Je Reviendrai, Amour

Chapter 2

"No, I didn't make money this time....What?! No, you bloody wank! I need you! You can't just abandon me!"

Arthur spun in his chair and stood, gripping the flip-phone put by his ear. "No, no, no, don't hang up, you-"

Silence. Through the other end, a dial tone, and Arthur slammed the damn phone shut and threw it onto his bed. He growled and pulled his hair, pacing in a frustrated circle. "Damn British agents don't know shit about helping people with starving careers!"

He stopped his furious pacing and glanced at a poster on his wall, a poster Arthur had since he was sixteen. On it was Nirvana, and in the corner, signed by Kurt Cobain, Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl themselves.

Across the room, possibly hundreds of other band posters. It was amazing considering all of the posters were different bands. Breaking Benjamin, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Delftones, Arctic Monkeys, Fall Out Boy, and more. Arthur's room was probably the most punk and grunge thing anyone could've possibly laid eyes on. Furniture wise the room was pretty simple, but with it decked out to the max in posters, paint and grunge and punk aesthetic, it was rather filled.

"Damn..." Arthur murmured to himself, sighing and letting himself flop into his bed. He let his eyes curl around to random parts of the room, sighing. That bastard of an agent was too money thirsty, if he didn't get caught up in hoarding money he might have been decent. But nope. He had to go and fuck Arthur over.

"Now what?" The Brit murmured to himself as he sat up, the bed creaking. It was already hell to find an agent, let alone keep one. Now what was he to do? Of course he needed another agent, but they never stayed. Why did he keep trying to find one again?

"Ah hell." He huffed, standing and grabbing his wallet, keys and cigarette pack on his bedside drawer. "I need a walk."

And so the Brit had left, stressfully inhaling the white stick between his lips in the midnight air. Nothing made sound except Arthur's footsteps and the sounds of distant cars driving on night roads. It was rather chilly out, but Arthur could adapt, only having brought a light sweater and thrown on tight dark jeans.

As he walked, he passed a number of shoppes and pubs, but then he slowed in front of a particular one.

Moonlight Sonata.

Humming slightly and taking another drag of his cigarette, he put the bud out and went into the bar. Ah, hell, why not?

Up front of the bar was a waiter, someone he had never seen before. Someone with darkish blonde hair slicked slightly, but one untamed bundle of hair prodded out of the front line of his hair, and he wore glasses. He was busy cleaning mugs and pints and shot glasses of the sort, setting them along neatly behind the bar to dry.

Arthur took a seat on one of the stools, humming to himself softly.

The bar was mostly empty. Which was strange, more often than not on a Saturday night in the later hours a popular bar such as this would be bustling with energy. Apparently, however, not tonight; all that remained was the few sods drinking ale all alone, feeling drained from their faces and replaced with numb void.

"So," The American bartender at the front prodded Arthur's thoughts to grab his attention, "What would ya like?"

Aah, what the hell. Why not slap on a drink with tonight's stress?

"Large Guinness," Arthur ordered, humming and taking the time to inspect the room around him. Near the entrance was a bright neon sign that displayed a blue quarter moon, and a sign hanging on the bar door facing in Arthur's general direction, 'closed'. A turn of the head, and Arthur could see directly the opposite of the door was the back entrance to what he assumed was the storage. It was oddly dark over there, no light to make itself obviously known. Behind him, off to the nearer corner, the stage he had sung on only the previous night, earning a round of applause he thought he'd never hear before. It was groundbreaking for Arthur, really, such reward had never been given to him before that. Most he's been given was hums and nods of approval.

The front of the stage was littered with chairs and tables serving as seats for an audience, and just past the seating, a couple arcade games and bar games sat awaiting.

Hearing the clinking of the pint sliding across the bar counter over to Arthur, he said nothing as thanks and took a swig, leaning into the counter afterwards. The bartender continued to clean glasses. And at first, Arthur thought he'd leave him alone to think, but instead — just his luck — he did quite the opposite.

"Heey, wait, I recognize you." The Americans voice spoke, brushing his drying towel on a mug. "You're that guy that sung really well last night upstage, and hell, with my favorite song too."

Arthur shrugged. "It was no big deal. Just performing."

The bartender beamed. "Well you did amazing! Shit, I mean we usually have terrible performers here, all the time." He set aside the glass and picked up another wet one, "What I'm saying is you should come back 'round again. This place needs more lively performances like yours."

Arthur didn't reply at first, simply averting his gaze and taking a long swig of his Guinness.

"And hell, apply to perform long enough and maybe you'll get a job here." Bartender continued, shrugging and mindlessly working on his mugs. "Is singing your hobby?"

"Overall music is my career, thank you very much."

Narrowing his eyes slightly, the blonde with glasses hummed and set aside the finished pint, and upon noticing all the cleaned dishes had been dried, he settled for leaning in on the counter to talk more with the brit. "Right, right; anyhow, perform enough here and someone may see your potential and hit you up." He shrugged, but he smiled slightly. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yeah right." He looked searchingly into his beer, "I just got dumped by my agent, and I don't know if you Americans know, but British agents are horrible to newbies like myself. I doubt there's any hope for me now."

"Ah, nonsense! You just gotta meet the right one!" The American chirped, watching Arthur drink. "Besides, my coworker of mine completely fawned over your performance, he'd love to see you back, too."

Arthur thought for a moment. Could he mean that stranger that was standing smoking outside? The one with the french accent? The Brit could've laughed; like hell he'd make friends with a frenchman. "I don't quite appreciate French folk." Arthur said through a scoff.

This made the bartender frown. "That's quite ignorant of you, dude, but alright," He shrugged, grabbing a fresh cloth to wipe down the counters. "Still, you should perform around here again. Might make you big bucks in the future."

Finishing off his pint, he slid it over, Arthur sighing and popping himself out of the stool seat and plucking a cigarette out of his pocket. Along with the tobacco he plucked out the right amount of pounds and threw in a tip, sliding it over to the bartender across the counter, as well. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe. I'm leaving."

The American glanced from the bundle of money on the counter to the Brit exiting the bar. "Come around again! Seriously!" He called enthusiastically, all the while with a smile. Arthur just dismissed him with a wave of the hand, shoving the stick in his mouth and his hands in his pockets as he swung the door open and left.

As Arthur walked back with a smoke in his mouth, he thought. Would he really benefit from going to the same bar to perform? He had considered going to the cheaper one just down the road, or maybe paying a visit to his mates band house a couple miles out.

But then he thought double about how much he's seemed to be wanted back at Moonlight Sonata and took a drag of his cigarette.