Starstruck

Part 6

Warnings: swearing, drinking

Historical Inaccuracies:

- Again, I'm sure Bri's eyesight really was absolutely fine haha

Word Count: 5.8k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Thursday night, it was raining. Again.

Always raining, were the skies above London, and the house was big and empty once more, the echoes of conversation long since departed the halls of your residence— everyone else was working.

But you were reading, always reading. You thought perhaps that you should play guitar, but you still had yet to fix that broken string, and the thought of balancing an instructional book on one knee and your guitar on the other made you feel further discouraged.

Then there was a knock at the door, and a flutter touched your sides.

Trying to calm whatever sensation of nervousness that had swept through your core and settled in your stomach, you took a deep breath and put your book aside.

You hurried toward the door, then mitigated your pace after you slipped and nearly fell to the hardwood floor in your fluffy socks.

You paused at the door, oddly hesitant about opening it.

The knock came again and you jumped. No way you could feign calm now, with the little hairs along your arms raised, with your breath so short. But you resolved to try.

You unlocked the door and pulled it open.

"Oh, thank goodness. I was starting to wish I'd have stolen your umbrella."

Brian stood in the rain, one arm holding a puffer jacket over his head. Under the other arm he carried a book, and in his hand he clutched the handle of his guitar case.

He blinked up at you from the bottom of the two steps that raised the door above the ground. The ends of his hair were sodden, and he had once again neglected to wear proper boots, opting for his classic white clogs, now speckled with muddy rain.

But what drew your attention was that he was wearing glasses.

Classic wayfarers with a thinner rim added to his already delicate yet sophisticated manner, and his poise, despite the jacket he held aloft, brought forth in him a regality. Queen indeed.

"You're wearing glasses!" you exclaimed, as it was the first thing that popped into your head.

"Yes, lovely. Mind if I come in?"

The endearment caught you off-guard. The incline of his head and the curve of his mouth even more so.

"Uh, yes," you blundered, "of course." You stepped aside and held the door open for him.

"Ta."

You closed the door behind him. He stopped to remove his shoes and to hang his jacket on one of the many coat pegs by the entranceway.

You waited, then gestured in the direction of the hall to your room. "This way."

He nodded and followed you.

You walked slowly down the hall so as to not slip again and Brian padded along behind you, soft footsteps not characterising his height.

"Welcome to my humble abode," you said comically as the two of you entered the small room.

You tried to see it through Bri's eyes, observing the white sheets and mound of cushions, the Jimi Hendrix and Beatles posters, the rickety bookshelves you had put up above your bed one late, insomnia-driven night, taking in the sight of books and records and plants scattered atop the furnishings. The window let in a little light from the street, and you had to say that you were quite pleased with the atmospheric cosiness that your multitude of fairylights provided the room with. Of course, that was your side of the room. Heather's side was a mess of posters and trinkets and concert tickets.