Archive of Our Own ^beta

He was feeling...maudlin. It was one of Dom's weird British words, but even without the man beside him, Colson felt it was appropriate, being in London and all.

And because he was fucking miserable.

Maybe it was just because he'd had a bit too much to drink, hadn't smoked, and had now drunk way too much for it to be a good idea to start now, but he felt like shit. He was on his own for once, and even though it was by his own decision, the empty feeling of being alone in a crowded place was starting to creep in. At first it had been fine, when he'd been riding high on the adrenaline of just being on stage, but an hour that adrenaline was starting to fade and he was starting to regret sending everyone on to party without him.

He was debating going to catch up with them versus just going back to the house they were staying at, when a short woman dressed in black sauntered up next to him. Goth chicks weren't usually his type, but she had enough of a figure to grab his attention. He turned in his seat to flirt with her, but to Colson's surprise she ignored him completely, flagging down the bar tender and ordering a drink without giving him a second glance.

Well, clearly she wasn't here to see me tonight.

Normally, he would've let it go...but tonight he needed a distraction, and charming someone who seemed indifferent to him seemed like the perfect diversion.

Obviously, it didn't hurt that the woman was good looking as fuck. Five foot something of curves poured into torn fishnets, a black leather mini-skirt, and a ripped black denim jacket over a white t-shirt with an interesting crying angel in a lightning bolt design on the front. She flicked straight, silky black hair over her shoulder after she ordered, revealing deep purple lips bisected by a shining silver ring that Colson instantly wanted to bite at, and heavily made up eyes that finally looked over at him. Her grey eyes slid over him, taking him in, and obviously finding him wanting if the vague curl of her lip was anything to go by

He probably shouldn't find that hot, but...he did.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her accent making her words seem all the more insulting...and Colson was still into it.

"Yeah, I was just wondering if your name was Google?" he smirked: "Because you're everything I've been searching for."

Grey eyes rolled heavenwards, a sigh escaping purple lips: "Really?"

Colson grinned: "I've got other lines, if you didn't like that one."

"Maybe I just don't like you."

The words were bitchy as fuck, so much so Colson actually winced...but it was still kind of hot, and he laughed even as he was wincing.

He wasn't usually into this mean girl shit, especially not when it was directed at him, but...apparently he really was a bit fucked up tonight. It probably would've been sensible to examine why that might be, but Colson wasn't feeling up to any kind of introspection right now. It seemed like a lot more fun to just try and get her to be mean to him again.

If he got lucky, she might keep it up all night.

"That's okay; I grow on people. I'm like mould."

That, at least, seemed to get an amused snort out of the woman, even if her expression was still a little guarded: "Your words, mate."

"Yeah? Speaking of words: are you a dictionary? 'Cause you’re adding meaning to my life."

Now the woman groaned, but the sound was playful, and there was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, the guarded look melting away: "You need to stop."

"But I'm having so much fun." Colson grinned: "Pick-up lines are great. Try using one back, you'll see."

"I don't know. For some reason, I have been feeling a little off today..." she pulled a thoughtful expression, before suddenly smirking: "...but then you came along, and you definitely turned me on."

Colson burst out laughing, before taking another sip of his drink: "Nice. You got game, English, but I'm not sure you're up to my level yet."

"English? Alright, America." the grey eyed girl half-smirked-half-sneered, the expression mocking but not bitchy: "And I can assure you, if you want to play that game, you're going to end up calling me 'your majesty'. Because I fucking rule."

"That right?"

"Yeah, America. That's right."

Well, if that wasn't a challenge, Colson didn't know what was. And Machine Gun Kelly never backed down from a challenge. He didn't have it in him.

Even if this woman didn't know who he was, that would just make playing this game with her all the more fun.

Colson leaned towards English, a smile curling his lips: "Let's go, then. I’d say God Bless you, but it looks like he already did."

"Didn't need him to; I’m always on top of things. Would you like to be one of them?"

"You sure? You said you weren't feeling yourself today...wanna feel me instead?"

"You wish." she laughed, throwing her head back in a way that made her lip-ring glint in the dim light of the bar and exposed the bare skin on her neck, which Colson suddenly wanted to leave hickies all over...before getting distracted by the grey eyed girl's crooked smirk: "Did you know my lips are like Skittles - if you're good, you might just get to taste the rainbow."

"And here I thought it was the Pepsi that was making you look so-da-licious." Colson winked.

"Oh, America, clearly your brain isn't working properly...maybe it's because you're deficient in vitamin me."

"Speaking of vitamins, did you take your Vitamin D today, or did you need me to give you a hand?"

"How about we play Titanic instead. You’ll be the iceberg, and I’ll go down." English winked, and Colson lost it laughing.

She was overdoing it so much, he knew she wasn't actually flirting with him with that one.

The others might have been questionable in terms of whether she might be interested in him, but that one was just an attempt to knock him off his game - and it had been so unexpected that it worked. From the smug little smile on her face, she knew it too.

Colson didn't mind that he'd lost; it'd been fun going back and forth like he had, and now that she'd warmed up a bit this chick had a good energy; less bitchy, and more sarcastic. He liked it. He liked that she could match him; even if he didn't end up leaving with her tonight, he'd enjoy hanging at the bar with someone who could meet him joke for joke, or pick-up line for pick-up line, than he would fucking someone who was silent through half their interaction for whatever reason. Quiet women were never his type; he liked girls with attitude.

And this woman had it by the fucking boatload.

She was leaning back in her barstool, openly examining him, arms crossed over her chest and one leg thrown over the other. She was the picture of quiet confidence, all relaxed but still sitting tall. Some guys might be put off by her lack of fawning, but not Colson.

He just leant in again with his most charming smirk firmly in place.

"So, since you won, would you let me buy you a drink?"

"I've got one, thanks." she held up her glass of something - vodka and soda, if Colson was guessing by the clear colour - before taking a sip: "Why don't you tell me your name instead, loser?"

"Colson."

"Ah, shit. I was hoping I'd recognise it." she laughed: "You look kind of familiar, but maybe I just saw you in the crowd earlier."

He had walked through the crowd at one point...albeit in a hoodie and tucked between tWo security guards: "Maybe."

"That is literally the least convincing 'maybe' I ever heard." English rolled her eyes playfully: "But okay, Colson. I'm Rosie."

Rosie.

It shouldn't have fit her, a soft name for a woman that was anything but soft, but somehow it suited her. She owned it, wore it well. Just like she wore the blood red rose and black brambles tattooed on the back of her left hand...maybe that was why the name fit her. Beautiful in a prickly kind of way.

That certainly fit her.

Not that he was going to say that to her. Rosie, as bitchy as she had been to begin with, didn't seem like the kind of woman to take dubious accolades like 'prickly' as compliments, no matter how nicely they were meant. Colson got the sense the bitchy remarks at the beginning of their conversation had been attempt to shut him up and leave her alone. He'd gotten past that wall pretty quickly, but he was almost certain he could get pushed back outside it pretty quickly as well.

The more the spoke - about how he was finding London, about whether the UK or US did gigs better, about the band whose t-shirt she was wearing - the more Colson found himself liking Rosie. He'd already thought she had a good feeling about her, but the more he spoke to her the more that good feeling grew. She was a bit like Dom, in a way; less loud and energetic, but just as quick and just as unwilling to put up with anyone's shit, including Colson's. She didn't say anything, but she put out clear signs that she was not see him as someone she'd be interested in fucking tonight, and that if Colson tried to make that happen, he'd find himself alone faster than he could ask her to come back.

Colson respected that. As gorgeous as he still thought Rosie was - and as much as he still wanted to mark up her neck to let everyone know she'd let him do it, and bite at her lip ring while making out with her - he wasn't that kind of guy that pushed for what women didn't want to give him. Usually he was the kind to accept their denial and move on, but honestly he was having a better time just talking with Rosie than he had had in a while.

She just seemed to understand him, even when he was leaving gaps in his stories. He was just starting to tell her about Cassie, showing her his screensaver of him and his daughter together, about how frustrating it was that people didn't seem to trust him to parent his own damn kid, when a girl around Cassie's age appeared at Rosie's elbow.

"Hey Miss Barnes, the show's over. Grace's just queuing to go to the loo but she wanted me to go get our coats?"

Rosie turned and smiled at the kid, already fishing in her pockets for the little ticket stubs they gave out for the cloakroom here, when the kid turned to look at Colson. Her eyes widened, and she went a little pale, but when he smiled - because what the fuck else was he gonna do, glare at a thirteen year old girl who looked like she'd seen a ghost for no good reason? - she just dashed off with the stubs for the cloakroom clutched in her hand.

He was so busted.

Not yet, but as soon as Rosie was taking the kids home, they were going to tell her who she'd been talking to.

"Well, it looks like I'm going to have to go." Rosie announced, tone apologetic as she shrugged in a 'what can you do?' kind of way: "Downsides of chaperoning your niece and her friends to a gig, you're on their time-table."

"I would try and say something positive, but I struggle not giving in to one kid, let alone a bunch of them." he returned: "Maybe if you get a day that you're not on anyone else's schedule, you could give me a call? I'm in London for a few more days."

Rosie looked surprised, but she nodded: "Sure. You want my number?"

"I'll give you mine." Colson pulled a sharpie from the pocket of his jeans, scrawling his number on the back of one of his bar receipts: "I'd lose my head if it weren't screwed on, but my phones usually just as attached to me as my head is anyway."

And this way, if she didn't want to talk to him again, the decision was hers and hers alone.

Seemed fair, considering she wasn't going to know who he actually was until after he was too far away for her to turn him down to his face. Colson couldn't deny he would be pretty upset if he never heard from her again, but it would be better than him reaching out to her and her ignoring him. He had a fairly thick skin when it came to rejection - he had to, by now - but he was certain Rosie would prove an exception to that rule.

Best to give her his number and just hope she gave him a chance to explain why he had half-lied to her.

"Great. Speak to you soon, Colson." Rosie took the receipt and tucked it into the black purse that was slung over her shoulder.

Colson smiled, but the expression felt a little hollow: "Speak to you soon."

He hoped he hadn't just lied again.

MESSAGE FROM AN UNKNOWN NUMBER

So, I might've seen you in the crowd, huh?

Colson blinked at his phone for a few seconds, still half-asleep but for once not hungover or coming down, last night coming back to him in a sudden flash, cutting through the fog of sleep quicker than the lightning bolt on a certain t-shirt last night.

Rosie.

Unlocking his phone with fumbling fingers - not that he'd ever acknowledge that to anyone if they saw it - Colson rushed to respond to Rosie's text message, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he did:

If it helps, I did walk through the crowd at one point.

So you might of.

As opposed to recognising you from when you were on stage?

Yeah, seems likely.

I'm sorry?

There were a few minutes of no response, with Colson holding onto his phone and watching the chat screen, trying not to worry about what Rosie might be thinking.

Would she be thinking of the nicest way to let him down gently? Or maybe the harshest way to tell him to fuck off? Was she going to change now she knew he had a degree of wealth and fame? She hadn't seemed like the type...but he'd really only had one conversation with her. And that conversation had been just two people at a bar. Colson didn't think he was being egotistical when he worried him being Machine Gun Kelly could change things.

It's fine.

I probably wouldn't have told you if I was famous, either.

You telling me you're not a model? Damn, pretty sure I thought I recognised you from a magazine.

It must've been a museum.

Because you truly are a work of art.

Really, mate, you wanna lose this game again?

Colson sighed in relief.

She was still calling him 'mate', and she was still challenging him to play dumb games with her, just like last night. Finding out who he was hadn't changed shit.

He hadn't irreparably fucked anything up.

I'm not hearing any comeback, flower power.

Oh, it's fucking on now, America.

You must be a broom, because you just swept me off my feet.

Colson grinned, racking his brain for a good response as he hauled himself out of bed and headed down towards the kitchen to make himself a coffee. He was going to need it, to keep up with Rosie.

And he was almost unreasonably happy about that.