Fluctuate - Van McCann

21

I put the remaining part of my chicken sandwich down and pick at my fries. Van and I ordered the same meal. He suggested it to me saying it was the best sandwich I'll ever eat.

"Good, right?" He asks me, taking the last bite of his sandwich.

"Mhm. You were so right. That was the best thing I've ever eaten," I tell him.

"Yup. Bar food is underrated. I tell that to everyone, but no one seems to understand," he says, sounding very passionate on his opinion of bar food.

"I understand," I giggle. "I'd eat bar food every day if I could."

"Oh my god, what did I do to get a girlfriend with such good taste in food and music," Van says leaning back in his seat and looking at me.

I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe you can think of it while you go up there and sing me 'Heath bar' or whatever it was called," I tell him.

"I did promise you that, didn't I?" Van asks, looking up as if he was thinking to himself.

"Yeah," I say.

"Alright, then. You stay here and I'll go sing 'Heathrow,'" Van says, laughing when he corrects the song title.

I roll my eyes. "Eh, same thing," I say.

"Sure it is, babe," Van says before walking off to the stage which was empty. The last people who performed got off a couple minutes ago.

I shift in the booth so I was facing the stage and I watch as Van grabs an acoustic guitar from the stand and he adjusts his microphone so it was a little taller. He taps the microphone to make sure it was on, which it was.

The people sitting on the couches turns to face Van. "Hello," his British accent sounds through the microphone. "I'm going to be playing a song called 'Heathrow.'" He looks over at me and smiles. "I wrote it for Peyton, the beautiful girl sitting over there." He points to me and all eyes are drawn to me, making me blush.

No wonder I haven't heard the song before. Van wrote it. And he wrote it for me. A few claps are shared throughout the audience before Van starts strumming an intro on his guitar. He starts smiling and I immediately at his voice and the lyrics.

"She was a different league. And I was nothing much," he sings while his soft eyes stare into my own. I watch him in admiration. If anyone was out of someone's league, it was me. Van was the most talented musician I've ever heard, he's kind and forgiving, and he's absolutely beautiful.

"Song her in the kitchen," he sings and glances at me again, giving me a wink. A few people in the audience chuckle, which makes my face heat up. Van was the only one who could work that into a song and make it sound good.

He finishes his song and takes the guitar off of his shoulder. The small audience applauds Van and he says thank you before walking off the stage over to me.

"What'd ya think?" He asks standing in front of me.

I stand up and hug him, resting my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He hugs me back, placing one hand on my lower back and the other on the side of my head. "Van, it was perfect. I loved it so much," I say. A tear falls from my eye, but Van doesn't notice since my head is still in his chest.

"When did you write that?" I ask, curious as to when he would have had the time to write a whole song.

"The night we met. I named it after the park we sat at for hours instead of sticking around at the party," he says. "The idea just came to me, I guess. I really knew you were something special then."

I smile, thinking of the night we first met. Everything was so perfect until I overreacted. I wish I could relive that night and act like a sane human being. Maybe Van and I could have skipped a whole lot of arguing that way.

"Look at me, baby," Van says. His hand cups my cheek and he softly rubs his thumb in a circle. My teary eyes meet his eyes and he frowns. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing is wrong," I say. "They're happy tears, I promise."

Van wipes on of my tears with his thumb. "Good. Because you know I'd never do anything to hurt you, right?" He says quietly.

I nod my head. "I know," I say. Van takes his hand off of my face and pulls me into a tight hug. His right hand was on the back of my head and his left was on my back. He sways us gently back and forth to the slow song someone was currently playing on stage.

"How am I so lucky that I have you?" Van whispers into my ear.

"How am I so lucky that I have a boyfriend who cares enough about me to write a song for me?" I ask in return. My hands keep a tight grip of Van's sides and he continues to keep me pressed against his body.