âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Joe Strummer •

I wrote this on the train in mortal dread that my seat partner would see 🫠 Possibly OOC? I'm not sure if I nailed this one. But it's cute, I hope you enjoy!

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You knew Joe fancied you. Or, at least, you'd made an educated guess. Ever since Mick, your older brother and Joe's band mate, had reintroduced him to you. It was a brief meeting made when Joe dropped Mick off at your birthday party just over a year before, in 1979. He'd choked before starting to speak to you and rushed through his greetings and birthday wishes like an embarrassed kid before retreating to the sanctity of his car.

Before your birthday party, you hadn't seen Joe for about 3 years. As the older sibling by a year, Mick was always quick to boss you out of the way when his friends were around, so you never knew Joe particularly well back then either. Besides, Joe – or John, as he then went by - was older than you. Four years was a chasm when you were twenty.

Yet, after your twenty-third birthday, you found yourself seeing much more of him. Typically, when he was casually tagging along with Mick, or badgering his bandmates with suggestions, or poking his nose into your business. The latter quickly became a favourite pastime of his, when he wasn't performing, recording, or causing trouble.

Then came all the touches - wrapping his hands around your shoulders or waist to pass you, holding onto your elbow when walking, taking you under his arm before saying goodbye. Innocent things.

You did not help matters. Every touch he gave, you leant in to. Every word he spoke, you hung on to. How could you help yourself? He sounded so beautiful when he spoke, so calm and intelligent. Nothing like his punk media persona - a tough subterfuge even you, someone who knew him before the so-called fame, had fallen for.

Mick had moved out of your family home not long before that fateful meeting at your birthday and had been meaning to throw a little housewarming party for some time.  And since the house was now, as he put it, broken in, he saw no reason in putting it off. You were the first person he called, and when you turned up on the day, you weren't surprised to see his band mates and a handful of old school friends milling around the garden.

You were awestruck by the new house, its vastness and style. Each room was vaulted to the ceiling, and you and the other guests gleefully ran through the open doors shouting into the empty spaces just to hear your voices echo back to you. In contrast, the party was rather a small affair, but nevertheless a fun one. Primarily, you stayed in the main sitting room, cross-legged on the floor like school children and giggling and shouting loudly to each other. Booze flowed as freely as the conversation, and you all stumbled to bed in the early hours of the morning.

Joe spent a lot of the night sitting beside you. Whether he stealthily made sure of this or you did, you couldn't quite be sure. Still, he mingled beautifully, showing no indication of realising he was sticking to your side so steadfastly. Not even when Mick and his school friends, having downed several strong drinks, got to the stage of nostalgic reminiscing of memories that yourself and the band were not privy to, and Joe began sneakily leaning closer to speak only to you, his hand finding its way to your knee.

However, before turning in for the night, he shed his subtly with another fleeting touch to set your pulse beating as you stumbled to your rooms. A kiss to the cheek. He was blasé about it, almost like an old woman bidding farewell to a friend, but his hand on the small of your back gave him away.

Despite the beer still lingering on his breath and the tremble of his fingers, you felt all too well the impact of this intimate gesture. It was as clear and beautiful as moonlight reflected on a lake, red roses on a summer windowsill.