Take A Chance On Me ☆ [Mamma Mia - Bill Anderson X Reader]

☆30☆

Bill's POV

Again I ask myself, why am I in Ireland? As I traipse round the corner of a communal park after parking the boat a bit away, I kick some stones on the stone path in front of me and wonder why I even wanted to come here. There's nothing here apart from castles and pubs.

But when I see Y/N out the corner of my eye, whirling about in the park in a huge skirt that billows around her, I begin to think it might've been intuition that lead me here.

Out of reflex, I hide behind the nearest bush in case she sees me. I watch her dance along by herself using a Walkman and catch one of her wide smiles between her forever flying frizzy hair. Oh, that hair, that smile, her.

For the past five years I've tried to think about Y/N less and less. I've somewhat succeeded, actually - if you count only thinking about her a couple times fleetingly every day instead of all the time every day - and I even convinced myself her face was fading in my head, but nope. No chance I'd ever forget her, my beautiful once-was.

Maybe I should go up to her. Talk to her. Apologise. Ask if we could start over, like I really want to, because I'm in love with you Y/N, I never stopped, and I'm so sorry, I'll never stop thinking about you and how badly I let you down...

But I must've missed something in my reminiscence, because when I refocus next there's a gingernob guy with her.

I blink. The guy, about as old as the two of us, picks her up and spins her round as she shrieks loudly. I get momentarily distracted that her bold laugh means she's become more confident, before she gets put down and links her arm through his companiably and starts walking toward the gate I'm near.

All thoughts of approaching her fly out of my head as in a fit of panic I dive into the bush headfirst and immerse myself in the leafy greens so she won't see me. I still don't want to face her, even after all this time - she's mean when she's angry, and I don't particularly want to feel like a piece of shit more than I already do whenever I remember her.

Fortunately, neither of the duo notice me and walk right past and down to the nearby Irish pub. I stay in the bushes, thinking things through.

Would it be wrong of me to follow them into the pub and stalk them?

Is it wrong that I barely thought that before I followed them into the pub and nabbed a table away from them in order to stalk them?

It's lighthearted chaos inside the pub, shouting and laughing and drinking and light brawling. I'm a little baffled at when in the last five years my Y/N became accustomed to such a raucous atmosphere, until I remember that people change in five years and she's not mine anymore. It stings when I think that, but nevertheless I watch her as she sits on the bar and orders shots.

"Hey, if I win that snooker game, you buy me another drink!" she exclaims loudly after she downs three shots in one breath, and I blink yet again. Y/N Sheridan plays snooker? Better yet, I think as she utterly blasts the guy playing against her, she kills at it?

I watch her down a pint, stick out her tongue at her date at the bitterness and laugh, and call at someone to put a good song on the humdrum jukebox in the corner, all with a bemused smile.

I continue to watch in this sense even when she hitches up her floaty skirt and begins to dance badly on the bar, swearing boldly at any man daring to cheek her for her self-expression.

My mouth falls open in a wide smile of admiration as she becomes the life of the party before my eyes, Y/N Sheridan. Now she is away from her sister Donna, now she's alone, she's finding herself to be the most confident and happy version of herself she's ever been.

I realise with a jolt that I helped this happen.
I helped her get out of her shell; I was the first to properly listen to her playing guitar and singing; I was the first to show interest in her over her sister (at least at first, and I take full responsibility over that); I helped her discover the dregs of who she's meant to be, and when she left she became even more independent and filled those dregs to the brim.

I'm so proud of her - even if I'm not a part of it anymore.

I deliberate again over going to her, but again decide against it as I watch her beginning to sing along to the Irish folk song now playing. I watch her almost fall from the bar and being caught by her date - whom I'm totally not considering punching into a wall, seriously, drop it brain - then slowly walk out of the pub and onto the street.

I didn't realise how long I'd been in there watching Y/N be her own lovely blooming self - night has fallen like an avalanche over the town. I look up at the sky, dark as an oil canvas, dotted with twinkles, and smile fondly. Y/N always loved watching the stars. I wonder if she still does.

I hear her distinct loud fruity laugh rise above every other noise in the pub, and decide it's time to leave Ireland tonight... try to leave Y/N alone completely. I've seen her tonight: so full and happy and confident and herself. She doesn't need me; I'll just remind her of bad times.

I need to drill that into my brain from now on - leave Y/N Sheridan alone, and try to find peace within myself.

I walk along the dark empty streets in the detection of the port, and for the first time in years find the inspiration to sing:

"I have a very good friend,
The kind of girl that doesn't need to follow a trend,
She has a personal style,
Some people love it, others tend to go wild,
You hear her voice everywhere,
Taking the chair,
She's a leading lady,
And with no trace of hesitation, she keeps going,

Head over heels, breaking her way,
Pushing through unknown jungles every day,
She's a girl with a taste for the world,
(The world is like a playground where she goes rushing)
Head over heels, setting the pace,
Running the gauntlet in a whirl of lace,
She's extreme, if you know what I mean,

Her man is one I admire,
He's so courageous but he's constantly tired,
Each time when he speaks his mind,
She pats his head and says, 'that's all very fine,
Exert that will of your own,
When you're alone,
Now we'd better hurry,'
And with no trace of hesitation, she keeps going,

Head over heels, breaking her way,
Pushing through unknown jungles every day,
She's a girl with a taste of the world,
(The world is like a playground where she goes rushing)
Head over heels, setting the pace,
Running the gauntlet in a whirl of lace,
She's extreme, if you know what I mean,

You hear her voice everywhere,
Taking the chair,
She's a leading lady,
And with no trace of hesitation, she keeps going,

She's just one of those who always has to do whatever she pleases,
And she goes,
Head over heels..."

I exhale loudly, the cold chill of the North forming my breath into a cloud. Behind me, I can still faintly hear her singing joyously, as if she's been doing the same her entire life.

I can already tell this detox isn't going to work out.