I could barely see a thing from my little stool on the little stage. This three-floor pub that I'd known since before I was legal. Ground floor: Bar and seating. Downstairs: Stage and seating. Upstairs: Pool tables.
But it was my place. The Hub was my pub of choice, my only social network. Apart from Matt, of course. It was where I felt home, where I felt immeasurable comfort, where I'd been drunk and been drinking, where I had never needed ID because the manager had known me all my life.
And in retrospect, this was where my dreams had blossomed. I had always wanted to play music. Guitar, ukulele, piano or just sing my soul out. And the pub was my first gig. I'd had so many since, but never more than a city away. I always came back here.
And in The Hub, playing my music, I always felt like I was spinning in the sun in a field and feeling every positive emotion possible, even though all the while I was in this dark, fairy-lit basement, a double-vodka and redbull at my ankle.
That was how at home and happy I was.
And he would never know it, but Matt had made this happen for me. Just by existing, and living with me, he had inspired me. He had become my Apollo, who reigned over muses. Yeah, a male muse. Every song I had written since we'd moved into our house was, in one way or another, about him. He gave me feeling, made me feel grace.
That night I couldn't see for the lights on my face. I had no idea if Matt was watching me play. I always kind of liked to think of him, standing so close to the stage, listening from when I sat down until I walked off, appreciating, understanding. Because sometimes I wondered if I wasn't obvious or if he was just slow on the uptake.
"...I'll write you songs with your name on, and wait for all the orbits in your head to align. Oh the stars wonʼt shine until youʼre mine. No the stars wonʼt shine until youʼre mine.." I finished, barely feather-stroking the last C chord, the briefest smile to whomever was looking. I stood up and thanked Harvey, my pianist before jumping down onto the beer-sticky floor.
And then suddenly I felt Matt's palm in mine, dragging me.
"I need to put my ukulele away..." I half-protested. Wherever he wanted to take me, I would have followed. I passed it instead to Harvey with a shrug on my shoulders.
"I have a drink waiting at the bar for you. And here," He put a Marlboro in front of my face. "For you."
I could tell he was past his 'in between drunk' stage. I fitted my hand more comfortably in his. And god, it was so very comfortable in his big, warm palm. A haven of safety to my own chilly fingers.
After thrusting a Budweiser in my free hand, we stumbled outside. He lit my cigarette, and for reason beyond me, he grinned this sweet smile that shrunk his eyes ever so slightly.
"What are you smiling at, Smith?" He tapped my elbow and laughed.
"See, it'll catch on. Smith and Darling." He inhaled the July air through his teeth and said, "I'm smiling because I liked watching you tonight. Well done, Darling."
He studied me for a few moments, a crooked smile and contemplative look in his narrowed eyes. Without realising, I studied him back, wondering in the furthest crevice of my mind what he was thinking and feeling. In a moment flat, I didn't want to be at the pub with people. I wanted to be home. With Matt. Watching Teleshopping, A Place In The Sun or something equally unimportant on the sofa, my head in his lap like it sometimes was at 2am.
And that's how I always wanted it to be.
On the sofa watching crap TV. Just Matt and me.