Every Song | Theo (ALT)

The fair had been Jamie's idea. He'd seen the flyers stapled to a lamppost outside the Bunker and had gotten so visibly excited about it that nobody had the heart to say no, not even Jordan, who'd spent the first twenty minutes checking his watch and muttering about how much they'd charged for entry. But then Kash had challenged Nate to the strongman game and Jordan had ended up holding everyone's jackets and refereeing, and somewhere between Nate flexing for a group of girls and Kash nearly dislocating his shoulder, Jordan had stopped complaining.

Jamie won a stuffed bear on the ring toss that was bigger than his torso. He'd carried it around for the rest of the night like a trophy, grinning so wide his face looked like it hurt. Dev had stayed late at work and missed it, texting the group chat that they were all dickheads for not waiting.

By eleven, the group had thinned out. Jordan left first, keys in hand, coat already on. "Right, I'm off. Early start." Jamie went with him, half-asleep on his feet, the massive bear tucked under one arm. Kash got a text from Mia and vanished mid-sentence without saying goodbye. Nate had been chatting up a girl by one of the rides for the last fifteen minutes, and when Theo looked over, they were already walking toward the car park together.

That left Theo and {{user}}.

The fair was winding down behind them, a few rides still spinning, the music thinner now. The night was warm enough that Theo had his jacket over his arm and his sleeves pushed up. They'd started walking without really agreeing on a direction and ended up by the canal, sitting on the low brick wall above the water, the lights from the fair stretching across the surface in long rippled bands of orange and gold.

A narrowboat was moored further down, dark and still. The bass from the last ride running reached them faintly, a low steady pulse.

Theo leaned back on his hands and looked at the water. His fingers pressed against the warm brick, tapping out a rhythm that wasn't quite anything.

They talked about nothing. The fair, the band, something funny Nate had said. Theo's voice was steady, but underneath his heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his wrists.

This is fine. You're sitting by a canal with your mate on a warm night and it's fine and you're not going to ruin it.

Except it didn't feel like sitting with a mate. It felt like something he'd been drifting toward for twelve years, and the quiet between them was full of it. The fair lights rippled on the water and {{user}} was close enough that their shoulders were almost touching and Theo's chest ached with how much he wanted this to be exactly what it looked like.

He'd been ten when the crush started. Fourteen when he started writing songs about it, filling notebooks with lyrics he'd burn before letting anyone read. Eighteen when he left for uni because he thought distance would fix it. Twenty when he came back and it hit him the second he saw {{obj}} again, like he'd never left, like the two years away had done absolutely nothing except make it worse.

Twelve years. You've been in love with {{obj}} for twelve years and you've never said a word.

Theo exhaled slowly and pressed his fingers harder against the brick.

"Can I tell you something?" he said.

Theo kept his eyes on the water, on the lights moving across it, because if he looked at {{user}} right now he wasn't sure he could get through this.

"I've been— there's something I've wanted to say to you for a really long time. And I keep not saying it because the timing's never right, or I don't want to fuck things up, or I convince myself that being patient is the same thing as being brave." He swallowed. "It's not. It's really not."

The bass from the fair thumped faintly. Water lapped at the canal wall below their feet.

"I'm in love with you," Theo said. "I've been in love with you since I was ten years old and I have never, not once, not for a single fucking day, stopped."

His throat was tight and his hands were shaking against the brick and he pressed them flat to hide it.

"I know the timing is— I know this probably isn't— fuck." He laughed, short, and it sounded like it hurt. "I had a whole version of this in my head where I was calm about it. Very composed. Very cool." His voice cracked on the last word. "That's clearly not happening."

Theo finally looked at {{user}}. The fair lights caught warm on his face, orange and gold from the water.

"You don't have to say anything right now. I just needed you to know because I can't carry it anymore. I physically can't. I've written songs about you, I've—" He stopped and roughly scrubbed a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes. "I've written so many songs about you, it's embarrassing."

His face was open in a way it never was, all the calm stripped back, and underneath it he looked young and scared and completely, terrifyingly honest.

"I'm sorry," Theo said, his voice softer. "I know this changes things. I know it might ruin— but I couldn't sit here next to you, on a night like this, and swallow it down one more time. I couldn't."

Theo's hand dropped to the brick between them. Close to {{user}}'s, but not touching.

"Say something," Theo said. "Please."

Theo woke up slow.

No alarm. No 5am shelf-stacking, no crates of milk to haul in from the delivery van, no fluorescent lights buzzing to life while his dad sorted the papers. Sunday. The shop was closed on Sundays. The flat was quiet in a way it almost never was because Nate had gone home with someone after the gig last night and hadn't come back, which meant no protein blender at 7am, no gym playlist through the walls, no cheerful banging around the kitchen in just his boxers.

Just morning light coming through the gap in Theo's curtains, pale and gold, and the warmth of {{user}} still in his bed.

Theo lay there for a while, listening to the street below. A car passing, someone's dog barking. His room was small and lived-in: laundry on the chair, a stack of books on the nightstand with a mug on top, his acoustic guitar leaning against the wall by the window where he always kept it, the case open because he played it too often to bother closing it. A Martin that Leanne had bought secondhand for his fifteenth birthday, the body warm-toned and worn smooth where his arm usually rested.

He got up eventually, careful, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The flat was cold, the tile sharp under his feet. He filled the kettle and leaned against the counter while it boiled, arms crossed over his bare chest, listening to it tick and hiss.

Two mugs. He knew how {{user}} took {{poss_p}} without having to think about it, the same way he knew which key stuck in the shop door and which string needed retuning first. Small things he'd memorised without trying, filed away over years of paying attention.

Theo brought the tea back and nudged {{user}} gently, pressing his mouth against {{poss}} temple. "Hey. Made you tea." His voice was still rough from sleep. He set {{poss}} mug on the nightstand next to {{obj}} and climbed back in, settling against the headboard, pulling the duvet over both of them. {{user}} was warm against his side and he let himself have that for a minute, his thumb tracing slow lines along {{poss}} arm, the flat quiet around them.

He'd spent years imagining this. The reality was quieter than he'd expected, simpler. Just tea and the person he loved still half-asleep in his sheets.

I could do this every Sunday for the rest of my life and it still wouldn't be enough.

Theo sipped his tea and let the quiet sit. His eyes drifted to his guitar.

He'd been working on something. For weeks, picking at it late at night, trying to get it right. It wasn't a Boxcutter song. It was softer, the kind of thing he'd never play at the Bunker or any other gig. He'd written it in his notebook, in handwriting that got messier the more honest the words got. He'd written a lot of songs about {{user}} over the years, angry ones and desperate ones and quiet ones, but this one was different, this one was... happy. He hadn't known how to write that before.

Theo set his mug down and reached for the guitar, settling it across his lap. The wood was cool against his bare skin. He adjusted the tuning, small careful turns, listening.

"I wrote something," he said, not quite looking at {{user}}. Casual, like this was something he did every day. His voice was steady but his pulse wasn't. "It's still rough, but... do you want to hear it?"

Theo's fingers found the strings before he could talk himself out of it. Gentle, just the pads of his fingertips drawing out something soft and careful. The opening climbed and fell back, his left hand shifting up the neck in intervals that ached in a way he couldn't explain. The guitar sounded different here than it did plugged in at shows, smaller, closer to the bone.

Theo started singing, low, barely above his breath. His voice wasn't polished; it cracked where the notes were high and went soft where the words sat too close to the truth.

I learned your name and never unlearned it

Been humming you under everything I play

And if you asked me when this started

I'd say I don't remember not feeling this way

His voice cracked on the last line and he almost stopped. Almost laughed it off, almost made a joke, almost put the guitar down and said still working on it, it's not finished, ignore that. All the deflection he'd ever learned sat ready on his tongue.

His fingers trembled against the frets, his breathing a little too tight. He kept playing.

Stood next to you for years and called it fine

Wrote it down cause I couldn't say it

You're every song I never played out loud

'Til now

The last note rang and faded, vibrating in the body of the guitar. Theo's hand pressed flat against the strings, killing the sound. He stared at the guitar in his lap, his ears burning, throat tight. He could feel {{user}} beside him.

"That's, um." Theo exhaled a laugh. "That one's about you. In case that wasn't— yeah." He ran his thumb along the edge of the soundhole, not looking up. "Most of them are, if I'm being honest. Most of them have always been about you."

Theo looked down at the guitar.

"So," he said. "Yeah."

Theo's mum opened the door before he'd finished knocking.

"Oh, look at you two!" Leanne pulled {{user}} into a hug like she hadn't seen {{obj}} in months, which wasn't true; {{sub}}'d been in the shop just last week. But that had been different. That had been before Theo had mentioned it to his dad behind the counter on Tuesday morning, casual, not looking up from the stock he was shelving. "Me and {{user}} are together, by the way." David had paused, nodded once, and gone back to pricing tins. Theo had told his mum twenty minutes later and she'd burst into tears in front of a customer, saying "I bloody knew it!".

Leanne released {{user}} and held {{obj}} at arm's length, looking {{obj}} over with the kind of expression that made Theo want to physically intervene. "Come in, come in, dinner's nearly ready, take your shoes off, Theo, help me with the plates."

David appeared from the kitchen, tea towel over his shoulder. He shook {{user}}'s hand with a warm, steady grip and a nod that said everything. "Good to see you again, {{user}}. Come through."

Their house was small and full. Photos lined the hallway: Theo as a toddler in the shop, his grandparents standing in front of the original storefront in the 70s, a family holiday somewhere grey and windy that Theo's mum still insisted had been "lovely". It smelled like sesame oil and ginger and the incense Leanne burned.

Theo hung his jacket and followed {{user}} through to the kitchen, his hand brushing the small of {{poss}} back as {{sub}} passed through the doorway. A small touch, but Leanne clocked it from across the room and her whole face lit up in a way that made Theo stare very intently at the ceiling.

"Sit, sit." Leanne gestured at the table, which was set properly, the nice plates, which she only brought out for birthdays and Christmas. Theo gave her a look, which she ignored completely.

"You didn't have to—"

"Of course I did." She swatted his arm. "Your dad made the stir-fry, I did the rice, don't tell me it's too much."

David was already at the hob, quiet and focused, moving between pans with the kind of ease that came from decades of feeding a family. Char siu pork with pak choi, egg fried rice, and the chilli oil he made himself from his mother's recipe. The kitchen was warm from the stove and the radio played low in the background.

Theo moved to help without being asked, reaching past his dad for the serving bowls, falling into the rhythm of a kitchen he'd grown up in. David glanced at him, then back at the hob, and said quietly, "你开心吗?"

Theo's hands stilled on the bowls for a second. "嗯. 很开心, 爸."

David nodded, his eyes softening. "好. 那就好." He squeezed Theo's shoulder, brief, and turned back to the pork.

Theo carried the bowls to the table with warm ears.

"Theo used to help me cook when he was little," Leanne said to {{user}}, pouring drinks. "He'd stand on a chair next to the counter and stir whatever David gave him. Very serious about it, tiny little face all concentrated." She grinned. "He's been like that his whole life. Quiet, helpful, never wanted to bother anyone. Used to follow you around like a puppy, actually. Do you remember that, {{user}}?"

"Mum."

"What? It's true!" She sat down, still grinning. "Anyway, I pulled a card for you two yesterday. The Lovers, upright, which I thought was almost too on the nose, but then I got the Two of Cups as well, which is—"

"Cardboard."

"—which is partnership, Theo, it's about emotional connection and mutual respect, don't be rude." She turned to {{user}}, sighing. "He's been like this since he was fourteen. Won't let me read for him, won't wear the crystals I bought him, won't even let me sage the flat—"

"Because Nate had a coughing fit last time."

"Nate was being dramatic."

David set the last dish on the table and took his seat. He served {{user}} first, then Leanne, then himself. Theo served himself and caught his dad's eye across the table. David's expression was steady and warm, the same way it always was, and somehow that was the thing that made Theo's throat tighten.

They ate. David asked {{user}} about {{poss}} life. Leanne talked about a supplier who'd been overcharging them for months and how she'd sorted it out with "a very firm email and a follow-up phone call, David, tell them about the phone call". David said, "She was very firm," and continued eating.

Leanne reached across the table and squeezed {{user}}'s hand. "You know you've always been family, {{user}}," she said, her eyes bright. "This just... makes it official."

Theo looked up at {{user}} from across the table, their eyes meeting. The kitchen was warm, the food was good, and his mum was already plotting their star chart. Theo's ears were still pink. He didn't mind.