Chapter Text
It was way after midnight, and a town was fast asleep. Tired of summer heat, people rushed to rest. Nights were short and another day was already on the horizon – a new day full of more heat, more work, more responsibilities, noisy co-workers, and screaming kids.
But a small old bar, with a grocery store on its left and a park just across from it, was neither sleepy nor peaceful. Shaggy little place, it looked as if someone put it here, on the streets of this tiny Czechoslovakian town, by accident.
A figure rushed out of the bar and stormed off in a random direction.
Richard was frustrated. Breathing rapidly, with his hands in jeans pockets and without a particular destination in mind, he turned around the corner. People in the bar were so loud that he could hear them streets away. Laughter, chatter, loud music – they were having a blast that night.
Richard couldn’t keep his mind from spiraling. He thought about his friends and all the people back there. Bastards, they were indulging in alcohol, food, and entertainment that couldn’t be bought or experienced in East Germany, less than 50 kilometres from here. They for sure were drinking, ogling, and touching – and Richard was here, confused and overwhelmed.
He couldn’t predict or stop the way it’s affected him. People, girls and boys, dressed in a way that made him want. To avert his eyes. To never stop looking. Inappropriate yet sensual.
Even now, walking fast and breathing in fresh air, he thought about where he would stop his gaze, where he would touch if allowed, what he would do next. Looking at dark quiet streets, he could still hear loud music and could see a tall guy dressed in a black leather dancing and moving his hips in fast rhythm. Couldn’t forget his thighs and gorgeous ass in tight leather pants.
Richard stopped, and with a groan rubbed his eyes.
Enough.
It didn’t matter anyway.
At this point, people never gave him as much as a second glance. Maybe because despite his strong body, short hair, and defined jawline, he was still a child. Maybe he didn’t look like one but his eyes, his actions, and words spoke volumes. Someone mature and experienced would have approached that guy, offered him a drink, and fucked his brains out.
Not just run away like he did.
Truth, it’s difficult to look at lips you can’t kiss. And it’s impossible to forget the leathered ass you couldn’t bring yourself to squeeze.
Richard snorted and continued walking.
Apparently, only people at the bar were concerned about him being a child. Other people in his life didn’t give a damn.
He was always treated as an adult. As a mistake. And no matter how much effort he made it was never enough.
His left arm was still hurting after the previous wrestling session. His trainer pushed him more and more every single time, often putting him in pairs with much older and bulkier guys. He was basically making him their punch bag, pretending that it would help Richard to become stronger.
He damn well knew that Richard had no one to complain to. One time when he dared to say that maybe wrestling did him more bad than good, his stepdad, that filth, showed him that talking was Richard’s biggest problem.
“Don’t you dare to disgrace me,” he sputted in Richard’s face.
Richard wanted to say that it’s impossible to disgrace someone who is a walking definition of a disgrace himself but kept his mouth shut. He wanted to live another day.
Because there were things worth living for. Nice, warm, beautiful things.
No, not the ass of that boy back in the bar
– really, Richard? –
but things like music. Like praise.
All of these things he found in the music classroom, having access to instruments and books that were there. In the form of a music teacher who sometimes allowed Richard to stay after school hours and patiently explained to him some basics.
It was the best feeling, to be seen and heard. When the teacher corrected him it was without malice, when she called him by his given name he almost, almost, didn’t hate it.
“Zven, do you remember what we learned last week?”
And he didn’t feel like throwing up from worry. At home after “Zven” usually came a punch.
But not here.
His thoughts apparently were heard by the Universe because Richard suddenly caught himself walking past a music shop. It was, of course, closed due to late, or at this point, early hours. But looking through the glass, Richard was able to see the instruments inside. In the display window stood a huge drum kit, and Richard was neither able to name its parts nor sure how one was supposed to handle it. Deep in the room, on the left side closer to the counter he could vaguely see guitar straps, lots of cables, pickups, and pedals, and a stack of vinyls and CDs. On the right side, there were guitars. Lots and lots of them.
Richard looked attentively trying to understand. His knowledge about the guitars was limited yet he felt an irresistible pull towards them. What was the difference between models? They all looked beautiful and inviting but weren’t all guitars the same?
Continuing his walk down the street, Richard thought about this and made a mental note to ask the music teacher to explain it next time.
Their road trip to Czechoslovakia was not what Richard expected. He usually hopped on journeys like this just not to feel alone and to have something to do during a summer break. But right now all his friends were drinking their asses off and hogging someone pretty in the toilet. And he was alone, sober, and embarrassed by mental images his traitorous brain threw his way. And with lots of saved money.
It was getting cold, even with it being late June. Richard turned around and started to make his way back to their truck. He once again passed by the music shop and stopped. Looked at the guitars. He remembered the music teacher telling him that it was very difficult, close to impossible to buy a good instrument in East Germany. But here there were plenty of instruments, and Richard smiled imagining the happy and excited face of a teacher if she was here.
Suddenly his thoughts froze.
He glanced through a display window once again.
What if he bought a guitar?
Richard tried to spot a price tag near the closest model but it was too dark inside the shop. He didn’t know how much a guitar could cost. But he had some money. Would it be enough to maybe buy one?
He wasn’t sure which model to choose but he would pick something. Sure as hell he wouldn’t buy it for himself, he had no idea how to play. But maybe he could sell it and make some money. He heard that some people built a whole business on it – they bought some stuff abroad and resold it later in places like East Germany where there was always a lack of something.
Richard grinned. He was excited about the possibility of earning extra money.
It was decided then.
Tomorrow he will come back and buy one of the guitars.
It would be a great business investment.