Chapter Text
“Pete, did you see this?” Roger slid the newspaper across the dining room table to show his bandmate.
Pete, who was chugging enough coffee to energize a horse, paused for a moment to skim through the event listings in the newspaper. “Which one am I looking at, exactly?”
“Led Zeppelin! They’re finally playing near us. We should try and go see them!”
“Nah, I heard they’re just a bunch of dirty hippies,” Pete muttered in disgust. He stood up to go make one more pot of coffee. John, who was standing diligently by his frying pan on the stove, swatted his hand from the coffee maker with his spatula.
“No more coffee. You actually need something before you wither away,” John ordered.
“Come on, I have to go to work soon,” Pete tried again but John confiscated the can of coffee mix. The four band members were getting really over tired and their patience was running thin. They had slumped into the habit of going to their jobs all day, picking up as many shifts as they could to survive, and then meeting at Pete’s rented house to rehearse all evening and in the early hours of the morning before making breakfast together and heading back to work to do it all again. They were working their arses off writing songs and rehearsing for their sparse live gigs, hoping to save up enough money to record a professional sounding demo and show it to some managers and producers. They were very committed to breaking out and getting their band noticed. This, in Pete’s eyes, meant sacrificing sleep and food here and there.
“If I have to eat brown beans one more time this week, I swear I’ll puke…” Pete muttered, scouring the cupboards he already knew would be empty.
“Go on, sit down. You can have some of my scrambled eggs,” John told him. Once the two ugly end pieces of toast popped, John sat down at the table with a plate for him and a plate for Pete. The two pieces of bread and the eggs were the last edible thing in Pete’s house. “You really need to get in the habit of buying, you know, actual food? I can’t keep bringing food from my girlfriend’s house to keep you all alive.”
Between bites of surprisingly delicious scrambled egg, Pete muttered back, “I would buy food if I weren’t spending every penny on rent, considering you three practically live here, free of charge.”
Pete did have a point. The three of them were usually allowed to sleep over a few hours between their cramped rehearsal and work schedules, and helped themselves to food and beer when they needed it.
To further prove his point, Keith came downstairs from the shower, wearing one of Pete’s t-shirts and scrubbing his hair dry with one of Pete’s towels.
“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” Pete whined. “See what I mean?”
“What?” Keith asked, then looked down at his shirt. “Oh yeah, I hope you don’t mind, I just need to borrow this for a bit.”
Pete pinched the bridge of his nose. John took pity on the poor guy.
“Alright, from now on, we’ll help you out,” John reassured him. “Keith, since your car is in the best shape, you can be in charge of running out to buy take-away during rehearsals. I’ll get some basic groceries here and there, and Rog, you can buy beer and shampoo or whatever.”
Pete smiled at John, secretly relieved his poor wallet could take a break. Roger was the only one who initially protested before agreeing.
By now they were all sitting around the table, exhausted and quietly eating and sharing sections of the newspaper. The four of them had gotten to the point where they were comfortable spending all their time together, even if it was in comfortable silence. They still fought like brothers or bickered like married couples, but they knew it was just pent up frustration. Usually one person could play the mediator and get some sort of democratic resolution worked out. Each band member just wanted to make the best work possible, which kept everyone motivated to keep going.
“I really think we should see Led Zeppelin though,” Roger said quietly after a peaceful stretch of silence. “We can get out of the house for the weekend and interact with other human beings for once. Plus, they’re trying to make it big too, we should be making more professional connections. Maybe they’ll even invite us up onstage to play with them, or…”
“It’s not going to work out like a fuckin' fairy tale,” Pete rolled his eyes. “Didn’t I just finish telling you about how much money I don’t have?”
“I dunno, it could be worth it,” John agreed. “Plus, I don’t remember the last time I was out during the day, with like, sunshine and fresh air.”
“I heard the drummer’s a fuckin’ maniac. I want to see what all the hype’s about,” Keith agreed, looking quite excited at the prospect.
“C’mon, Petey,” Roger grinned. “What do you think?”
Pete sighed. “I dunno…”
“Where's the show?” John asked.
“They’re playing a small club down in Brighton,” Roger read from the newspaper clipping.
“I love Brighton!” Keith grinned.
“Yeah, and how are we going to afford train tickets? Where are we even sleeping? How much is cover to get into the club? What about food?” Pete groaned. “Plus, I don’t even know if I can get time off from work this weekend, I still need to pay for the sink repair because someone keeps clogging it with curly hair and Dippity-Do.”
“It wasn’t me!” Roger protested to an unconvinced audience.
“Alright, how about we drive down in the old van? It might take us longer but we can sleep in the back and store our stuff in the trunk,” John offered.
“We can split money for petrol. That would be cheaper, right?” Roger added.
“But,” Pete interjected. “The van’s practically out of commission. It just barely gets me to work. I can’t afford to fix up the engine.”
“I’ll do this one for free,” Roger told him gravely, as if he were a bigger martyr than one of Jesus’ disciples. The rest of them secretly thought that it was about damn time Roger started offering to fix up their cars, considering he worked as a mechanic and did steelwork all the time. “Keith and I finish shifts at work at the same time, the two of us can work on repairing it all this week so it’ll be ready for the weekend.”
Pete looked down at his empty plate, biting his lip and thinking.
“C’mon, mate. What do ya think?” John prodded.
“Alright, alright. I’ll beg my boss for the weekend off,” Pete sighed. “Led Zeppelin better be fuckin’ worth it.”