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Season after season
We never found a rhyme for all your reasons
Charles likes to give back to his audience.
He knows that not all of them can make it out to his concerts. That some of them cannot afford the big shows. So he does these every so often, small regional shows with limited availability on sixteen hour’s notice.
He loves doing these shows. Working with a local place to give residents something fun to do on a weekday night is what he lives for. It’s how he first got into music, the first type of shows he played.
It feels intimate. Sometimes he thinks he likes these more than the big ones.
He can hear the crowd, like this, when they are right in his face, close enough to touch. He can feel their energy, confined to such a small space. He’s reminded why he loves doing this, when he can actually see their faces beneath the stage lights.
He’s singing at the top of his lungs, screaming into the microphone, with his voice cracking through the speakers, dangerously close to blowing them out.
The crowd is singing right back at him.
He likes this place, Sainz. It’s a nice little family owned bar at a three way intersection on a pretty cobblestone street.
After a concert at the stadium just outside city limits, Charles had felt the urge to party. A quick Google and a car ride later, and he and Pierre were here.
It’s become a post concert ritual for Charles, whenever they come to this little town, to get lost at Sainz. Lost in the crowd. Lost in the music. Lost in the drinks.
He doesn’t remember much about the first time he’d come here, but what he does remember is a man at the bar, drinking a Red Bull.
He can’t remember anything else about the man; not his features, not his silhouette, not what he was wearing, only that there was a Red Bull in his hand.
He does remember that that man is why he started to drown himself with gin and tonic.
Bleeding, but you don't see it
Charles doesn’t really think that he’d seen Max here all those years ago, but he might’ve.
It hasn’t stopped him from searching for a Red Bull clasped in hands whenever he’s here.
Charles’ eyes skate over the crowd once more. The glare of the lights makes it a little hard to make out individual faces, but he knows how to make his gaze pierce through. He knows he’ll be able to clock Max in an instant, if the Dutchman is even here.
Charles thinks it’s a little pathetic that he’s still searching for Max in every crowd he sings for. Performs for. Blares his soul too.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like stadiums, because he’d never know if Max had come, and sat in the back row at the stop of the grandstands.
My heart against my head
That’s not true.
If Max was going to come to a show, he’d be up near the front.
Close enough to see, but far enough that he’s not killing his neck looking up at the performers the whole time.
Internal treason
Charles does another pass at the crowd. Usually he’d have stopped by now, but he’s at Sainz! The place where he’d maybe seen Max once, and then got so drunk that he’ll never know for sure.
There’s a man with a stack of blue solo cups in his hand, a server’s tray tucked under his armpit, he’s facing away from the stage, walking to the bar.
He doesn’t know why the man stands out to him, but Charles can’t not track his journey through the crowd. It’s his fourth time wrestling with the crowd, Charles notes.
His button up is royal blue Charles decides, it’s too bright when hit by spinning spotlights to be navy.
You kissed me one night
Charles misses Max.
You never thought twice
He can’t be mad at Max for leaving in the two days it took Charles to make his way back to the apartment ready to grovel.
Charles had told him to stop loving him, and moved out as much stuff he could carry.
He wonders if Max would have picked up the phone if he’d been able to make the call.
Now I'm a punchline
At least that means I'm something to you
Royal Blue Button Up is at the bar right now.
I'm so sick and tired
Charles has better things to do than watch some random man at his show on his quest to get his friends a refill on their drinks.
Charles belts out the next batch of lyrics, remembering to move his feet to the very basic choreo he,, and the band had come up with the night before in his hotel room.
Of following the light of stars that already died
There’s something familiar about the way Royal Blue Button Up leans on his forearms at the bar top.
Am I just chasing anything that shines?
There’s something familiar about the guy effortlessly manoeuvres through the crowd back to his friends.
Baby, you're so unaware
The guy makes it back to his friends, and Charles feels weird for the way he watches the man pass out drinks to his friends.
The spotlights spin around the room again, and they pass right over Royal Blue Button Up.
They lock eyes.
Baby blues.
Max.
Charles has just enough subconscious performer instincts to point the mic at the crowd, and they start singing at the top of their lungs.
It's not your fault that you don't care
It's like leaving up my Christmas lights in June
It's embarrassing how long I'll wait for you
Charles is no longer on stage.
He’s back in their once-shared apartment slamming the door in his boyfriend’s face. Ex-boyfriends. Because Charles had broken up with him five-six-seven sentences ago. Told Max to stop loving him.
He blinks, and he’s back at Sainz. The lights are spinning. His arm is still out, pointing the mic at the crowd. The crowd is still singing.
It’s Lewis who comes to save him. The Brit steps towards centre stage, swinging his guitar, and playing a little solo. He presses their backs together, and the contact grounds the Monegasque.
It brings them back into the moment. Into the present. Just enough that he can continue.
Because Charles is a performer.
And the show must go on.
So, you go, knowing I'll follow
Charles is a very distracted performer. He keeps looking back at Max throughout the entirety of his set. Just to make sure he’s still there.
And he is.
Max is in the fourth row with his friends.
He can’t believe that Max is actually here.
He wonders if this is Max’s first show.
He secretly hopes it is, because he’s been searching for Max in crowds for years. It would be a shame if Charles had missed him.
He hopes Max likes it.
The little bit of hope you leave me for tomorrow
Charles wakes up at ten the next morning.
He lays face first in his pillow and contemplates screaming.
By two Pierre is able to drag him out for a walk around town.
Breathing in the fresh air, Charles thinks he might have gone crazy last night. Maybe not crazy, but just hopeful. Too eager. Like he’d spent so long looking for Max in his crowds that he’s tricked himself.
He doesn’t tell Pierre about what he’d seen. What he thinks he’s seen. He’s a little scared of what Pierre is going to think.
They walk along the cobbled streets near Sainz for the first time in the daylight. He can see the pier from here. He can smell the sea.
There are little shops lining the streets with their two story buildings, and Charles thinks everything looks very pretty here.
He could write a song about this place
It's a sharp pill, it's hard to swallow
They turn a corner, and Pierre seems to do a double take, tripping over his own feet as he stutter-steps.
“T’es d’accord, calamar?”
“Oui. Tout bien.”
It feels a little choked, but Charles lets it slide.
But if it helps take off the edge, and fill the hollow
The doors of some shops are propped open in the summer heat.
Up the road he can see a little place with a patio out front, and the smell of fresh bread wafts down the street intermingled with the bitter aroma of coffee.
Charles loves coffee.
Hole inside my chest that's shaped like you
“Hi, welcome to The Lion’s Den, what can I get you this afternoon?” the tall lanky British guy behind the register asks. Then he blinks a few times, mouth falling open.
Charles smiles politely. “I am not sure, what do you recommend?” he asks, but he’s not really expecting a response.
Pierre chuckles lightly to his side.
Charles peruses the menu above his young man’s head while Pierre checks out the pastry shelves in front of them.
No one fits the mould, so what's the use?
“ The Lion’s Den, ” Charles muses. There’s something so Max about this.
Gosh Charles is pathetic.
There’s a shorter curly haired guy working a very fancy coffee machine. There’s something familiar about it. He thinks it’s the one with a purchase link he has at the back of the hundreds of tabs he has open on his phone.
The one Max had always dreamed about one day owning.
He needs to stop thinking about Max, or he’s going to go crazy.
So, I'm so sick and tired
“Order for Kevin!” the shorter one shouts, placing a cup of coffee on the counter.
Charles doesn’t think this guy has noticed him yet. The one at the register is still staring.
“Okay break time.” He claps his hands, as if dusting them off. “Max!”
Of following the light of stars that already died
Charles freezes.
They are in a cafe.
His Max had always wanted a cafe.
This place is called The Lion’s Den.
He can feel Pierre tense up on his side.
The curly haired guy clears the employee’s only doorway.
“Max! There are customers and Ollie can’t run your baby.”
Oh. Maybe he did see Charles. Maybe he just didn’t care.
Am I just chasing anything that shines?
“Give me a minute Kimi!”
It’s a familiar voice. A familiar accent.
Charles wonders if there is time to run out of the store.
Baby, you're so unaware
Green green eyes meet baby blues for the second time in just as many days.
Charles freezes.
Max freezes.
But it's not your fault that you don't care
It's like leaving up my Christmas lights in June
It's embarrassing how long I'll wait for you
Nothing happens.
The world doesn’t explode.
Charles forgets to breathe. “Max,” he croaks.
Max swallows. He looks older. That makes sense. “Charles. Pierre. The usual?”
“Yeah.”
“And one of these blueberry muffins, plus a lemon tart,” Pierre adds. His voice is distant, but Charles clings to it all the same.
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
It’s his Max.
His Max who is behind a counter making coffee on a fancy machine they’d once only been able to dream about.
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Charles knows there was music playing over the sound system, but The Lion’s Den feels dead silent as Max—his Max; not his Max, not anymore, not for years, not for five-six-seven of them—places two cups carefully on the counter.
He moves towards the register, and the display case next. He grabs the tall guy—Ollie, Charles remembers from just before his brain went offline—by the scruff of his neck, and gently shoves him towards the backroom.
“Go take your break.”
The kid trips, but with one last glance at Charles he practically runs into the employees only zone. “Kimi!”
There’s a blueberry muffin, and a lemon tart on little orange napkins next to their coffees.
“On the house.”
Oh, I'm so sick and tired
“What?”
“Max just called Leclerc ‘Charles!’”
“Leclerc is here?”
“Did you not see him?”
“NO?
“How? He came up to the counter! With his manager, producer, best friend guy.”
“Pierre Gaslyyyyyy?” a third voice asks from the back room.
“Yeah him.”
“What!”
“Oh no you don’t!” the third voice speaks again. “Sit down, you’re on break. You are too, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Oh my god. I made such a fool of myself.”
“I’m going out to help Maxie. Calm down both of you. Leclerc is just a dude trying to get coffee right now, yeah?” And then a third new face is coming up behind the counter. He shoots the two of them a grin before going about his job.
Charles watches this guy do a wild double take when he almost runs into Max, who is staring at Charles almost as much as Charles is staring at Max.
Honestly it’s a miracle Pierre was able to usher him into a table in the back corner of the cafe.
“And here I thought you were the most normal about Leclerc.”
“Shut up Daniel.”
Of following the light of stars that already died
Eventually Charles is able to have his drink, take a bite of the lemon tart.
“Did you know?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe!”
“I might have found this place the one time you had a show here.”
Charles’ eyes widen. “When you met Max, and didn’t tell me.”
“Oui.”
Am I just chasing anything that shines?
The drink warms him like nothing else he’s had in years; five-six-seven of them.
Baby, you're so unaware
“Okay I’m alive,” Ollie proclaims, coming back out.
Charles manages to wave when Kimi—he assumes the short curled hair boy is Kimi—unsubtly looks for him.
Max grabs Kimi by the scruff of his neck, and plops him in front of the coffee machine. He’s heading back behind the employees only door when Max and Charles lock eyes again. “Daniel, could you stay out here for a moment?”
“Sure, mate?”
But it's not your fault that you don't care
It's like leaving up my Christmas lights in June
Oh, it's embarrassing how long I'll wait for you
Pierre kicks Charles in the shin, and Charles is following Max into the backroom.
It’s–It’s awkward.
God. There’s something so homey about this backroom. There’s something so homey about this whole cafe.
There, clipped to the computer is a picture: one of three children in go karts, 16, 33, 10.
Charles rubs the sixteen tattooed on his forearm with his thumb. He notices Max’s bright red thirty-three on The Dutchman’s own forearm.
The words come out in a rush. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I never meant it. When I said I wanted you to stop loving me. I didn’t. I was lost immediately. Which isn’t your fault, because I asked for it. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know it has been a long time, and many things have changed.”
He swallows. He clears his throat. He looks away.
“This place is really nice. Do you own it? Of course you do, it is called ‘The Lion’s Den.’ Everything was really good. Which of course it was because you have always made good coffee. I noticed you got that machine you always wanted. But you cannot bake, so my compliments to the baker.”
Charles is rambling. Charles is rambling so badly. He needs to get back on track.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I want– No. No. I’m–I’m just. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If I could take it back I would. I would take it back every time.” he says, trying to bring himself to meet Max’s eyes.
Max is already looking at him.
He looks as lost as Charles feels.
He also looks–
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
“You can tell Danny yourself, about the pastries.”
Charles nods. He shuffles on his feet.
Max opens his mouth.
He seems to think better of it.
He is still looking at Charles with that look in his eyes.
The one–
“I am proud of you Charlie. You’ve made some really good music.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“But you did.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh…
Max looks at Charles like he might have been missing them too.
It's embarrassing how long I'll wait for you