A baggy, off the shoulder tee shirt that says 'Jesus hearts sluts', loose jean shorts, black sparkly ankle boots that you snatched from your tour closet, a bit of makeup, and minimal effort to your hair. A guitar on your lap as you sat on a stool, microphone near your lips. It was a small pub and next to no one knew English, some you could tell vaguely recognized you, but it was okay.
It was okay because while you didn't have your person, you had your passion.
You could lean on it right now as you strummed a few cords, beginning to sing softly, "Every little part of me is holding onto every little piece of you," You sung out the gut wrenching lyrics you cowrote with one of your friends when you were both starting out – one of the first people to call you when shit hit the fan publicly, "Is holding on to every drop of blood you drew, is holding on to you," A few people turned towards you, interested, "And every waking hour I spend, holding out for reasons not to go to bed – I'm holding out for someone else to hold instead if every hope of you is dead..."
A few tears had slipped by the time you finished the song, but that's all you wanted. To finish one song in public, to see the feeling behind other people's eyes and to be connected to strangers in some way. Whether or not they could connect the lyrics, they heard the pain and longing in your voice and if that isn't something everyone can relate to, you didn't know what was. It started to make sense why, unintentionally, your last album was your most successful.
You thanked the crowd and most of them clapped, but you noticed one girl crying, so you blew her a kiss, putting your hand to your heart with a quick nod after and she mirrored the motion in return. You know back in the day, Natasha would've teased you for how that looked, but lately, it doesn't seem to matter.
You returned to the pub every night that week, longer sets as you went, and word got out about what you were doing, a short snip of a video surfacing online and going viral. You watched the video and normally, you'd be critical of yourself in this situation, that's why you never watched yourself much, but right now it had you thinking.
"Caught me off guard, wish I'd been sober..."
Someone had posted just the beginning of the cover, and you were happy it wasn't one of your own that you'd been playing recently because they were unreleased, and you weren't sure if you wanted them out yet or at all.
You had a small smile curling at your lips when you read the top comment on the viral video from the man himself, Lewis Capaldi, who wrote 'Lovely voice, interesting song choice' with the thinking emoji and a winking one because the first thing you two bonded over after getting shitfaced was a weird love of rhymes. You knew he assumed you'd eventually see the comment and he was right. He just didn't know it came at the exact right time.
Everyone was freaking out over the video, gossip sights talking about it, and rumor spread that it was a small bar in Europe, but they couldn't narrow it down to Italy – even though most know you have a house there. It was funny to watch them speculate and heartwarming to see them gush over your voice, send you well wishes, and talk about how they missed you.
You flew to LA in the morning.
"Aye, you ugly bastard!"
You smiled, but it didn't reach your eyes, and you gave him a massive hug, squeezing him tight.
Lewis was one of the first people you and Atlas got acquainted with because you were under the same label at the time. His contract didn't last as long and he found a better one with someone else, thriving in his career while mending his mental health. He was no stranger to heartbreak and struggling to get through every day despite the world thinking everything was handed to you for your raw talent or whatever it was. He gets insecure and doubts his own strength, but he's also the funniest, kindest, and most genuine person you've met in the industry. When they say fame didn't change someone, Lewis is the face of that. He's down to earth, sensitive, and has a big heart. One of the few people you'd trust with your life.
"Missed me?" You teased, nudging his side as he put his arm around your shoulders, kissing the top of your head as you both walked towards the waiting car, "Didn't have to pick me up, you know."
"Hey, you're lettin' me crash at yer place, least I could do."
"Because you refuse to commit to buying a house here." You chuckled and he shrugged it off, but that fact just made you love him even more.
You guys got back to the house after catching up a bit on the ride and the place had a pretty modern style to it. You never really settled into this place, always felt like it was more of a massive office building with a bedroom to crash in upstairs when you weren't able to fly back to New York or Italy. You never even touched the master bedroom, always opting for one of the cozier guest ones because you felt like an imposter in your own house.
"Ah, home sweet home." He sighed, his tone sarcastic, and you snorted a laugh, dropping your bags in the living room before you ungraciously sprawled out on the stiff sofa.
"Well, Lew," You vaguely gestured around, "What shall we do now?"
"Get out these clothes, dress all sexy, and then get ourselves a drink. Or twelve."
You pointed up at him, "I knew there was a reason I came back to this hell hole."
"You're saying it was for two for ten-dollar margaritas every Thursday at the place downtown and not to see this handsome mug?" He pointed to his face, jokingly adding, "I'm offended."
"I feel like we'd be married if I wasn't gay, and you weren't in love with our mutual Irish friend."
"We'd be divorced, more like."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"You'd cheat."
"I would not!"
"It's okay," He put his hand up and you furrowed your eyebrows with an amused smile until, "If I found my soulmate while we were married, I'd cheat on ya too," You opened your mouth to respond but he was already rifling through his luggage, "Hurry up, I'm thirsty and I'm about to out sexy one of my best friends."
"Aww," You cooed teasingly, "Am I your best friend?"
"Shat up, yer off your fuckin' heid."
You laughed loudly before following suit, getting dressed to head out not long after that.
Sexy was an exaggeration since both of you opted for jeans, tee shirts, joggers, and windbreakers. Casually sexy then. It wasn't the clothes that made the people, it was the people who made the clothes. And you needed a chill night out drinking with a friend to get through some shit, so here it was.
And what a night it was.
You guys drank, caught up on everything under the sun, joked around, did some karaoke terribly, and then drank some more.
Waking up on the stiff couch wasn't the best but seeing one of your best friends in his underwear, snoring away on the other side of it made you let out a surprise laugh and then wince from the headache and stomach churning that did to you.
"Ow, fuck," You hissed, and he snuffled, slowly waking up, "Lew – Lewis," You threw a throw pillow at him, and he grunted, slowly blinking awake, "What happened last night?"
"We got pissed, whaddya think – wait, why am I naked?" He was suddenly more awake, looking over at you with a quirked eyebrow, "Did we...?"
"No," You brushed it off and he raised his eyebrows with a tilt of his head, so you chuckled, shaking yours, "No. We did not fuck. I promise you."
"Don't be crass, jesus," He snorted and then winced, grabbing his head, "Shit," He looked over at you, still grimacing, "Feelin' any better about the Natasha thing?"
