Chapter Text
"Thank you for shopping at Guitar Center, how can I help you-"
Whoa.
That is not the sight you expected to see.
Working at a Guitar Center, you were quite used to badly dyed hair and wannabe rockstars with fake cigarettes sloppily jabbed between their teeth, but hell you were not ready to witness a sight like him.
Tall, most likely professionally dyed blue hair hanging messily over matching blue eyes, a cig -that actually had smoke coming out of it- hanging out thin lips. He was wearing a rumpled school uniform with a badly styled tie, and he had a keyboard pressed between his waist and left arm.
And fuck the way he was staring into your soul was not helping.
"Yeah, I bought dis' Yamaha Keyboard a couple'a months ago and it completely busted on me."
Wow his voice did not match his demeanor at all.
And yet it made his attractive factor go up unnecessarily high.
"O-oh," You stammered, "What seems to be the -uh- problem?"
"It's gone ta' shit. Almost every key is broken, and da ones that do work sound awful."
He looks annoyed, you can tell. Of course you would be too, if your basically brand new
keyboard completely broke out of nowhere.
You nod and reach for the instrument before you place it on the counter, making sure to rid it of any pens, notepads, or guitar picks beforehand.
After turning it on, yep. He was absolutely right, every single key was out of service except each C, and they sounded like donkey ass.
"Have you checked if the batteries need to be replaced?"
" 'm not an idiot luv', that's the first thing I did."
Snarky.
You wouldn't mind being called "love" again, though. Especially from him.
You sneakily watch from your standpoint as he takes a blow from his cig, almost feeling faint
when he puffs all the smoke out.
That should not have been as attractive as it was. You almost have to hold back from telling him smoking's prohibited in store.
After playing around with a few of the settings, the stupid little codes that keyboards come with to change the "instrument", and figuring that he did not in fact just mess up the settings, you speak up again.
"Did you register for a warranty when you bought it?"
He nods and you watch his adam's apple bob as he speaks, "12 month warranty. Spent almost all m'savings on the bloody 'fing, an' it broke after 2 months."
"Can you give me your name so I can register for a refund or fix-up, sir?"
You can see him physically shift once you call him that. Doesn't seem the type to like being seen as an adult. Probably 19, 17 at the least.
"Stuart. Pot."
You run his name into the warranty system, and surprise surprise, the shitty computers and the wi-fi you were given decided they weren't going to load.
Motherfucker.
'Stuart' stares at you for uncomfortably long, and you grunt as you glare at the stupid little rotating circle in the middle of your screen.
This was going to take a while.
….
Really computer? Out of all the times? The day a handsome stranger walks in and needs service is the day you decide to be a prick?
Shit.
…..
30 seconds pass by.
"..So, Radiohead huh?"
Oh, he spoke.
He's talking about your shirt.
"Oh! Uh, yeah, my stepdad's been listening since '85 and I sorta grew up with them you know?"
He smiles. You could die at this very moment.
"Same, except wif' Bowie. Dad's always been a Bowie fan."
"You know Moonage Daydream?"
"Of course I do, what kinda' monster do you 'fink I am?"
The two of you share a laugh as he bends over the counter and rests his chin on his palm. From the new angle, he can see your computer screen.
"Wi-Fi's shit?"
"Mhm."
The man's got a talent for small talk, you give him that. You've honestly never felt so comfortable talking to someone you barely met 7 minutes ago.
A couple more minutes of silence and loading pass by, before you sigh and look to Stuart apologetically.
"I'm sorry Mr. Pot, it's really never this slow-"
"Stuart."
"Hm?"
"Jus' call me Stuart luv', or Stu, you look my age- y'don't need ta' call me Mister."
Oh. That makes sense.
"Well either way, Stuart, I'm sorry. If you write down your name and email address I can run it through again later so I won't waste your time."
He visibly deflates and takes another blow from his chewed up cigarette, "Yeah. Okay. Thanks darling, y'got any notepads or..?"
You hand him a sticky note, and he writes down his name -struggling with his email-, before you notice he adds a little extra passage.
"It was nice meetin' you, I'll probably come 'round to pick up or buy a new keyboard next Friday."
"No problem! And.. it was nice meeting you too."
He shoots you a smirk before twirling around and stalking his way out the door. That's when you notice the little extra note he gave you under his info.
With a red face, you giggle to yourself and shove the now folded up note into your jean pocket.
He gave you his phone number.