Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Piano Man (Billy Joel)
Wee John, making love to his tonic and gin
Ed’s not in a great mood when he walks past The Lighthouse that first time. Izzy has been trying to get him back to performing—probably to soothe some of the anxiety they’re both holding at this point—but regardless of the reason driving Izzy to push him, it makes Ed feel worse.
He doesn’t want to do more performances. He doesn’t want to sit on his piano bench in front of an auditorium full of people overdressed for the occasion, who give him polite applause when he finishes yet another Bach or Mozart piece without even knowing what they’re listening to. With the exception of a rare few, they don’t even realise when he improvises sections in between just to keep himself happy and keep it fun.
He’s just… tired.
He’s tired of performing, tired of the standard concert repertoire, tired of being the best. He wants something different.
He needs something different.
Ed doesn’t know if he’s got a burnout or if this is a bore-out, but he doesn’t want to keep doing the thing he’s done for the past twenty years. He needs a change.
And maybe the bar is it, actually.
The awnings are a newly-painted bright teal, and the windows are freshly cleaned. It looks new and bright and everything that Ed hasn’t felt in a while. On a whim, he decides to see if it’s open yet.
The door opens easily when Ed pushes it open, and then he steps into…
Well.
It’s a bar, that’s for sure. But it’s not the kind of bar he was expecting here. It feels almost as if he fell into someone’s mental picture of a bar than something that actually functions like such. There are heavy red velvet curtains tied up with sashes, and the wooden tables and chairs look handmade and recently stained. They look heavy. There are big art posters on the wall, showcasing different 70s album covers and bands. To his right, there’s a polished wooden bar with bar stools in front of them. They’re cushioned and they look velvety, like the curtains. Behind the bar are rows and rows of bottles of various liquors.
It looks like a bar, but also… not.
Ed is stunned. There’s something cosy about the place. It feels… intimate. There are hushed conversations being held in a booth, and he spots people laughing in that same booth, leaning against each other.
Oh, and there’s a grand piano in front of the big windows.
“Welcome to The Lighthouse!” a man calls from behind the bar, and Ed whips around, distracted from the incongruity of a grand piano in a bar.
Oh.
Ed doesn’t know if he simply didn’t register the man when he first looked the space over, or if the man hadn’t been there, but it has to be the second option. There’s no way Ed wouldn’t have noticed the blond brick of a man behind the bar. The lunatic is waving at him, even, and Ed waves back.
He doesn’t know why he does it, but maybe he should be doing something else with his life anyway. What’s a little whimsy, right?
“Heya,” he says, and he turns away from the grand piano and towards the bar, walking over and leaning on the bar top. “This is new, right?”
“It is!” The man lights up. He’s wearing a suit sans jacket but with a teal waistcoat. His white shirtsleeves have been rolled up and his forearms are bared. Ed wants to bite them. “I bought the storefront a while ago and my friends suggested that we needed a queer bar in town, so here we go.” He sweeps his arms out, and Ed can’t help but look out over the open space once more. There are two chandeliers.
Mad.
Then he realises that the man said something else.
“It’s a queer bar?” Ed can’t see a clear marker of it, but that’s probably also down to the fact that it is… very quiet. There are only a few patrons, and they seem to be hanging out in a corner booth, quietly chatting among themselves, although they are occasionally throwing looks in his direction. One has slung their arms over another man’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.
Huh, Ed thinks. Clearly, queer people can find it. So maybe it’s supposed to be one of those bars that’s actually queer but isn’t outright advertising it?
“Yes!” The man nods enthusiastically. He seems to do everything with brightness and enthusiasm, and Ed likes it. Clearly, he’s doing something that he likes to do. “The pride flag hasn’t arrived yet, unfortunately, but it’ll be clearer in a few days. Now we just have to wait for more people to show up, and it’ll be thriving in no time!”
Ed likes this man’s optimism, and he hopes that it is warranted. The man on the other side of the bar is fascinating, the bar is fascinating, and he kind of wants to see it all succeed.
“I hope so,” Ed says, warmly. “I have to ask, though… Why have you got a grand piano in here?”
“Oh.” Less enthusiasm this time, and Ed feels his own stomach turn squirmy with dread. Did he overstep? Accidentally ask the wrong question? Is he going too fast yet again? He really should learn how to take things slower. Not everyone works at lightning brain speed like Ed is, and most people actually prefer the slower pace.
Slow down, Teach, he tells himself.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Ed hurries to add. He’s fidgeting with his rings, nerves about saying the wrong thing manifesting in restless fingers. “I’m just… curious. You’ve got chandeliers, and velvet curtains, and high quality furniture, and that all feels like it’s part of the bar. But then there’s a massive musical instrument taking up a lot of space, and I…” Ed shrugs, trying for casual and hoping he doesn’t fail massively, because he’s so curious what the hell is going on in this space. “I’m intrigued.”
The other man stares at him, cocking his head before looking back down to the bar. Ed only notices that he’s almost obsessively polishing the surface with a rag now that Ed’s attention follows the man’s eyes. He seems nervous, too, despite his projected confidence and enthusiasm.
“I had to find a space for it,” the man confesses. “You see, when Mary and I—” He cuts himself off with a huff, throwing a glance at the group in the corner booth, who now seem fully invested in watching them. They’re not even subtle about it. “Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s a long story, and I don’t even know your name!”
Ed laughs. “That one is easy to solve, at least.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Ed.”
“Stede,” the other man says, shaking his hand. Stede’s hand is warm and soft, his handshake firm. Ed likes him a lot already. “Still, though. It’s a little… personal.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Ed repeats, shrugging, trying to pretend he’s much cooler and much less invested than he really is. Because he does want to know. He’s always loved a little bit of gossip, and this feels like prime gossip material, even though it’s from and about someone he’s just met. And he loves long stories, which means that this Stede is already proving to be fascinating, and Ed absolutely wants to know more about him. “But I am curious. I just like it, y’know.” Ed turns to look at the piano again.
It’s a beautiful instrument. Ed’s pretty sure it’s a Steinway, something that really shouldn’t be in a bar, where things might get rowdy and people might spill drinks over it, but it is here, and it looks gorgeous.
“Do you play?” Stede asks, and Ed turns right back to face Stede, who’s now studying him. Fine, Ed can let the topic of the origins of the grand piano slip. For now. He graciously takes the change of topic and runs with it.
“I’m a concert pianist by trade,” he says, then winces. “Although I’m kind of looking for something else to do. Gets tiring to play the same thing over and over again for people who only pretend to know and appreciate what you’re doing because they overpaid for tickets to some concert hall.”
Stede’s eyes widen, and Ed’s already anticipating the questions that Stede might have for him. Mentally, he braces himself to have to explain what it actually means, who his favourite composer is, which pieces he likes to play best—
But Stede just grins and says, “Well, I’m looking for someone who wants to play a couple of nights a week, if you’d want to keep playing but change genres? I think the clientele here would probably prefer ABBA over Bach.”
It would be different to play something non-classical, and Ed’s immediately down for it. It might be a bad idea, and Izzy definitely won’t like it, but it sounds like the perfect way to pivot out of classical piano and into something new while still being somehow on brand. And it’s not like Ed wouldn’t be able to play catchy pop tunes. He’s a genius, and he picks songs up fast. He has done it before, has enjoyed playing a few songs occasionally, but it’s never been for an audience.
Even if the audience is only the several people crammed into that one booth.
“You know what, I think I’d like that,” Ed says. He looks back at the piano once again, and then refocuses his attention on Stede. Gorgeous, fascinating Stede. In his teal waistcoat. Opening a queer bar and putting a grand piano in it. “Would be a nice change of pace.”
He’d like to hang out more with Stede, too. The man is interesting, and he still wants to hear the story about the grand piano. And a queer-friendly space? Ed is excited.
“Yes?”
“Yeah!” Ed straightens himself up. He can’t help smiling brightly at Stede and sees him go slightly pink in the cheeks. “Yeah, let’s do it. Why not?”
“Oh—okay, great!” Stede’s voice gets slightly too loud and Ed can see the people in the corner booth wince out of the corner of his eyes. “I… I need to write up a contract for you, and to figure out what you’d be earning, and…” He trails off. “I… didn’t think I’d be finding my pianist without even putting up any of the posters I had made.”
He taps a stack of papers on the bar that Ed had missed—they feature a photo of the grand piano with a question mark on the bench, and text reading “Wanted: pianist” and smaller text below it that Ed can’t quite read (no, he does not need reading glasses)—and grins back.
“Glad I don’t have to take to the streets to find someone willing to put up with me.”
“Glad you didn’t do that,” Ed says. “Who knows who might have wandered in. Might have been my grumpy manager. Or some kind of ABBA-hating maniac.” Ed dislodges himself from the bar, the call of the piano getting too loud to ignore. He runs a hand over the stained wood and whistles. “Or someone who dislikes the fact that you’ve got a Steinway in your bar. Mate. Really?”
Stede flushes a deeper red, and he follows Ed out behind the bar and over to the piano. He, too, rests a hand on the top, and then he lets out a wistful sigh, walking past Ed to sit on the bench and puts his fingers on the keys.
Ed immediately knows Stede is not a pianist—incorrect posture, fingers not straightened out, elbows all wrong—but he sees something in Stede’s form. Some kind of longing, like he wants to play. Like it’s been a dream to be able to but he just didn’t have the resources—which would be odd, seeing how he owns a Steinway. And he doesn’t want to overstate this, but it’s a fucking Steinway in a fucking bar, of all places.
“Can I—” Ed starts, gesturing at the bench, but Stede simply scoots aside and pats the padded seat next to him, so Ed sits down before he completes his question. Stede withdraws his hands from the keys and puts them in his lap instead, immediately fidgeting with his rings, almost as if he’s giving himself something to do.
Ed wants to focus on Stede, but he can’t help but take in the grand piano. The instrument is beautiful. It looks old but in an amazing state, and when Ed rests his fingers on the keys, they feel at home. He wonders if it’s been tuned recently, if it’s ready to play. He doesn’t just want to start, though. It feels… disrespectful. He might just have been offered a job, and maybe Stede wants him to play, but it feels like Ed should be invited to do just that.
And then there’s the fact that Stede’s thigh is against his own, and it’s sort of distracting to feel the warmth of another person’s leg against his own. Especially one as attractive as Stede. Although Stede doesn’t seem to notice.
“It’s been tuned recently, should be all ready for you to play,” Stede says when Ed doesn’t immediately start playing. Ed can feel Stede’s eyes on him, and he can see Stede’s fingers still fidgeting with his jewellery. That piano must mean a lot to him, both in a good and a bad way. “If you want to try it out, that is.”
“I’d love to,” Ed says. “Any requests?”
Stede shakes his head, so Ed just plays what he’s been practising these past few months for the next big tour that Izzy had been planning. He likes Liszt's pieces for the challenge they present, and they’re usually easy to impress people. La Campanella is his current favourite of the set, and the fact that it will probably impress Stede, too, is only a minor reason why he decides to play it.
It sounds even more beautiful on the grand piano, and somehow the acoustics of the bar are perfect to play an amazing rendition of the piece. But Ed’s heart isn’t in it—hasn’t been in it for a long time—and he feels it even as he plays. Even as he knows that Stede’s listening to him with bated breath and watching him play, his eyes following every move Ed’s fingers make.
Even as he knows that the people in that booth are listening, too—he can’t feel the emotion he’s supposed to feel. He’s not connected to the piece, so burnt out on playing that he just wants to give up halfway through, despite the fact that he enjoys this particular piece.
But he finishes it anyway, ends with a light flourish, and Stede applauds him.
Of course he does.
The people in the booth join him, though, and it startles Ed out of his little bubble with Stede. It had almost felt like Ed was simply playing for Stede, on a beautiful instrument. Just them, no one else around—but that wasn’t the case, of course.
Their applause flusters Ed more than he’d like to admit, and he tries to ignore them a little longer, but his phone also starts buzzing against his thigh—the thigh pressed against Stede’s—and Stede draws back.
“You might need to take that,” he says, voice quiet. Ed might be imagining the sadness in Stede’s voice—there’s no reason for that, after all—but he’s not happy about the interruption either. He does dig his phone out of his trouser pocket to see Izzy calling him, and he sighs.
“Yeah, I might have to.” Izzy’s face disappears off the screen as the call goes to voicemail, and Ed shakes his head. “I should call my manager back. I’ve got to talk to him anyway.” Ed gets off the bench with another sigh. “I… How do you want to do this? Contract-wise, that is? Want me to come back in a few days, or…?”
“Oh!” Stede looks up at Ed, and okay, maybe Ed’s sorta… seeing things? But it almost looks like Stede is checking Ed out. Like his eyes linger just a little too long on Ed’s chest, and his lips, and— “If you give me your number, I’ll let you know when the contract is ready for signing. Or your e-mail address, so I can forward you the paperwork before signing. Whichever you prefer.”
Ed has already made his decision; there is no way he isn’t giving Stede his number. But since he’s already got his phone in hand, he opens up a new contact and hands his phone to Stede. “Put your info in. I’ll text you, and then we’re both settled.”
Stede nods, a quick, jerky movement, as he fills out the new contact. His tongue peeks out, and Ed has to stop himself from leaning in to kiss the tip of his tongue. They’re nothing to each other yet, have just met. Ed shouldn’t try his luck because he doesn’t know if Stede’s interested. Not only that, but Stede’s also offered him a job, and he wants to hear about the piano. He isn’t just here to kiss gorgeous men.
But Stede is cute, and it is slightly distracting, and Ed needs to leave before he does something inadvisable like kissing a man he’s only just met in front of an audience of people he doesn’t know at all. Plus, he doesn’t even know if Stede is queer. He might just be an ally with lots of queer friends?
Ed shakes himself from those thoughts and sends Stede a quick text (Hi this is Ed Teach), and then he stretches. “Just messaged you, but I do have to go and call Izzy back.” He really doesn’t want to, though. He’d rather stay in the bar longer and spend more time with Stede, get to know him. But Izzy will get impatient if Ed doesn’t respond, and that’ll just end up frustrating to both of them.
Stede nods again and clears his throat. “I heard my phone ping but it’s behind the bar. I’ll assume that’s your text, but if you’ve not heard from me in an hour or two, just come back in a couple of days to chat about the contract or to get my number. I’m the owner; I’m here most of the time.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Ed breathes out slowly and then moves towards the door before he really does get stuck. “See you, Stede!” And then he walks out—because if he doesn’t, he won’t leave.
As he walks out, he can hear the group in the booth get up and swarm over to Stede, and when he’s outside and walks past the big windows, he can see several people of various sizes and body shapes chatting with Stede. He spots someone gesturing wildly with a look of incredulity on his face, gesturing at the door, and that’s when Ed figures he’d better just leave, and not stay and gawk in front of the window. Stede obviously knows these people, and he doesn’t know Ed (and Ed doesn’t know him).
Ed can wait and call Izzy instead.
Stede’s second and third texts to him come through only a few days later, and it’s a welcome reprieve from the… not-quite-fight he’s having with Izzy about wanting to take on a job playing in “some random bar for cheap” as Izzy put it. Ed has been trying to explain that he needs a change of pace, but Izzy doesn’t seem to understand it, telling him he should know better by now than to act on whims, and offering new venues and new classical pieces instead. As if that is what Ed wants, as if he hasn’t told Izzy before that he wants to do something else for a while, to broaden his horizons and find the joy in playing again.
It’s a bit of a sore spot between them, really. Izzy’s been there for Ed since he started playing professionally, and he’d never have made it the way he did without Izzy. They became friends along the way, and Ed usually values Izzy’s help and his suggestions. But Izzy seems to struggle with realising that Ed is unhappy and needs something else, keeps offering new options and new things—but all in the same classical vein, which is exactly the thing Ed’s been trying to get Izzy to understand needs to be changed.
So Stede’s text is a welcome reprieve. Ed switches his phone to silent after a final message to Izzy (Please stop asking me to do more performances, I need a break.), and then he makes his way over to the bar. It still looks bright, even in the gloom of an overcast day, and maybe that’s a sign that Ed’s going to find some happiness in there?
Well, he’s got to believe in something good in the world, since his career hasn’t been a bright spot for a long time. The bar looks like a good option to replace that.
Ed squares his shoulders and steps into The Lighthouse with a deep breath.
His eyes immediately find Stede behind the bar, and the man must have heard him come in because he turns around and beams an unexpected mega-watt smiles in Ed’s direction, and Ed can’t help but smile back. The joy on the other man’s face makes Ed’s heart flutter, and he walks towards him without taking in anything else.
Stede’s leaning against the bar, and he’s wearing a dark blue ensemble today. His waistcoat looks soft to the touch—maybe it’s velvet? It looks impractical for a bartender—and his sleeves are rolled up again. Ed’s focus slips from Stede’s bright smile to his muscled forearms, which—
God, Ed wants to bite them. His mouth starts watering, even, and when he’s close enough to Stede, he has to swallow before he talks lest he starts drooling.
“Welcome back, Ed,” Stede says, voice inviting and warm like his smile. He holds out a hand, and while Ed would have loved something more substantial, like a hug, he shakes it. Maybe he holds Stede’s hand slightly longer than he needs to, but that’s between him and whichever deity is in charge of this particular universe.
“Stede,” he breathes. Their eyes meet, and Ed gets sucked into Stede’s hazel eyes for a brief moment before he manages to get himself back together again. He’s glad that his skin doesn’t flush easily, or Stede might have asked if he’s doing okay. Ed’d better get this chat on track again. “You had a contract for me?”
Stede nods. “Why don’t you come into the office, and we can talk it through?” He inclines his head towards the back of the bar, to the one door that’s labelled ‘Private’, and Ed resolutely doesn’t think about what else they could do on their own in an office.
Moving way too fast, Teach, he thinks to himself. Ed doesn’t even know if Stede’s interested in men. Or if he’s interested in men, if he’s also interested in Ed.And not just that, he shouldn’t fall into something—or someone—right now. His last breakup was only a few months ago and it happened after he went too fast and assumed a few things he shouldn’t have. Plus, he doesn’t want Izzy to call any part of The Lighthouse a whim, and that includes Ed’s infatuation with Stede.
Ed follows Stede through the door and into a small office-slash-break room. It contains a table which is posing as a desk—there’s a laptop and a couple of papers in one corner, but the rest is covered with coffee mugs and glasses and crumbs—a couple of plastic chairs, and one decent desk chair. Stede gestures for him to sit down and Ed takes the plastic chair opposite the desk chair. It creaks ominously when he settles and Ed takes a mental note to try not to fidget too much.
Stede takes the stack of papers and slides it in front of Ed, and Ed recognises the contract when he reads the first few lines. He’d already received it by e-mail as well, “for you, or your lawyer, or agent, or whoever might want to look it over before you sign it”. Ed had read it over—it was short enough that he’d managed to focus for a few minutes—and decided Izzy didn’t need to see it. He’d already decided to sign the contract anyway, regardless of what Stede offered him per night. Ed’s got plenty of money in the bank and he doesn’t need to be paid much to show up and do something he loves.
But seeing the contract? The ridiculous man on the other side of the table/desk is offering to pay Ed much more than just a minimum wage as a pianist in a bar should get.
Stede is such a strange man, and Ed means that in the best way possible.
“Did you need anything changed?” Stede asks. “I tried my best, but I didn’t know what’d be a realistic amount to offer you, even more so since I learned that you are a rather established piano player and I’m just the owner of a queer bar, but I wanted to give you a decent offer, especially since you’ll probably end up playing whatever the patrons request, and—”
“Stede, this is the best contract I’ve seen in the past few years,” Ed interrupts. There is no need for Stede to tell him every single thought he’d had while writing up the initial contract. He might not know Stede well (yet) but he knows a tendency to ramble when he sees it, and Stede looks nervous enough that Ed feels justified in cutting him off. “Where do I sign?”
Stede’s fingers tremble as he flicks to the final page of the contract, and when that’s in front of Ed, Stede pushes a pen over to him. “If you’re sure…?”
“I am sure, Stede. I’d have sent you any changes I wanted made before today if there was anything.” Ed picks up the pen, and signs with a flourish. He hands the pen back to Stede with a grin and pushes the contract over to Stede. “Mate, I’m excited to play that Steinway. When can I start?”
“Really?”
“Really. I did just sign the contract…”
Stede blinks, but then he seems to realise what Ed means, and that he is serious, and then that bright, sunny disposition is back. Ed’s nearly blinded by Stede’s grin.
“If you want to, you can start right now? I wanted to talk to you about which days you’ll be here, and what times, but if you want to play first, go ahead.”
Ed’s stomach flutters in anticipation. The specifics of when he’s supposed to be here do need to be discussed, but that can wait. Stede’s got his number, and it’s not like it’s a chore to come in to discuss a schedule of sorts.
But that Steinway… His hands are itching to get to play that instrument again.
“If you don’t mind?”
Stede shakes his head and gets up from his chair. “Come on then, let’s see what the bar wants you to play.”
Turns out the bar doesn’t want music to be played just yet. Or at least, the patrons, who all seem to be crammed into one booth, don’t seem to really want to request any music. They’d rather introduce themselves and sort of posture over being protective of Stede.
Ed doesn’t feel intimidated easily, but the sheer amount of people who seem to tumble out of the booth the second Ed and Stede make their way back into the main space and then follow them over to the piano is intimidating.
“So you signed the contract?” one of them asks. He’s wearing a plain black-and-white striped shirt and red trousers, and the next thing Ed notices is the fact that he’s got quite the sideburn situation going on. He’s also holding hands with another man—bald, wearing a simple shirt and trousers but with a horseshoe as his belt buckle for some reason—but his focus is fully on Ed, who simply nods. “Okay, great, that means that Stede can stop moaning about the handsome pianist who might not ever come back, or something. You’re clearly here, and you’ve signed, so you’ll be here more often.” The man groans and rolls his eyes. “Stede can be so very dramatic about things. Anyway, hi, you must be Ed, I’m Lucius.”
Ed shakes Lucius’s hand, feeling bemused. The guy Lucius is holding hands with waves at him and says, “I’m Pete! I used to play alongside you, Mr. Teach. One of the contrabass players. You might remember…?”
Ed can’t remember, but he nods slowly as if it is coming to him again. He should probably ask Izzy if he wants to check Pete’s story, but it doesn’t really matter regardless.
Next up there’s a parade of other people, who all shake Ed’s hand and then introduce themselves. Frenchie is lanky and tall and he’s wearing a deep green shirt that compliments his skin. He’s got an amazing afro, and he tells Ed that he’d have loved to become The Lighthouse’s in-house musician except for the fact that he hates the piano and prefers anything with strings he can directly touch. Roach is the cook-slash-bartender-slash-town’s vet (which Ed tries not to think about too hard), and he looks maniacal enough that Ed mentally notes that he should probably avoid the man if he can. The Swede—Ed doesn’t catch his actual name?—says he was supposed to be the barkeep but his wife Jackie didn’t want the Swede to overwork himself with two jobs after she poached him from Stede and then married him. Ed’s still not quite convinced that he caught all of the Swede’s words; it sounds like an implausible story to say the least. Wee John is last. He’s a lumbering man who nearly squishes Ed’s hand when he shakes it, but he softens immediately and tells Ed that they’ll have to chat about drag night because he needs good music to perform to as the Goddess Calypso.
Stede has surrounded himself with a group of odd characters, but they feel like a close-knit family.
“Hi?” Ed says, after seemingly everyone has introduced themselves. “I… What is this all about?”
“They’re the core group. The crew, if you will,” Stede says. He’s flushed, and his eyes are on the floor, fingers fidgeting with the rolled up cuff of his shirt. “Helped me open the bar, have been here nearly every day when they’re not at work.”
“We’re his friends,” Lucius says, matter-of-fact. “So excuse us if we wanted to get to know the person that’s captured Stede’s attention.”
“Lucius!”
“You did keep talking about him, Stede, he deserves to know that.” Lucius turns his attention on Stede.
“Because he’s a great pianist! You make it sound like I was…” Stede trails off, gesturing wildly around him while his flush deepens.
Ed cocks his head. He wants to hear more, if he’s honest—it almost sounds like Lucius thinks that Stede is into him, but Stede doesn’t seem to think that, at least. On the one hand: great that Lucius catches those vibes too. On the other: Stede just treats him as a friend. Ed takes a deep breath and squashes all of those feelings.
“This is awkward,” Frenchie mutters, slightly too loudly, and that eases some of the awkwardness, somehow. The entire group still stands around the piano, crowding Ed and Stede, and Ed’s fingers are still itching to play the Steinway.
“Shouldn’t you be doing your new job?” Lucius asks, and the others murmur in agreement. Ed’s eyebrows raise in incredulity. Lucius’s got some nerve suggesting this after he basically derailed Ed doing just that by coming over and doing the whole introduction thing. He should be glad that it’s just them in the bar right now, that there are no innocent bystanders, so to speak. They might never have returned to Stede’s place.
“I was going to,” Ed says. He stares Lucius down, and Lucius almost cowers. “So what should I play?”
“Why don’t you do Piano Man?” John asks, winking at Ed, and Ed laughs. Of course he’ll be asked to play that song in a queer bar. John must have caught on to Ed’s own queer vibes (and maybe also the way he looks at Stede). Regardless of why John requested it, though, Ed likes Billy Joel, and he has played it before, so it’s a great first pick.
“I’ll play Piano Man. If you guys all give me a little bit of space so I can get to the piano in the first place.”
The group parts for him and migrates over to the bar. Stede doesn’t follow them but stays with Ed instead.
“I’m sorry about them,” Stede says, voice low. “They can be… a little much.” He leans in while Ed makes sure the Steinway is ready to play, and Ed smiles at him.
“It’s all good.” He sits on the bench and stretches his fingers, then finds his own calm. “It was slightly overwhelming, but they clearly care about you, and it’s lovely to meet them.”
“They can be a lot but you’re right. They do everything out of love.” Stede sighs and looks at Ed. Ed can’t place the look on Stede’s face, but it’s almost wistful. “Go play a few songs, then come find me at the bar, alright? I’ll make you a cocktail. How do you feel about fruit? And do you drink any alcohol?”
“Love fruit, the sweeter the better.” Ed laughs. “And you can pour me alcohol in moderation. Not until I’m done, though.”
Stede nods, seemingly already trying to figure out a good cocktail to make. He stands at the piano for a little longer, holding himself awkwardly, before he taps the lid a few times and then turns around to go behind the bar. Ed watches him leave, desperate for some sign that maybe that awkwardness is because Stede wanted to say something more, but there’s nothing, and Stede and his friends are watching him now.
So Ed takes a deep breath, and then he plays.
Piano Man flows from his fingers, and he finds himself humming along while several people at the bar start singing, almost as if Ed is a real-life karaoke machine. It makes playing that much more fun, and maybe Ed draws it out longer than the song actually is, just because he likes them singing along that much.
He finds the joy again. His fingers fly over the keys, and by the end of the song—when he wraps it up after ten minutes—he’s grinning from ear to ear, and he’s itching to play more.
“Any other requests?” Ed asks, and Frenchie hollers back: “Piano Man again!” and so Ed does another rendition.
And another. And another, and he can’t help but double over in laughter when he hits the fourth or fifth repeat. He’s not laughed this much in so long, and he loves it. There’s a lightness in the air that he revels in, that he’s missed when he was just playing on his own in front of people who only reward him with money and polite applause. He likes that Stede’s friends are starting to improvise other characters that are hanging around in a bar complaining about their lives.
After the eight rendition, which included Lucius singing an improvised verse about Sam the sex toy seller, Stede calls a stop to it.
“I think that’s enough of this particular song,” he shouts over John’s suggestion of Maybe we can do… Piano Man? “I don’t want Ed to quit after one evening because all he can play here is Billy Joel.”
There’s some grumbling and Ed can see John rolling his eyes, but it feels good-natured, so Ed chuckles.
“I was curious about which new jobs and grievances you’d be adding this time around,” Ed admits as he gets off the bench. He stretches and then straightens himself before walking over to the bar. “But yeah, let’s come up with more different requests next time.”
The Swede scoots aside, giving Ed a barstool to lean against. With the show over, the group disperses from the bar again, shuffling their way back to the booth they were crammed in before. Ed watches them go as Stede pushes a tall cocktail glass forward in his direction.
“Here you go,” Stede says. “You did great, you know.” Stede’s eyes are on the glass and not on Ed, and Ed wonders what Stede’s thinking about. “Especially with this crew.”
“They’re a hoot.” Ed looks at the cocktail glass, too. It’s filled with something red, topped with a few strawberries on a skewer, and there’s a red-and-white paper straw in the drink. He can guess at least one of the ingredients, then. “And I didn’t mind—I’d have started playing something else if I was bothered about having to do Piano Man again.”
Stede huffs. “Still, I don’t want you to feel like this is what it’s going to be like every time you come play. We’re not really off the ground yet, and most of the guys are here every day, but we do have other customers come in and—”
“No need to justify yourself, or to apologise for them,” Ed interrupts. “We’re good. Now, what did you make me tonight?”
Stede lights right back up, and Ed notices that his eyes and nose crinkle slightly when he smiles—which is adorable. “It’s relatively simple: a strawberry daiquiri. I thought about making you a gin and tonic but you said you like your fruit sweet. And the strawberries are in season, so…” Stede gestures at the glass. “Go ahead, if you like sweetness, you’ll hopefully enjoy it.”
There’s a look of anticipation on his face as Ed drags the glass closer to himself. He can’t help but wrap his lips around the straw like he’s making love to it. He hasn’t outright flirted with Stede yet, so maybe that’s the way to go?
But no. While Stede does flush slightly and looks down towards the bar again, his eyes flick back up pretty quickly and his focus really does seem to be on Ed experiencing the cocktail.
So Ed focuses on that, too, shelving the flirting for now. He sucks it up through the straw, and the flavour of ripe strawberries explodes over his tongue. The strawberry-and-syrup sweetness is followed by some of the tang of the lime and when Ed swallows down his first sip, he can feel the burn of the rum going down his throat, and it is perfect. He can’t help the moan that falls from his lips, and when he opens his eyes again, he sees a flushed Stede busying himself with clean-up behind the bar.
“I take it you like it?” Stede asks, and Ed nods. For some reason, he feels a little dumbstruck, as if that one sip of cocktail wiped away all of his thoughts. When Stede cocks his head with question marks clearly written over his face, Ed finally finds his voice again.
“Yeah.” His voice comes out a little squeaky and he clears his throat. “Yeah, I did. Really love the sweetness, and it’s a good balance with the rum. Can’t really go wrong much with rum.”
Stede makes a face. “Well…”
“Oh? Do tell, Stede. What went wrong with rum?” Ed leans forward on the bar, captivated by the potential of learning more about Stede and hearing one of his stories, but Stede shakes his head.
“It’s not a fun story.”
“If it went wrong, it probably isn’t.” Ed is clutching the cocktail glass and is running circles over the condensation on the glass with his thumb. “But if you’d prefer not to share it, that’s okay too. Like the piano story. I don’t want to push you, ever. We… We don’t really know each other, after all.”
Stede is silent for a beat, then sighs and pours himself a glass of water. “I think I want to tell you the story. Both of them, actually. But… Maybe not right now? Let’s figure out your schedule first, and then you can come back later and I’ll tell you this rum story.”
“Sounds like a good deal for me, seeing I was planning on coming back anyway.” Ed looks at Stede. The other man is still fidgety and not making eye contact, and Ed clears his throat. When Stede looks up, Ed catches his eye and holds eye contact. “You don’t have to Scheherazade me to make sure I keep coming back. I want to be here. I signed the contract. Stede, I like the bar. And of course that can change, but if that does change, I’ll tell you. I’m an adult, I can speak up when something doesn’t work.”
Stede nods slowly. “Thank you. I’ve not… I’m not used to that, I guess. But… But still. Let’s discuss your schedule and I’ll tell you later.” He looks at the group in the corner. “It’ll be slightly quieter, then.”
Ed glances over his shoulder too, just to see the entire group focused on them, and he understands what Stede means. They’re protective, sure, but it looks like it also means that Stede is a little more wary of talking to Ed for longer periods of time, probably because he will get teased by the group.
“Let’s figure out that schedule, and then I’ll get out of your hair for the night. Okay?”
Stede looks almost thankful when Ed follows his suggestion, and they do figure out when Ed’s coming in to play, what times, and how he’ll be compensated—the tips will be his, although Ed’s pretty sure he’s going to reinvest them in the bar.
By the time he waves goodbye to Stede—and his friends, still in the corner booth—Ed is both bone-tired and happier than he has been for a while. Ed already feels much lighter after just playing for one evening. It feels good to be among proper maniacs, and he grins as he walks back home. He can’t wait to go back to the bar and see Stede again. He knows that he’s attracted to Stede, sure, but mostly, he wants to get to know Stede. Learn what makes him tick, what makes him happy. Just these few meetings and texts have Ed feeling intrigued by the man, and he can’t wait to figure out what else he’ll learn about Stede.