Summary: Frank's spending his birthday, playing an open mic
Warnings: beer
Word count: 2 049
A/N: Sorry, I'm late. I was too shaky to prove-read. These bastards... Regardless, Happy Birthday, Frank. I'm so done with the world now.
Frank's fingers pressed down on the strings of his guitar just like they had done a thousand times before while playing this song, yet he felt the nerves rising as he spied the camera, that was focused on him now, in front of the stage. He liked playing at the open mic nights in this little bar, but he had started loving them when you had turned up for the first time.
Usually you worked at the bar, but every now and then you grabbed your camera to take pictures of the artists playing, pictures that were later added to the website of the bar.
Nervously he continued playing, hoping his voice would not give in for the first notes he had to sing. His voice often quit its service when he was nervous, and that was only one of the reasons he had not talked to you yet. In the months of having seen you here three times a week, he had always ordered his drinks through your colleague Michael, and even though he loved sitting at the bar, watching, and listening in on your conversations, he had never once found the courage to talk to you. Not to mention that he did not want to be the guy who hit on the bartender. But from these overheard conversations he had learned a lot about you already, and he liked every little piece of it.
Now you were standing right in front of the small, slightly elevated stage, your camera lifted up to your face, as you snapped a couple of pictures.
Frank was concentrating so hard on not looking down to you that he even missed his cue, and had to play a couple more chords before he eventually started singing. After the second chorus he finally felt confident enough to take a look at you, but when he blinked against the slightly blinding lights, he found that you had already disappeared again, which sent a sting through his heart. But honestly, he did not have a chance with you anyways, right?
After his performance was over, he cleared the stage, and packed his guitar back in its case before walking over to the bar, sitting down in his usual spot. He was still deep in thoughts, wondering how it was possible to feel so small, so unimportant, so... hurt, every time he thought about you; and he did not even know your name.
"Well played."
Confused he looked up, searching for the source of the soft, somewhat familiar voice that had spoken to him. You were standing right in front of him, at the other side of the counter, a smile on your face. You were wearing the red shirt with the logo of the bar, and a black apron over your jeans.
"Uhm..."
The moment Frank had looked up to your face, it seemed like all the words had left his brain. At least that did not give his voice the opportunity to mess up.
"Can I get you something," you asked, as if it was completely normal to not answer to a compliment. But then again maybe you were used to people losing their ability to speak in your presence, you were stunningly beautiful after all.
"Oh, ahm," Frank cleared his throat in embarrassment before a few words finally tumbled out of his mouth, "just a beer, please."
"Coming right up," you smiled, and quickly prepared his drink.
A part of him had hoped that you would turn away, and leave him alone after bringing the glass over, but the bar was sparsely visited today. After all it was Halloween, and everybody was at some party, so there were hardly any other guests to take up your time. And you seemed bored.
So while a part of him did a little internal victory dance, when you casually leant against the counter to talk to him, the other part inside him started screaming in panic.
"I really love that last song you played," you complimented, "what's it called? Golden?"
"It's- ahm, it's called 24k Lush," he corrected, unable to hide the blush on his cheeks.
Quickly he took a sip of the beer, almost choking on the bitter liquid, so hastily had he drunken.
"I really like it," you repeated, shooting him a worried glace when you noticed he was trying not to cough, "It's one of your own, isn't it?"
Frank's voice was raspy from the beer that burnt in his throat, the bubbles making it only worse.
"Yeah, it is," he croaked, "I only play originals."
Why was he being so clumsy? The one time you actually talked to him, the one time he could somehow try to impress you, or find out more about you, that one time he had to completely fail at everything.
Typical.
But probably, even if the world gave him a million chances, he would always find ways to mess it up.
"I thought so," you continued the conversation, oblivious to the thoughts in his head, "Oh, I took a couple of pictures of you."
Frank's mind was still trying to scramble to its metaphorical feet, and he was pretty certain he would not even be able to tell you his name if you would ask, but you did not notice, or you did not care, because you pulled out the heavy camera which you had used to take pictures earlier.
You clicked around on a few buttons, before you leant over the counter, turning the camera so he could see the display that was showing the pictures.
"I really like this one," you told him, not noticing that his eyes were not fixed on the display but on you, "but this one," you skipped a few pictures, "is my absolute favourite of tonight."
Finally he tore his eyes away from you, and looked at the display. In the picture you had captured a moment in which he had his eyes closed, his fingers gently resting on the strings. He was standing right in the beam of a light, but the background was dark and out of focus.
"Wow, these are really good," Frank mumbled, making you laugh quietly.
"Thank you," you smiled.
For a moment you just looked at each other, and Frank's heart was beating hard in his throat, especially when suddenly he thought how much he would like to kiss you now. You looked absolutely stunning. Even though you seemed a bit tired, and your hair was slightly dishevelled, you still radiated calmness and comfort, and it was hard not to get lost in it.
But just when Frank wondered if, after having looked at him with this soft smile of yours for almost half a minute, you would pull away if he tried leaning over the counter, you cleared your throat, making his heart sink.
"Anyway," you turned off the camera, and put it back under the counter where you always stored it.
If only he were a little bit braver, a little bit wittier, a bit more confident, maybe he would have a chance with you then, but this way... He watched as you quickly served another customer before you turned back to him.
"It's your birthday tonight, right?"
Confused he stared at you for a moment.
"How do you know," he wondered.
After all, it was Halloween, and therefore his birthday.
"Michael told me," you shrugged.
Michael, the bartender, of course. They had known each other for years, and by now they knew a lot about each other, including each other's birthdays. What Frank did not know was that all the nights he had watched you, you had noticed him too. And you had taken an interest in the musician, who never ordered drinks through you. He had always seemed to go out of his way in order not having to interact with you. And that made him even more interesting in your eyes. Michael, being a bartender, knowing how to read people, even if they were his co-worker, had picked up on your interest, and decided to tell you about the stranger.
"Well, yeah, it's my birthday," Frank nodded, slightly embarrassed.
"In that case, what're you even doing here," you looked at him wide eyed, "shouldn't you be at some Halloween-themed birthday party or something, hang out with your friends?"
"I like it better here," Frank just answered, "it's not like I'm in bad company."
The last one he added with a slight smile.
But you just raised your eyebrows at him.
"It's your birthday, you shouldn't hang out at a bar, without your friends, feeling like you need to talk to the bartender, just 'cause they're bored. You should be out, having fun."
Frank blinked at you for a moment.
"But I am out, having fun," he defended, "I got to play music, which I love, and now I'm talking to you. I really couldn't image a better evening for myself."
You gave him a long look, one he was unable to decipher. He felt himself getting nervous all over again, just when he had thought he was over it, but then you stepped closer towards him, placing your elbows on the counter, and leant over so your face was right in front of his. Carefully you narrowed your eyes, watching him fidget nervously.
"You're really rather here, talking to me, than hanging out with your friends, on your birthday," you asked, as if you did not believe him.
He shrugged, not sure how to answer that question.
"Well, yes," he answered, and he wished he would be able to break eye contact with you.
"You don't even know my name," you reminded him, making him feel even sillier than he already did.
He felt like you had caged him, even though you were the one trapped behind the counter. He felt like you knew exactly how much he wanted to reach out, and run his fingers over your cheek, or brush through your hair, or press his lips against yours. He felt like you were reading him the way other people read books.
"You don't know mine either," he retorted, making you chuckle.
"Yes, I do, Frank."
"How-"
"Michael."
"Oh." Frank felt silly for having forgotten that since you knew it was his birthday, you probably also knew his name.
"It's (y/n)."
(y/n). Frank repeated the name a few times over in his head. He liked that name. It matched you.
"So... do you have any special birthday wishes I could help you with?"
Your face was still so close to his, and again Frank could not help but think how much he wanted to kiss you. But he managed to stop himself from just spilling it out.
"Nah, I'm good," he smiled, but he knew how forced it looked.
"Hm..."
Your eyes skipped over his face, as if you were memorizing every last detail. Frank had been so focused on watching your face that he did not even notice that you had reached up to his face until your hand gently cupped his chin.
"Well," you whispered, "Happy Birthday, Frank."
And before he even knew what was happening, you had pulled him in the last few inches for a sweet kiss. For a moment he was frozen, unable to process what was going on, before his body finally reacted and he kissed back, before lifting his hand to wrap it into your hair, with the intention to pull you closer.
And it would have been perfect, had he not bumped against the beer glass on the way. He almost pushed it over, and seeing the tipping of the glass, as well as the spilling liquid, he pulled away hastily, trying to catch it, but you were quicker. With your free hand, the one that was not placed on his chin, you grabbed the glass, ignoring the few drops that had fallen to the counter, and pushed it away, out of reach.
When you turned back to look at Frank, you found he was already looking at you intensely. And a moment later he crashed his lips against yours again, making you smile fondly. You had waited for months to talk to the handsome musician, and hell, you were glad you had found the courage to finally do it.