#junelujano

[wildroseofarran]

"Uh, yeah. Thinkin' out west. Like," Inner City, "I dunno. Arizona. Utah, maybe. Someplace don't look like this." No one, not even his mother, was going to hear him utter the name of that place. Sure he had conversed about Stan Norman's home during visits, but not about his living there.

Already knew in his gut his mother would try to bring a piece of herself along for the ride. So such thing as an isolated Samsa.

"Yeah. Phoenix is soundin' pretty good."

“Phoenix…” That was so much farther than she’d been expecting. “Well, it certainly couldn’t look much more different from here if it tried. Trading the coast for the desert. You’re gonna be jonesing for good seafood by the time you get back,” she added, smiling in the hopes of bringing some levity.

[wildroseofarran]

    Part of the reason for this declaration was the finality of it. No longer a secret admirer; no whisper of adoration to publicly deny. And no crawling through a window in the dead of night.

    Pentex wasn’t a dream. His existence was real, and his reason for existence was real. And yet despite the terror trembling in his hands, he endured. This was everything he hated for a man he couldn’t despise.  

    Fletcher was by no means a professional, but his performance barely stuttered when he realized Peter’s tears. He would only draw attention by etching his concern on his brow. He focused on his guitar, and with as little flare as possible, ended the number gently, muttered his gratitude, and unplugged his guitar.

    He couldn’t last another night of this. Peter was in tears and he was going insane with anticipation. What was said was said. He could say the rest in person.

    But it was another night of rain, and once more he hesitated at the door.

As well as it spoke of Fletcher’s professionalism, even if he didn’t draw attention to Pete’s tears, they were noticed anyway by those in the pub who had caught on to what had been happening all week. Everything about this confession was being seen; the performance, its reception by the person it was given to, and the reaction to the reception of the giver.

Pete managed to stay until Fletcher finished the song but the second it was over he practically bolted through the door behind the bar, bypassing the safety of the storage room and the stairs that led to his office in favor of the back door.

The alley was quiet and empty; a perfect place for him to lean against the wall and let himself get all his emotion out in private. Rain be damned.

“Go on, Cal,” Pete, Sr. said to Callum as he slid off his barstool. “You go after Petey.”

As for him? He was catching up with Fletcher at door and patting his shoulder.

“Sure you wanna go out in that?” he asked softly. “A lot drier in the back.”

[wildroseofarran]

This time, Fletcher could look at the crowd. Only a glance and a raise of his hand. As much attention as they were going to receive as he hauled himself off the stage, refusing any drinks and any small talk. He was a curmudgeon, even now. They should know better.

Another night, and Fletcher was back with his spruce acoustic. The size difference in his audience caught him off guard. Someone had blabbed to someone, and that someone to someone else. Too many night owls in this damn town. His head was back to hanging, eyes to the floor.

He told himself this was crazy. This was the most ridiculous, stupid...

If he couldn't handle this, he couldn't handle Inner City.

Another mumbled introduction. "Hello, I'm Fletcher. From... across the street." A glance at the inebriated patrons, Peter, and back to his guitar.

"Every day I love him a little bit more, a little bit more, a little bit more... Every day I love him just a little bit more, and he loves me the same... "

Of course they didn’t know better and if they did, they didn’t care. Despite how much Edenton had grown, it still had the soul of a small town and in small towns, changes in behavior were always noteworthy.

So noteworthy that talk of Fletcher’s two nights playing at the pub had curious patrons popping in, wondering if there would be a third. And wonder was all they could do nice neither Pete nor his bartenders would give anyone a straight answer about whether or not Fletcher would continue playing.

So when he walked in for the third night in a row, they felt as much vindication as anticipation.

Pete couldn’t claim to feel the former and the latter didn’t quite match his feelings. He didn’t even know what they were. But just like the other two nights, all he could do was listen and watch, rooted to the spot.

At least until he realized that Fletcher had changed the lyrics to the song he played in a very small but infinitely significant way. And he wasn’t the only one.

“It’s supposed to be ‘her’,” Kelly murmured from beside him.

Pete nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is.”

“So why is it ‘him’?”

June caught Kelly’s eye and smiled from her seat at the bar. “Why indeed…”

[wildroseofarran]

The end of summer was approaching. Felt in the crisp Atlantic breeze coming down on their little fishing town like the gentle hand of God. Gentle to a deity and almost enough to knock Pennyapple on her ass walking out to her car. Such wind carried into the night, but did nothing to stop Fletcher from crossing the street into Pete's Pub a second time in a row.

The same as yesterday. His eyes remained glued to the floor as he entered, only glancing up to find where Peter stood and nodding to June. Of course she would be here; having told him as much at the gym. She eased the tension by only a hair as he walked up to the stage. This time, at least, he muttered his name.

What am I, Johnny Cash? he thought, bringing his brandywine Gretsch Streamliner to his lap, looking over for the speaker system to set everything up.

The mic was brought low, and once again his eyes fixed on his hands as he sang. "Lonely Bed" by Albert Cummings. Blues was his niche and it showed in the soulful, casual pace, allowing each chord to shine the way only blues could.

"Baby you've got to tell me, you gotta tell me what's going through your head. You know I can't spend one more night sleeping in this lonely bed... "

There was no rushing this song. It would be a disservice. Long stretches of just the guitar, eyes closing as he lost himself in the music, before bringing himself back to the mic. His eyes opened, once more effortless in finding Peter.

"I need you to tell me baby, what it's gonna be? You gonna come back home, back home and stay with me?"

The wind matched Pete’s mood. Yesterday he’d at least been able to identify how he felt. Today? No such luck. He just felt. He couldn’t settle, he couldn’t focus, he caught himself watching the clock far more than he usually would.

Only he and June knew Fletcher would be coming through that door again tonight but it felt like everyone knew, like everyone was staring. Everyone was certainly still talking about it and had been all day.

If seeing Fletcher once had surprised them, seeing him walk in and head for the stage again floored them. Those who had heard him the previous night already knew what to expect and the moment he started to play, he had everyone’s attention glued to him.

Especially Pete’s. And just like yesterday, the moment Fletcher looked at him, he forgot to breathe. Again there was that intimacy that both pinned him to the spot and made him want to turn away.

Tonight…didn’t feel like Fletcher just blowing off steam.

[wildroseofarran]

There would be no looking up. Dead set on watching his fingers and staring at the microphone. Only until the last verse, where all the power in his lungs came forth, all but screaming the same accusatory question, only to fall off the emotion entirely.

"I'm going where the cold wind blows." He knew exactly where Peter was. Felt him from his peripheral and knew he hadn't moved. For this line, he could look up. Watch him until he picked his last string. The final lyrics roughened by his voice were still impossibly soft.

"In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine. I would shiver... the whole night through... "

Whether followed by applause or not, Fletcher only took seconds for himself before he was on his feet and heading for the door, head low and eyes to himself.

Fletcher’s voice and the emotion in it had everyone in the bar in a chokehold, Pete included, but when Fletcher looked up at him Pete just—forgot to breathe all together.

In that moment it felt like Fletcher was singing directly to him, that the venue and going on stage only mattered because Pete happened to be in a place where a stage was readily available but for just that moment, it felt like they were completely alone.

The intimacy of it would’ve been enough to make him look away if Fletcher hadn’t finished his song first and finally allowed Pete to draw breath.

Of course there would be applause. There would be cheers. The stunned silence was only for the performance itself. Once it ended the patrons were only too glad to shower Fletcher with praise and start talking amongst themselves, and even to call after him as he left. A few even shouted offers to buy him a drink.

[wildroseofarran]

    The air in the pub was thick and warm, clinging to his body like a smothering fog. He had seen Peter thousands of times in his lifetime, but tonight gave him fresh eyes. Tonight, and the next few nights, Peter was welcome to misunderstand. His intention would be concealed behind sorrowful songs – so he hoped as he approached the modest stage.

    Fletcher took to the little wooden stool without ceremony. Adjusting the mic stand to his height, he said not a word to the last-call crowd. Hardly empty, despite the hour, despite not being the only bar in this fishing town. Pete’s Pub was never truly dead.

    No hellos, no introduction. At least a third of the audience already knew his name. He adjusted his spruce guitar and began strumming a classic.

    “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” by Lead Belly, strummed slowly and deliberately as he found his rhythm. Fletcher refused to look up. Not at first. Leaning toward the mic, lips nearly touching as he began to sing in the raspy voice Peter had come to know.

    “My girl, my girl, don't lie to me… Tell me, where did you sleep last night?”

The song choice was too on the nose to be anything but intentional, which lent credence to Pete's theory about this being about Fletcher blowing off steam. If that was actually the case, it meant what he'd been told by June about the reasons for Fletcher's divorce were true.

He hadn't exactly doubted her but he supposed confirmation was confirmation.

Whatever the reason though, it was impossible not to be entranced by Fletcher's voice. That went double for the other people at the pub, and triple for those that knew who Fletcher was. Who would've expected this from him? Certainly not them.

But Pete was all too familiar with that voice. All too enamored with it, despite the number of years that had passed since he'd heard it last. He couldn't look away.

[wildroseofarran]

He hadn't stuck around for closing time often enough to notice a pattern of procedure. Gray eyes found gray eyes and swallowed, nodded toward the stage. Just... go? his expression asked. He didn't want to bring awareness to his presence outside of Peter and June. Not yet.

Pete took a very visible deep breath and nodded. Just go, his expression replied.

He didn't know what to expect or how to react, if he was overthinking this or not thinking enough. The easy and simple thing to believe was that Fletcher just wanted to let off some steam after his divorce. Not just easy and simple, but the wise thing to believe.

Making any more of this would just...

[wildroseofarran]

Fletcher couldn't say what had caused his numbness. All trepidation ceased sometime after lunch. He had slept well enough at June's but awoke to the same fluttering wings from his stomach to his lungs. But something had changed. A realization, perhaps, that by the end of the week he would have his answer, and by the end of the week, this was over.

No longer living with a housemate ready to tell him what to do, to criticize his clothes, his hair, or his choice of meal. Just a few years sharing room with another soul. The apartment was peaceful again. He could nap on the couch without a purse falling on his stomach and judgment from a feminine voice.

He had slept longer than intended, but still plenty of time. Fletcher rolled off the couch and into the shower. An attempt was made at his hair before giving up.

His spruce acoustic guitar and keys were all that he required before crossing the street. No phone, no wallet. No intention to linger or drink. He knew June would be watching, whether her shift or not. He would just keep his head down, look at his watch as the door closed behind him, and look for Peter Graham.

Fletcher knew his best friend too well. Tonight did happen to be her shift but even if it wasn’t June would still be here, just sitting on the other side of the bar.

Which was exactly what she’d be doing tomorrow when it was Kelly’s turn to close.

But tonight? Tonight she was behind the bar with Pete, keeping one eye on the door until the moment Fletcher walked in. She gave him a wave and then tried to elbow Pete as subtly as she could.

“Last call is here.”

Pete didn’t need to be told. He was already looking.

[wildroseofarran]

"... Huh." He had been anticipating this moment, but still, hearing yes from June's lips, knowing Peter was aware, it was all becoming very real.

But he wasn't concerned. The dread in his stomach wasn't about his performance, but what was going to come after.

"Uh... yeah, sure. Somethin' we've already seen. Pick your favorite movie."

He didn’t seem all that excited but he didn’t seem to be freaking out either. June would take that as a good sign. A sign of what, she didn’t know. But she’d gotten him a yes and that’s all that mattered.

“Um…oh! We haven’t watched Jaws in a while. Wanna watch that?”

[wildroseofarran]

"Mm, maybe... I dunno. Some stand up?" Always his go-to. He didn't want a talkie movie or horror. Just something where he could shut his brain off. He needed all the brain-numbing he could get this week.

But he was finally paying attention to June's hands on her phone. Didn't look like playing a mobile game to him.

"What he say?"

Well…what was the harm? It wasn’t like anyone was gonna come in the pub and make a scene about Fletcher being there.

Not anymore.

{Text to June} Okay

“We can do that. Or a really bad movie or a movie we’ve already seen if you just wanna zone out with something.”

June gave Fletcher an innocent look but it was no good. He’d caught on.

“He said yes.”

[wildroseofarran]

Not the first time June had played with her phone as they conversed. Typical behavior he paid little attention to while they ate. Nights like this he appreciated, and would miss in two weeks.

This wasn't goodbye forever, but that was entirely up to Peter Graham. No one had to know that. Not yet. There were seven days to go before that conversation, if it happened at all. So much uncertainty; it was enough to twist his stomach into intricate knots. Relying on someone else was carving at his willpower, but...

"Let's watch somethin'."

“Oooh, yes,” June agreed with a nod, taking a gigantic bite of mashed potatoes. Fletcher didn’t seem at all fazed by her being on her phone.

Good.

“What should we watch?

Pete had to read the text multiple times to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding or straight up imagining what it said.

After a few minutes he concluded that no, he wasn’t reading it wrong, it was just…an immense and confusing and…emotionally fraught surprise.

{Text to June} For a whole WEEK?

{Text to June} Are you sure that’s what he said? Is HE sure that’s what he said?

{Text to Pete} Yep! I’m sure and he’s sure, we’re all sure

{Text to Pete} So can he? Pretty please? 💖

[wildroseofarran]

He couldn't have been more grateful that she allowed the subject to drop. He was one reasonable thought away from heading out the door without a shred of goodbye to anyone. Might have been better. Safer for everyone, considering the state of his mother.

But he pushed that aside, willed himself to enjoy the time he had left with June. Reminders of why he would eventually return... Maybe.

Yes, June would let the subject drop and talk about other things. The goings-on at the pub, Bobby’s new girlfriend, small random things that had happened. Perfectly light, perfectly easy conversation.

And if it gave her a chance to covertly text Pete while they ate, welllll….

{Text to Pete} Fletcher wants to play last call all next week, can he?

[wildroseofarran]

There wasn't anything innocent about her question. It was poking at something that would probably go nowhere. The look he gave her was pretty flat, and followed by a sigh.

"Just lemme have this, June. Don't make it more than it is. Kay?"

June wondered if Fletcher knew that Pete had a Fletcher-shaped wall just like he had a Pete-shaped wall but regardless, she was very familiar with the feeling of bumping up against it. And she just had.

There was no getting through it, so she just sighed and nodded.

"Okay. I'll tell him you wanna play last call and let you know what he says. I think he’ll agree though. Now! Let's have dinner."

[wildroseofarran]

"Why ya think everything's about Peter?" Fletcher kicked off his shoes and scooped Socks in his arms.

Because everything was about Pete, June thought as she watched Socks rub his face against Fletcher. How could it not be?

Despite Fletcher’s recently dissolved marriage and despite whatever Pete said about moving on, she knew for a fact that those two were still in love with each other.

“So that’s not why you wanna play precisely now that you’re leaving?” she asked innocently, opening their beers.

[wildroseofarran]

He had to respond this time. Couldn't just ignore all Peter statements. Phone set aside, he took a deep breath.

"He'd probably be pissed bein' surprised. He's gotta approve. Can't do that t'him 'fore I leave."

"Is that the reason why?" June asked softly as she set about getting them plates and forks and beers from the fridge.

"I know you said you just wanted to see what it was like and you're totally free to not answer me, but are you wanting to play at the pub for Pete because you're leaving?"

[wildroseofarran]

"Gonna work ya hard. Have ya sweatin' like it's the apocalypse." Maybe more than one. "How 'bout every other day 'til I leave?"

Her question was answered with silence. His phone had become very interesting.

Her face lit up. It was more than she’d been expecting and it delighted her. “Perfect! I’m holding you to it.”

June unlocked the door that led into the house and dodged Socks’ attempts to trip her as she stood aside so Fletcher could enter. No response to that, huh? Interesting.

“Of course, if you want it to be a surprise, I’m sure I could work something out.”