Greta Van Fleet Imagines

Cheers (Danny Wagner)

It was a warm summer Friday night. Usually, you'd be camping or out at a party with the whole band. But the Kiszka's were gone for the week, something about visiting family out of state. So that left you and Danny. It took hours of you two shooting down each other's ideas for you to make plans. Eventually, you decided to spend the night at your house, listening to records and drinking wine. It was nights like this where you appreciated your mother's work schedule. She was a nurse, and those seven to seven shifts meant you were home alone a lot.

"Are you sure your mom won't notice?" Danny watched as you poured him a glass of wine.

"She works twelve hours a night. She's always tired. If anything, she'll think she finished the bottles." You handed Danny his glass and poured one for yourself.

"Since I'm supplying the alcohol you get to do the honors of picking out a record to play." You leaned back against your bed and took a sip of your wine, watching as Danny stood up and made his way over to your vinyl collection.

Danny admired the spine of each album jacket. After a minute of indecisiveness, he gently slid out an album.

"What artist are you gracing us with tonight, Mr. Wagner?" You laughed.

"Tonight's conversation will be accompanied by the vocal stylings of the glorious James Taylor." Danny sat down across from you, his back against the wall. He had one leg bent towards himself. His arm stretched out over his knee while the other handheld his glass of wine.

For a moment, both of you just sat in silence, drinking wine and taking in the music.

"What's your favorite thing about being in a band?" You asked as you took another sip from your glass.

"It's hard just to pick one thing." Danny took a sip of his drink, thinking for a moment. "If I had to choose though I would say it's a tie between playing on stage and interacting with the fans."

"Interesting. Why did you pick those two things?" You asked.

"Well, when I'm on stage, I feel like a completely different person. I come alive." Danny explained.

You thought back to the first time you saw Danny play on stage. It might have only been in a local bar that all of you were too young to get into at the time, but it was still breathtaking. The quiet and easy-going boy you knew your whole life changed. He developed this energy, and the passion he had for music was evident all over his face.

"And I love seeing the reaction of the fans. It doesn't matter if I like a picture they post or if I meet them in person after a show. I enjoy seeing how excited they get and hearing how much our music means to them. It makes what we're doing worth it. We wouldn't be able to do what we're doing without them." He continued.

"Hey just remember who your first fan was." You laughed.

"How could I forget? All those basement rehearsals you sat through where we tried to find our sound. I don't know why you stayed." He joked back.

"I stayed because once you found your style, I knew you guys had something special. That's why I promoted your early shows so much. I knew you guys were good." You poured yourself another glass of wine. Danny handed you his cup too, and you refilled it for him.

Two glasses turned into four, and eventually, you both lost track of how much you had to drink. The second bottle was almost gone. Danny was explaining how Josh managed to roll out of his bunk the first night they stayed on a tour bus, and you were giggling nonstop. Neil Young's record Harvest was playing in the background.

After a minute, you began to tune out Danny's talking. You were too focused on admiring him. The way his hair fell over his shoulders and how it looked better unbrushed. Then there were his eyes, to say they are brown is to say the sky is colorful at sunset, accurate but not giving a true description of their uniqueness, how they light up whenever he talks about music. Next, you glanced down at his mouth and watched the way his lips curled as he spoke. The way the corners of his mouth tugged into a smile as he continued his story.

You liked him. No, it wasn't the alcohol making you think that, but it was the alcohol that got you to say it out loud. You didn't care that you were interrupting him. All you cared about was saying how you felt.

"I love you." You blurted out mid-conversation.

Danny laughed a little. "I love you too, Y/N."

You knew he didn't realize you were serious.

"No. Danny I'm being serious. I've felt different around you for a while and tonight here with you made me realize how I truly felt."

You could tell by his facial expression that he was taken aback by what you just admitted to him. At that moment you wished you could take it back, but it was too late.

"Really?" He questioned.

"Yeah but it's stupid so just forget I ever said anything." You took another sip of your wine, trying not to make eye contact with the friend you hoped you didn't push away.

It was quiet for a moment and you knew your friendship would never be the same. You felt a tear escape and run down your face. Danny was your best friend, and you can't believe you blew it. You told him everything, and now he'll probably never want to talk to you again.

"Please don't cry Y/N. I love you too." His voice was hushed. Intoxicated or not, you knew how quiet Danny was and how he wasn't typically one to talk about his emotions. "And I'm serious. I love how much energy you have. I love how you've always supported me and the band as a whole. I love everything about you Y/N, and I always have."

Suddenly 'A Man Needs A maid' started playing, and it was definitely the alcohol giving you the extra courage to ask your next question. "Danny, would you please dance with me?"

Danny laughed to himself and set down his glass on your bedside table. "Of course."

There wasn't much room but just enough. Right there in your bedroom, you danced to Neil Young's voice. Your head resting on Danny's shoulder, one hand around his waist and the other around his back, still holding on to your wine glass.

"Cheers," Danny whispered in your ear as you both gently swayed to the music.