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FRIDAY, JUNE 15TH KARAOKE NIGHT SING YOUR HEART OUT! COME FOR THE DRINKS, STAY FOR THE TUNES! (OR VICE VERSA! WE DON’T JUDGE!) REBO & CLARK Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” is a sing-along requirement for all pub patrons. NO Journey before 10pm. Free drink for every Backstreet Boys song. |
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“Why did we let Goby make the posters?” Peter says, staring at the flyer in his hand as he leans against the bar. “I like Journey.”
“Well, it worked,” Malcolm says as he fixes yet another long island. “Can’t complain when the pub’s this full. I’ve already made more tonight than I have in the past week.”
“That’s because you’re cute,” Peter says. “Bat your eyelashes a little more next time and maybe we can go to that fancy restaurant I like for our next date night.”
“Am I just a piggy bank to you, Mr. Rebo?”
“Of course, Mr. Clark,” he smirks. “What, did you think I was here for the personality? The looks?” He leans in as he says it, and Malcolm shakes his head.
“Mm, foolish of me,” Malcolm mutters.
“Very.”
Peter presses a quick kiss against Malcolm’s lips, and Malcolm’s sure he would’ve taken his time if they weren’t both on the clock.
“Don’t you have records to be selling?” Malcolm says, raising an eyebrow. Peter finally taught him how to do it right, and he’s been taking advantage of it every chance he gets. “Can’t have you neglecting our customers just to flirt with the bartender. What would the owners say?”
“I don’t think they’d mind,” Peter says, and he glances back at the section of the room where the majority of the records are held. It’s definitely not what people are focusing on tonight—they probably should have just closed it up for the night, but Peter refused. It’s a bar and record shop combo, Malcolm, we need to provide what our customers expect. “I’ve got Ivan keeping watch of things, he’ll be fine.”
That was one of the many recent developments included in their new and shiny life. One day, a kid just a few years younger than Goby showed up at the shop, nearly shaking with nerves. He introduced himself as Ivan, and Peter recognized his voice instantly as the boy who called in all those months ago. Ivan admitted that he moved here recently in hopes of finding people like him, remembering how Rebo and Clark had talked about their own friends. After several minutes of Ivan obviously dancing around what he really wanted to ask, Peter finally blurted out, “Would you like to work here?” He admitted that Ivan wouldn’t be able to work with the drinks until he’s 21, but he can work with Peter and the records, and they pay decently enough for Ivan to afford living here—and Malcolm nearly stepped in to keep Peter from rambling before Ivan cut him off himself, tears in his eyes, to say he would love to work here.
That had been so long ago. Rebo & Clark had just opened, squeaky clean and waiting for the charm of dirty old Bugswick to give it some character. Ivan slipped into the routine of their life as easily as the store did. He was still nervous around Peter and Malcolm’s friends, unsure if he really belonged; but just the other day Malcolm found Ivan and Jazz talking in the back room about how to tell a queen bee apart from a drone, laying on the floor while Pink Floyd played over the speakers, and Malcolm knew that he had nothing to worry about.
Malcolm realizes, suddenly, that a familiar voice has been singing in the bar, and he looks up to find both Goby and Jazz on the stage. Goby sings with a strong and steady voice, while Jazz half shouts the lyrics into the microphone. The screen behind them displays the lyrics to Buzzcocks’ “Orgasm Addict,” and Malcolm flushes in embarrassment.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Malcolm mutters. “Why am I friends with them? Mr. Lu is literally right over there. I’ll never be able to face him after this.”
Mona hollers from the other end of the counter, “That’s my girlfriend!”
Malcolm groans.
“Relax, Malcolm,” Peter laughs. He tugs at Malcolm’s shirt collar, flattening out wrinkles that Malcolm knows aren’t there because he ironed the hell out of this shirt before tonight’s event. “And Mr. Lu is 87 years old, he’s definitely heard worse than this.”
Malcolm blows a raspberry, slumping against the counter. Peter looks at him, the smallest hint of worry in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” Malcolm assures him before he can ask. “No overload yet. I promise, I’ll let you know if it gets to that point. I know the drill.”
The drill, of course, is for Malcolm to alert the nearest member of their group if he notices any warning signs of an episode. He is to go straight to the back room, no questions asked, for as long as he needs. If it’s past the point of prevention, the gang practically forces Malcolm to take the rest of the shift off. So far they haven’t needed to do that, thankfully. But it’s nice to know they have a plan in place.
Once, Peter needed to do it for himself. It was a bit terrifying, actually, to find Peter sweating and holding his head in the back of the shop. Malcolm had never had the roles reversed like this, at least not with Peter. He sat next to Peter, a little lost on what Peter needs when he’s having these issues. He remembers Peter telling him, long ago, that it’s different for everyone. Then Malcolm felt a nudge at his leg and looked down to see Peter holding his phone out to him, hands trembling. It was already open on the notes app. “Panic Plan for Peter,” it said.
He’s learning, still, how to help. He’s so used to being the one everyone has to look after, the one who always takes more than he can give. Peter knows so much about people, about how to take care of them. He handles everything with so much patience and grace. Malcolm’s scared he isn’t doing it right, sometimes. He had told Peter that once, after ages of pressing and prodding from Peter.
“You’re doing everything right,” Peter had responded. “It’s okay if you don’t know what you’re doing right away. You’re willing to learn. And that’s more than a lot of people can say, Malcolm.”
Malcolm had never thought about it that way before. When he worries about messing up, he tries to remind himself of that. He’s learning. He may have a ways to go, but he’s learning.
Peter pats at his hand now, anchoring him in the present. “Hey.”
Malcolm rubs his thumb against Peter’s, letting him know he’s with him. “Hey yourself.”
“Do you ever look around and just...” he shakes his head, glancing around the pub in wonder. “Just think about how fuckin’ lucky we are?”
Malcolm looks around. Goby and Jazz are trying to get another spot on the Karaoke list, arguing over which song to choose while a line forms behind them. Mona’s brought Terrance the stick bug out—Malcolm’s sure the poor thing’s having a heart attack with all this commotion—and she’s showing him to a patron that genuinely seems more interested in the bug than Mona for once. Ivan has poked his head out of the back to nod along to the man on stage singing Bon Jovi.
Malcolm turns back to Peter, whose hand still rests securely against Malcolm’s, warm and sure.
Malcolm smiles and says, “Every damn day.”