𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎/𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

𝟐𝟗 𝐀𝐧 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐮𝐫𝐚

A/N 

Another update! Another filler chapter, but still VERY important to the atmosphere. It will pay off, I promise. 

Thank you for all your engagement on the last two chapters, it means a lot! It really motivates me to keep going and I appreciate it so much! Keep it goinggggg!!! 

Anyway, remember to check the links in my bio! 

And without further ado, please enjoy the chapter and let me know all your thoughts and predictions. 

C. Bijou x 

//

~an unsettling aura~

November 18th, 1975 – Bristol, England.

Brian

"Well, son, if you're happy with how it went last night, then I can only be happy for you," Dad said to me in a somewhat regretful tone, his voice crackling through the hotel telephone. I could picture him sitting in his favourite armchair, the morning sun casting a soft glow on his face as he spoke.

A mix of emotions swirled within me as I listened to his words. The excitement of the successful Bristol show lingered in my veins, but there was also a tinge of apprehension. It was a delicate balance, wanting to share my joy with my father while also shielding him from the overwhelming reality of the rock star lifestyle that I knew he wasn't a fan with from the beginning.

"Yes, Dad, it went really well," I replied, my voice betraying a hint of restraint. I leaned back in the hotel room chair, twirling a pen between my fingers as I spoke. "The crowd was incredible, and the reception was beyond our expectations. We couldn't have asked for a better show."

There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line, and I could almost hear my father's thoughts as he processed my words. In that silence, I reflected on our relationship, our shared history, and the unspoken tensions that sometimes coloured our conversations.

At twenty-eight, I had carved my own path as a musician, but the need for validation from my father still lingered, mingling with the pride and confidence I had gained along the way. Our conversations always danced around the reality of my rock star life, skirting the edges of disappointment and unspoken expectations.

My dad had never been outright disapproving or restrictive. He had supported me in his own way, always there to lend a hand or offer advice. But beneath that, I could sense a hint of reservation, a flicker of uncertainty about the choices I had made.

I thought back to the time when we built Red together. It was a labour of love, hours spent in the shed, shaping the wood and connecting the strings. That guitar had become an extension of my identity, the vessel through which I expressed myself on stage. Without that shared experience, without his guidance and support, my musical journey may have taken a different turn.

As I continued to spin the pen in my hand, I realised that my father and I were more alike that I cared to admit. The subtle undercurrent of passive-aggression that ran through our conversations was a reflection of our shared anxiety and desire for each other's approval.