on the register, handed him his change and wished him a good day. Nick thanked him and gave him a lingering smile. With great difficulty, Tyson tore his eyes away from observing the way Nick's ass moved as he walked to the door.
“Hi, there,” he said, painting his Starbucks smile back on as he turned his attention to the girl now stood at the counter. “What can I get for you?”
For the following weeks, Tyson felt like his life had finally assumed a shape it could be happy staying in. Nick came in every afternoon without fail and Darren had started letting Tyson man the register whenever Nick was there. A cash register was also a superior place to the espresso machine when it came to holding a conversation. Some days they'd be able to talk for a good few minutes before another customer came along. Other times, they'd be really busy and there'd only be time for a brief exchange. Whenever that happened, Tyson tried to make up for lack of time by flirting even more outrageously than usual.
Things with William had settled down since Tyson had started work. He worked every afternoon and some evenings. Sometimes Jon would put him down for extra shifts with little notice. Tyson suspected those shifts had something to do with William from Jon's tone and manner whenever this happened. Tyson didn't really mind though; it meant he got to stay out of William's way for longer and get paid for it.
One Tuesday afternoon, Tyson had a rare day off work. He had covered for Gerard last week when he'd been at his little brother's wedding, so Gerard was doing Tyson's shift that day. William wasn't at home. He'd been out since Tyson got back from work the day before. Tyson assumed he was at Gabe's. A day in the apartment by himself was a rare occurrence these days, and Tyson planned to take full advantage by eating pizza and watching movies on the big TV in the living room.
It was evening before Tyson peeled himself off the couch. He stuck a CD on and went into the kitchen to grab a snack, singing along at the top of his voice. He was just working up the key change in the song that was playing, when the music cut out abruptly. Tyson carried on singing for a couple of seconds before he noticed. Frowning, he went into the lounge to see what was wrong with the stereo.
William was stood next to the stereo, a look like a thunderstorm flashing across his eyes. Gabe was a few feet behind him.
“Oh,” was all Tyson said.
“Why,” spat William, like every word was laced with poison, “aren't you at work?”
“Gerard and I switched shifts. I covered for him last week, remember?”
William's eyes flashed again, his jaw clenching. He and Tyson stood in deadly silence, eyeing one another. Tyson could almost feel the heat coming off William. Gabe was apparently oblivious to the dangerous levels of anger radiating from his boyfriend, or whatever the hell William was.
“Was that you singing?” Gabe asked, giving Tyson an appraising look.
It was a few seconds before Tyson replied, tearing his gaze away from William's glare. “Uh, yeah. Yeah it was.”
“Wow.” Gabe sounded impressed. “You've got an really great voice. Ever thought about joining a band?”
Before Tyson could reply, William seemed to finally snap out of his rage-induced paralysis and grabbed Gabe's arm, pushing him back towards the door.
“Come on, Gabe, let's just go back to your place or something. We won't get any privacy here.”
Even if Gabe had wanted to protest, it would've been useless to even try. Tyson knew an angry William was a force to be reckoned with. Gabe called goodbye to Tyson as he left. William stood in the doorway and glared at Tyson for a moment. He was strongly reminded of a volcano that had been lying dormant but was just now waking up. Tyson winced as William slammed the door with enough force to take it off its hinges. Tyson went to bed a few hours later, hoping another night with Gabe would give William time to cool off, glad that he had work tomorrow.
Tyson was in from opening to closing time the next day. It was long hours, but Tyson was glad to be avoiding William. Besides, he was looking forward to Nick stopping by in the afternoon. But two o’clock rolled round and Nick hadn’t stopped in. After that, Tyson’s smile wasn’t quite as perky as it had been in the morning. He kept glancing out of the window, straining his ears to try and hear the steady strum of Nick’s guitar every time the door opened. Darren noticed the drop in Tyson’s mood and spent the rest of their shift trying to cheer him up.
It was half an hour before closing and things had quieted down considerably. Jon told Darren and Tyson to start clearing up now so they could get away earlier. Darren set to wiping the tables and collecting mugs, while Tyson cleared the cakes from the display case and manned the register in case any stragglers came in. Tyson had his head in the display, counting the leftover cookies when he heard one such straggler open the door.
He straightened up, ready to paste on his service smile. His heart skipped a beat and a genuine smile rushed across his face as a flustered looking Nick greeted him.
“Hey,” said Tyson, affection pouring into every letter. “You’re in late today.”
Nick smiled apologetically.
“I know, sorry. I was having lunch with my sister. I swear, that girl does not stop talking.”
Tyson grinned broadly.
“Well, you’re just in time, we’re about to close up.”
“Yeah, I know. I was worried for a while back there. Thought I wasn’t gonna get my fix today.” He smiled in that way that turned Tyson’s entire lower half into jelly.
“One black coffee, coming right up.”
Tyson poured Nick’s drink out for him and handed the cup over. Nick paid him and then stood looking down at the lid of his coffee, a finger tracing patterns along the plastic.
“So, uh,” he started, still looking at the cup in his hands, while Tyson rifled through the register to get his change. “Tell me. How many cups of coffee does a guy have to buy before you’ll ask him out on a date?”
Tyson’s head shot up. Nick was looking right at him now, a coy smile playing over his features. Tyson froze completely and then composed himself one step at a time. He made sure his legs weren’t about to give way, that his brain was still capable of sending words to his mouth. He locked away the small elated sounds that had been building up in his ribcage, took a deep breath and then arranged his mouth into what he hoped was a mysterious and alluring smile.
“Oh,” he said, handing Nick his change, “I think one more should do it.”
Nick eyed him intently for a minute, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.
“Well, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Tyson agreed.
Darren, who had been listening nearby, rushed over in case Tyson needed help staying upright, a huge grin plastered across his face.
“Dude,” was all he could say, and really Tyson thought, that pretty much summed it up. Even the thought of the pissed off roommate who would, no doubt, be prowling around the apartment when he got home couldn’t spoil Tyson's mood.
Nick came in promptly the next day. He didn't even bother ordering any more. Tyson just grabbed a venti take out cup and set to getting him his coffee.
“So,” he said, handing Nick his drink, “you free Saturday?”
Nick beamed at him from his entire body. Tyson thought he could spend the rest of his life trying to make Nick smile like that, and not have wasted a minute.
“That depends. I might have a date Saturday night with this really hot guy. I've been flirting with him for weeks. Thinking Saturday might be the payoff.”
Tyson grinned. “Think you'll get lucky?”
Nick bit his bottom lip softly, his eyes gliding up and down Tyson's whole body. “We'll just have to see, won't we?”
“I guess so,” Tyson smiled, a small pool of heat collecting at the base of his spine.
His stomach dropped when the door opened and some girls came in, chatting brightly.
“So, look, I have to serve these guys now, but we're on for Saturday right?” he rushed, not wanting to let Nick get away before they'd settled on a day at the very least.
“Definitely,” Nick grinned. “I'll be in tomorrow, you can let me know the details then.”
Nick sashayed out of the store, an air of victory following in his wake. Tyson felt Darren nudge him with his elbow. Darren looked almost as gleeful as Tyson felt. He nodded to the storeroom, saying go ahead, take a moment- I'll cover for you with the gesture. Tyson beamed his thanks and practically skipped into the back where he gave voice to the gleeful noises he'd been compressing in his chest. He allowed himself a small victory dance to accompany his delighted sounds before composing himself and getting back to work.
Tyson was still grinning stupidly when Jon approached him a couple of hours later.
“Hey,” Jon said, quietly, his eyes looking everywhere but Tyson's, “when you're done serving this customer, I need to speak to you.”
Tyson's grin faltered momentarily, but he agreed and made his way into the back once he'd bid the customer good day. Jon greeted him with a sad sort of smile and told him to sit down. Tyson frowned slightly as he slid onto a chair. Only unpleasant conversations started with sitting down.
Jon sighed heavily.
“Listen,” he said, running one hand through his hair. “I, uh. Don't really know where to start. Okay, um. You're being transferred.”
Tyson blinked. That? That he hadn't been expecting. “Oh.”
Jon paused, considering Tyson, before continuing.
“You're being transferred to Nevada.”
It took Tyson a few seconds to react, his brain going over the words he'd just heard and trying to make sense of them.
“What?”
“Yeah," Jon sighed heavily. "Look, I hate to have to do this, I really do. But, uh. It's like this. William thinks you're trying to muscle in on Gabe and steal his limelight or something. He called me the other day, completely insane and told me he wanted me to get rid of you. Get you transferred and away from his scene.”
Tyson couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
“I've been racking my brains, trying to think of a way to get round this but. Bill can be scarily single-minded. You know what he's like. I mean, you live with him. I just. I think it'd be best for everyone if you went away ’til he's calmed down.”
This was not happening. It couldn't be happening.
“When?” Tyson managed to squeeze out. His throat felt uncomfortably tight.
“Tomorrow.”
To his credit, it looked like the word gave Jon almost as much pain to say as it gave Tyson to hear. Tyson stuttered incoherently for a minute before lapsing back into a stunned silence.
“Listen, a friend of mine's got a cabin just outside Vegas. He's staying there for a few months with a few other guys while they work on some stuff. I called him yesterday and he said you can stay with them for as long as you need, okay?”
A couple of months. Tyson stared at Jon, incredulity coming off him in waves. Jon placed a hand on Tyson's shoulder and smiled sadly.
“Believe me, if there was some other way around this, I'd take it. If Bill had any say, you wouldn't even be in the fucking country right now. He doesn't know you'll be staying at Pete's and it's best to keep that way, ok? He wants you away from the scene, and well. Pete pretty much is the scene."
Tyson nodded dumbly.
“Here's the address,” Jon said, handing him a slip of paper. “The number of the Starbucks you'll be working at's on there too. You don't start ’til Monday, but it'd be better for you to get out there as soon as possible. I told Pete to expect you by Saturday.”
Saturday. The word cut through Tyson like a knife. Saturday was supposed to be his date with Nick.
“Can't you just-” Tyson breathed, trying to hide the desperation in his voice, “Can't you talk to him? I mean. I can't- I.”
Jon looked at him, pity pooled in his warm eyes.
“I'm really sorry. There's just no reasoning with him when he's like this. It's only for a month or two. And you'll be with some really good guys. They'll take care you, I promise.”
Tyson nodded again, staring down at his shoes.
“You can have the rest of the day off. Use it to pack.” Jon squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and left Tyson alone.
Tyson sat for a minute. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to blink the last five minutes away. It didn't work. He read over the piece of paper Jon had given him again and again, trying to find some hidden solution to this mess in between the lines. He grabbed his bag and went back out into the store. Darren looked at him questioningly. Tyson just shook his head, the smallest of movements. It was easier to let Jon tell the staff whatever he liked than to go in and say goodbye himself. He had to speak to Nick first. What he was going to say, he had no idea. He walked out of the store and headed in a daze to the corner where Nick played. It was a minute before he noticed something wasn't right. There was no music. Nick had gone.
Tyson panicked. It's okay, he told himself. He's probably gone over to the record store. Tyson made his way across the street, his feet moving as quickly as his heart was racing. Nick wasn't there either. He hurried over to the counter.
“Chris,” he said urgently, “Have you seen Nick at all?”
Chris grinned. “Yeah, he was in a couple of hours ago. Mentioned something about a date Saturday night.”
Chris' grin dissolved when he saw Tyson's expression.
“Why, what's up?”
Tyson didn't know where to begin. “I just. I need to speak to him. I've been transferred. And I have to leave tomorrow.”
“Transferred? To a different Starbucks?”
“Try a different state.”
Tyson related most of what Jon had told him and asked Chris to speak to Darren for him. Get him to explain to Nick. Tyson needed him to know this wasn't his choice. He could kick himself for not getting Nick's number earlier. Chris assured him Nick would get the message and pulled him into a warm embrace. Tyson felt an enormous rush of gratitude towards Chris and thanked him before heading home.
When Tyson got back to the apartment, William was in the lounge. He glanced round as Tyson walked in, a smug look settled on his face. Tyson balled his fists and fought a strong desire to wipe that smirk clean off. Instead, he stormed out and set about packing his things. It was made difficult by not knowing how long he'd be gone for or if he'd be coming back here when things had blown over. Tyson laughed darkly. If he did come back, he thought, it wouldn't be for long. He'd start looking for a new place the second he got through the door.
Tyson had been planning to get a good night’s sleep and head to the airport first thing to catch the earliest flight he could. The satisfied smirk and baiting remarks William kept shooting him soon changed his mind. He wasn’t going to spend another minute in that place. As soon as he’d packed, he called a cab and went outside to wait for it. Tyson shivered as an icy wind lashed at his face, grazing his skin. He looked up at the night sky, clouded over and dimmed by the streetlights. If there was ever a time to wish on a star, he thought, this was it.
*
Part Two