Chapter Text
Ever since his dad went away, Eamon had been the man of the house. This meant picking up more of the housework, working at the supermarket on the weekends to help his mother pay bills, and growing up faster than all of his peers. He took on this role with no complaints; after all, it was preferable to his dad still being around to beat the shit out of him.
Very early during his childhood, his mother had set the expectation that he would go to university and get a “proper” job. Translation: Eamon would not, under any circumstances, follow in his dad’s footsteps. Sometimes, when Eamon was home alone and could play guitar as loud as he wanted, he’d briefly entertain the idea that he would be able to pursue a career in music. Despite his shyness, he knew he could do it; he was a talented musician, often told by his music teachers that he was “just shy of a prodigy.” Of course, he also wasn’t delusional. The chances of him actually getting famous were nonexistent, especially in Ireland. But he didn’t want to be famous, he just wanted to play music.
As much as it upset him to know that he couldn’t pursue the one thing he was actually interested in, he respected his mother’s wishes that he attend university. Not only was his dad a musician, making the career path inexcusable in the eyes of his mother, but it was also a wildly unpredictable and unstable career. His mother struggled every month to pay the rent and keep the lights on; he couldn’t, in good conscience, pursue a career that could result in him being just as financially unstable when she worked so hard to support him.
So he did what he was expected to do: got good grades, applied to university, and when he received his acceptance letter to the University of London his mother was over the moon. Eamon, on the other hand, felt defeated, resigned to a life that he didn’t particularly want but knew was what was expected of him. Whereas another teenager his age would revel at the prospect of leaving home, finally gaining independence, and no longer being under the strict control of their parents, Eamon felt dread.
So, he left Dublin behind with minimal complaints. A week before classes began, he was on a plane with a one-way ticket to London with only his suitcase, backpack, and guitar (the one concession his mother made when Eamon agreed to enroll at the university). Both his suitcase and backpack were stuffed to the brim with as many of his belongings as he could possibly fit. The rest of his instruments and the rabbits stay behind with his mum, although he expected that she would find a smaller, more affordable place to live and ultimately sell all of his dad’s old instruments. She might even sell the rabbits if she gets sick of taking care of them. Although he was unhappy, he couldn't complain—especially since his mum was shelling out God knows how much money for his tuition. An education, his mother would always tell him, is a privilege that not everyone is afforded, and he supposed he needed to take advantage of it.
All things considered, London was fine. The city was large, especially compared to Dublin, so there was no lack of things for Eamon to do and see. Eamon’s roommate was a small, red-haired boy named Darren who was also from Dublin. Eamon suspected that the school matched them together on account that they were both Dubliners, but it was actually nice to have someone who had a similar background to him as a roommate—even if Darren was a little weird at times.
The first few weeks of classes passed by uneventfully. Eamon’s classes weren't difficult, but they weren't exactly interesting, either. He found himself spending most afternoons at a café called Hardy’s, which was tucked into a quiet corner of London, away from the high energy of the campus and downtown London. The sheer mass of students on campus made it impossible to find a place to work at the library, so Hardy’s offered an alternative. Plus, Hardy’s allowed him some solitude and the baristas played good music.
It was a Friday night when Eamon first saw him. Although Hardy’s didn’t see a great deal of business during the week— mostly just regulars who popped in for a drink then left—Friday nights, Eamon discovered, were another story. The café had a small stage set up in the south corner of the building, and Eamon had assumed that it was never used for anything as he’d never seen anyone up there before.
Eamon had been sat in the café for several hours while attempting to finish a paper, but he didn’t care for the book he was meant to be writing about and certainly didn’t care about the assignment. It was this disinterest that allowed him to be distracted by a boy who was on stage setting up a stool he’d stolen from another part of the café. Beside him was an old, busted up guitar case. Although Eamon hadn’t noticed before, a sizable group of people were gathering in the café, pulling up chairs and stools around the stage.
“Are you using that chair?” A girl asked Eamon, pointing at the unused chair across from him. She looked about sixteen and was wearing entirely too much blush.
“You can take it,” Eamon replied. “Who is this guy?” He added quickly before she walked away.
“Huh?” The girl asked. Eamon gestured toward the stage, at the boy who was opening the guitar case and throwing the guitar strap over his shoulder. “Oh! That’s Conor Lawlor. He’s here every Friday night. He’s damn good, so people always come out to watch him. Gained a bit of a local reputation, I suppose.” The girl smiled at Eamon before carrying the chair toward the stage.
Eamon couldn't help but notice that most of the audience were girls, and it annoyed him a bit. He suspected that maybe they were all just there because Conor was attractive and not because he was actually any good.
“Hi, everyone, my name is Conor if you don’t already know,” Conor said while settling down onto his stool. Eamon immediately perked up at the Irish accent.
“This one is called Train Cars,” Conor said before jumping into the song that, much to the surprise of Eamon, wasn't half bad. Conor carried himself with such a sense of confidence that made Eamon immediately understand why he had a regular audience every Friday night.
When the song ended, the audience clapped politely. A girl toward the front of the crowd requested a song and Conor honored the request, immediately jumping into a faster and more upbeat song. Eamon had never heard any of the songs before and he wasn't sure if it was because he was unfamiliar with the London music scene or if they were originals.
During the set, Eamon contemplated speaking to Conor after the performance. He imagined various scenarios where he would walk up to Conor: in one he strikes up a conversation about the model of guitar that Conor’s using, in another he asks Conor what part of Ireland he’s from and why he left. He was captivated by the Irish boy but ultimately his shyness got the best of him and he packed up his books and left the café before the final song had ended.