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The streets of New York are cold and rainy. Winter is on its way and the colorful leaves of Fall are going away, one orangish-red leaf by orangish-red leaf.
Payton Hobart walks a block and half (give or take, he's never truly measured it) from his campaign office to the small-but-decently-comfortable apartment he calls home one dark Friday night. Raindrops pitter-patter against his umbrella and his faux leather shoes splash and squeak in the puddle-filled sidewalk.
He unlocks the apartment door and steps inside, flicking on a light switch. On the coffee table in the living room sits a ripped, half-slip of paper, a note from River:
Payton — I picked up a late shift, I won't be home until late. See you in a little while. — River 🖤
During the work-week, Payton is out the door early in the morning to check in with his team and their campaign-timeline before heading further down the street for his mid-afternoon classes. October is nearly over and the time for the people of New York's 27th District to vote is ever-approaching. It's the most anxiety inducing as well as the most exciting time for the Hobart Campaign team; full of adrenaline, go, go, go time.
But Payton makes time to relax, to decompress from his tiredly-rewarding days, both for school and work. (How could he not? How could he when River reads a chapter of a philosophy book every night before bed. The knowledge of the world's greatest philosophers rubs off on him day-by-day and he rubs that off on Payton. Though, even besides the proper, scholarly philosophers, River will often simply remind his partner, "All work and no play makes Payton a dull boy." So very wise. Relaxation is inevitable.)
Payton can't help the smile that he pulls when reading the note. The tiny ink heart by River's name is nothing special, for he signs nearly everything addressed to Payton with a heart, but it makes Payton's real-life, beating heart swell with warmth.
He goes to shower, to wash the day's (perhaps the week in general's) adrenaline and stress off.
Without a doubt, Payton is one of Arthur's Tavern's favorite performers, a pianist and singer who is always encouraged for an encore. So, when he's done with his shower, he shakes out his umbrella and goes out into the night once again. Even if he changes his mind and decides to not give the people what they want, his song-bird voice and witty anecdotes, he'll still get to see River, maybe even get a Diet Coke on a discount of some kind.
He walks toward the bar and the rain has lightened up the tiniest bit. There are plenty of people out and about on a Friday night in the self-proclaimed city that never sleeps, and Payton is more than happy to be one of those people.
The walk to the tavern is worth it; Payton passes a few separate people who all tell him something to the effect of, "Just wanted to let you know, you're running a great campaign. Keep up the good work, bud."
There's a theatre a few buildings down from Arthur's and Payton spots an elderly woman and a little girl, who can't be older than five, with a plush Elsa doll tucked under her arm. The elderly woman looks quite tired from Payton's short glance, but the little girl is beaming with joy, grinning wide and her eyes shining.
Disney on Broadway is a great concept, something Payton feels strongly about even though he has never had the time to sit down and see a show. He'd like to, it wouldn't hurt with his major and all.
He's so close to the tavern, but he is now thinking about going out with River to see a Broadway musical. A fun date. (Any date with River is fun, they always are. River is the equivalent to a warm, sunny day in Payton's mind. Fun to run around with, or to bask in. Bask in the warmth of sunshine, bask in the glory of River and all his River-ness.)
The little girl must notice him vaguely looking at her, because she waves at him. The elderly woman with her notices him, too, and gives him a quick wave and a smile, walking the child down the street.
Payton wants to help the people of New York, wants to make sure kind souls have fresh air to breath and everything in that regard. So, that little girl and anyone else can go see a show in the theatre capital of the world.
He steps into the tavern, closing his umbrella and tucking away into the pocket of his coat (a no-brainer essential that any New Yorker needs for these rainy evenings: a compact umbrella. It's so simple but convenient as hell.)
The yellow lights strung throughout the building are bright and warm. There's a person at the piano, unknowingly making Elton John proud. Payton walks past him to get to the bar.
Blue eyes and a dimply smile await him.
River slides a drink over to a patron and proceeds to dry-out the next glass to be used. His eyes are bright when Payton takes a seat on one of the stools.
"Hey, stranger." He says, lighthearted, "You want your usual?"
His usual being Diet Coke, Payton tells him,
"Yes, thanks."
It's more the new usual, as Payton calls it in his mind. The old usual involved rum in addition to the soda, though he's moved past that little by little. He is just shy a few days from being one month sober.
"So, how was it? What's the turnout looking like?" River asks him once Payton has a Diet Coke in his hand; a question he has been asking every few days now. Maybe River is just as excited about it all as Payton is, or maybe he's being his usual, enthusiastically supportive self. Whatever the case may be, every facet of Payton's heart will love to hear that question.
"It's looking pretty good." Payton tells him simply. River can see the light in his eyes, twinkling and bright. Though Payton never lets himself get too excited, "We've, thankfully, gotten the whole you know what situation off our shoulders. So, there's hope."
Payton looks over his own shoulder before he lets himself whisper, "You know what," and he is heard loud and clear.
"Good, that's good. I'm glad it's settled down." River tells him, dimples showing.
The image that resurfaces to the front of River's mind is of Payton a handful of weeks ago, sprung with an idea, one that would "get him on the fast-track to winning."
Payton had said that he had something to show him; River wasn't expecting for his partner to come out of the bathroom in nothing but a bright red Speedo. (He didn't know what to expect at all, but Payton's face matched the Speedo's color when River took the opportunity to be witty: "My birthday isn't for another month, I think you got your 'things to show me' mixed up.")
River couldn't be witty once he heard and saw the rest of the plan. He loves Payton dearly, there is no doubt about it. However, River could only stare at him while the gears in his head worked overtime; even more-so when Payton relayed his plan verbally. Back and forth: make himself look like an idiot and/or a plain piece-of-shit, have one of his teammates send it to Senator Standish, create a false narrative about firing McAfee (once again) to create a stir within the team, which will result in Hadassah Gold fluttering around and making premature victory laps, only for Payton to, finally, make amends with the entire Native American population of the 27th District while Dede Standish sits dumbfounded with a photo-copy of Payton Hobart in an appropriated headdress and a-little-too-well-fitting Speedo in her hands.
Easy, an easy and foolproof plan. River's mind was jumbled by the end of it, practically having to take notes in order to keep up. Though, Payton was happy to reexplain any of his ingeniousness. (Payton's mind is wondrous and River will never grow bored of it. Even then, that still reigned true.)
Now, with that off his shoulders, Payton watches the Elton John renditioner starts on what he proclaims as his final song of the night.
"Are you thinking of playing anything?" River asks him.
"I don't know, I might." He shrugs.
River hopes to hear him sing, he always does. He loves Payton's voice in all its forms: be it a passionate rambling or a sweet song, covered or original.
"Original" may read as confusing, strange, even, but Payton is a man of many words. Specifically, many words about River that sit in his heart, bubbling up inside his chest. They were bound to come out at any moment, so Payton took to an old notebook and his musical theatre major to let everything spill over and out. (He is safe, no longer needs to shove his affections down.)
There was one specific melody that came to his mind during high school, soon after first meeting River. He wrote it down somewhere completely separate from where his songs are now. He wrote it down on a piece of paper, then hid it so well that he practically hid it from himself.
If Payton, an incredibly bright young man, couldn't even find it, then there was no way that Dumb and Dumber could find it.
When the other pianist's set comes to a close, Payton makes a split-second decision. He stands up and walks on over to the manager (who he's become quite friendly with over his time in the big city) who tells him that he can definitely perform a few songs if he wishes, or even more. No one has ever requested that Payton stops singing.
So, he does just that; gives River a nod before a handful of songs and sings his heart out.
By the end of the night, he knows he'll have to nurse his soar throat with tea and honey, and do the thing he does after a set (stretch his fingers all the way out, then clench his fist. Out, then a fist, out, then a fist) but he is so happy, so unbelievably happy to have someone to dedicate these songs to, someone pour his heart out to, someone as strong and beautiful, and smart and... well, Payton could go on, of course he could, but he can do that another time.
His heart is full and for once in his life, for the first time ever in fact, he lets himself fully express it. When the bar is empty and the early morning wraps around the night, River locks up and walks him home; Payton's hand fits well in River's, running his thumb back and forth over his knuckles.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
It's a little past two-thirty in the morning when they reach the apartment, but the walk home is peaceful. Payton, his voice raw and soft, pitches the idea of a Broadway show and River is all for it.
Payton truly never wants to stop talking to River, but his lover wants him to rest his voice,
"That last one was for you, you know that?" Payton tells him, when they reach the halfway mark to their apartment, in reference to his set.
"I know."
"I should put them on a record. Would you buy it?"
River, tired in his own right, looks down at Payton and smiles at him,
"Of course I would. Anything to support you and your... your beautiful voice."
He says it so easily, like he's called Payton or his voice or anything about him, "beautiful" a million times, but truth be told, it's still gives him butterflies in his stomach to say it. The dopey smile Payton shows him in return, with his eyes shining like some diamond-encrusted-silver-something-or-another makes the butterflies fly around and around.
The apartment is dark and they agree on the soft lamps in the bedroom, for they head right to it. (Not like that, though it would be a lie to say that there haven't been nights where River gets off work and Payton lets himself get lost in his partner's sapphire eyes and everywhere else.)
River showers first, washes the smell of every variant and concoction of alcohol that he blended together during the night off, and then Payton showers again after him.
It almost seems redundant, two back-to-back showers, but River understands the reset that a warm shower does to Payton; it helps him relax. Melts away any tension or tiredness held taut, which River is fond off.
He likes- loves Payton in any form, but his post-shower, wants-nothing-more-than-to-curl-up-to-him form is special and beloved.
River lies on the bed, reading through the next chapter of his book on philosophy and soon enough, Payton steps out of the bathroom.
His hair is slicked back per-usual, to have it dry nice and neat, but the odd curl or another betrays him; one falls and swoops down onto his forehead, much like River's do typically.
Though, Payton hears something whistling, whistling, whistling in the kitchen and he doesn't have the time (right this minute, at least) to soak in the adoring look that he is being given.
But he registers the sound after tossing his bundle of clothes in the hamper; River read his mind and made him a pot of tea.
Payton can't think of the words to thank him for such a small but sweet thing. On a reflex, upon hearing the sound of the kettle, he glances through the bedroom door and back at River, who sets his bookmark in place and tells his squeaky-clean lover,
"I got it, I knew you'd need something after blessing the tavern's ears." then takes his quick steps to the kitchen. Payton follows behind him with little hearts floating above his head.
After long-winded hours of making drink after drink for one person after another, anyone would think that preparing something is the last thing River Barkley wants to do once he gets home. Well, Payton Hobart is the exception, for he needs the miracle cure for his soar throat. (Payton's heart clings to, "blessing the taverns ears," because he knows of his own talent well-enough, but hearing River praise it is something else entirely. Something else so, so wonderful.)
Payton sips his tea and it does it's job, and he settles into bed once his apt Hobart 4 Senate mug is empty and placed in the dishwasher.
What River sees in Payton once he's squeaky-clean and in his pajamas reigns extremely true, because Payton flicks off the bedside lamp and rests his head on River's shoulder, curling up beside him and mumbling something to the effect of, "Love you, Riv. Sleep well..." before his tiredness from the day, then the afternoon, overcome him and he is out like a light.
River leans down to kiss the top of Payton's head and he is soon out after him. Out like a light and off to dreamland for many, many hours.
The early morning eventually comes around to full-morning and a beep, beep, beeping sound is heard; Payton can't help the subconscious thing he does in response to it. He shifts in his sleep, holding onto River tight.
He doesn't want to wake up back where he was, back in the midst of high school and everything going down the drain, yelling at River all the damn time, with a team and a lover who resent him and wish him to be-
"Payton, it's Saturday. Can you turn that off?" River whispers to him through the dark. River, Payton's boyfriend of a little more than five months now, who isn't going anywhere.
Payton is twenty-two years old, clean from alcoholism for nearly a month, with Alice Charles who is his good friend with her lovely husband, Thad. He also has the best, most loyal team to back his name and his campaign and the sweetest partner he could ever ask for.
River isn't going anywhere, anytime soon; Payton has to stop worrying that this is all a dream of his. It's a reality, a wonderful reality that someone can see the worst of him and still tell him of their fluttery, bursting heart.
Payton whispers, "Mhm." and turns off the alarm, resting his head on River's chest to fall back asleep.