reckless serenade.

“Everybody… Rock your body…” Finley called with his hands cupped to his mouth like a microphone. Then he did just that. Rock his body, albeit somewhat less fluidly than any of the Backstreet Boys would have done. Daejung, on the other hand, had appeared and was doing much better than Finley himself. “Backstreet’s back, alright!” He cheered at his friend, thrusting first an index finger his way then reaching out to grab his hand. “Have I told you how bloody lush you look, yet?” He had. But tequila was a hell of a mind blanker.  ( @moondaejung​ )

Clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth, Finley gave a humble shrug. As though he didn’t know how he did it either. Who were they fooling, really? “The Scary Spice. I’m telling you, mate…” Finley paused to gulp back more of his beer and pull his arm tighter around Ben. “I’ve got my own Scary. They’re something else.” He nodded towards the woman in question, the Scary Spice that he had in mind for Ben. Turning to his dear friend, perhaps a little too close in his drunken state, he gasped. “Oh what?” Finley’s chorus of laughter joined Ben’s. Head shaking as he sipped at his beer again. “I’m assuming you mean June. Look mate, I probably did mention you at some point. But June’s off with the bloody fairies usually.” Finley clicked his tongue again before a horrifying thought popped into his head. His arm slipped from around Ben’s shoulders. “Please tell me you didn’t shag her.”  

Play Oasis in an American venue and any Englishman would rightly lose their mind. As Finley did to ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’. Some may have described his moves as overzealous, but he would call them fitting. Noel Gallagher’s lyrics necessitated them. “And sooo, Sally can wait–” Finley’s arm punched out, knocking another’s drink as he did so. Unsurprisingly, it was not the first time that evening that it had happened. “Shit, James, I’m so sorry.” Recognising the familiar face, he wiped the drink from the front of the other’s shirt. “Let me get you a fresh one. And a fresh shirt if you need it, mate.” ( @jamesselroy​ )

Finley sucked in a loud, drawn out gasp as his friend pulled the glasses from his shirt pocket. “Oh my god! Emma!” Clutching at the glasses Emma handed to him, he fit them back on his face and then cupped her little face in his hands. “I could bloody kiss you.” And he did. He leaned in and smacked a kiss right on the corner of her lips. “You’re bloody brilliant. I am yours.” As he stepped back, Finley slapped a hand solemnly over his heart. “I will do Cypress Hill. I will do Faith Hill. Whatever song you want, I will do it.” He pledged, before deciding to break out into the aforementioned American songtress’ lyrics. They seemed fitting after all. He grabbed her hand in his, crouched down on one knee and belted out: “Baby, I’m forever yours.”

“The most iconic parties Peckham has ever seen.” Finley grinned, filling with nostalgia for his old neighbourhood in South London. The best home he’d ever known, though Springhill was creeping very close on its heels. “Oh, shut up.” He hissed, sticking his tongue out at her as he adjusted his glasses back over his nose. “Tea and I still have… five months. Five months before that.” Now that he said it out loud, it really didn’t sound like all that long. The fact that in half a year’s time, he’d be up at 2am on a Friday feeding his daughter a bottle instead of feeding his drunken self a kebab was truly terrifying. So exciting, but terrifying. “But tequila sounds fab, mate.” He cooed as he let Isabella lead him to the bar. “Oi, sod off.” Finley smirked, licking the back of his hand before slurping his tongue over hers and dousing both their skin in salt. “Cheers.” He prompted as he set the shaker down, licked the salt crystals off his skin and knocked his shot against hers before throwing it back with ease. “Another seven of them, please.” He joked (though was he really joking?), the lime wedge pinched between his teeth as he plucked the bottle of tequila from behind the bar. “You know this doesn’t have to change, yeah?” Finley said as he refilled both their shot glasses. But he wasn’t being entirely truthful and that showed in the way he refused to meet her eye. He wanted to change, he wanted to be a good dad and that wasn’t exactly conducive to his current lifestyle. “I’m still going to be me.”

Finley arched an eyebrow in question but couldn’t hold his feigned curiousity for long. Instead he snorted with amusement at the sight of the drinks Hayden was attempting to prepare. “Bit of role reversal, innit?” He asked, pinching a straw from the bar-top container and dipping it into her concoction to siphon a taste for himself. “Ugh. No.” He winced at the taste before hurrying behind the bar beside her. Finley bumped his hip against hers to jostle her to the side. “What the on earth were you going for?” He asked, tipping the contents of the cocktail shaker down the sink (without apology) to start afresh. “You really ought to stick the karaoke. And I should stick to making the drinks.” 

Being neighbours with his best friend was one of the sweeter things that had come with the turn of the decade. His beautiful best friend. He turned to her as she addressed him, grinning as he pushed his glasses up further on his nose. “Jolly good show, aren’t I?” He asked, mimicking Hugh Grant’s accent, which was far posher than his own. “Craigslist. It’s a bloody treasure trove for shirts but this...” Finley pulled on the collar of his shirt. “This is the holy grail. Came all the way from San Fran, would you believe.” Satisfied that he’d made enough of a show about himself, he moved into greet Aubrey with a hug. “And you...” Holding her hands in his, he stepped back to inspect her outfit. Winona, as she’d told him, and she very much looked the part. “Girl, Interrupted... You been having a good night so far?” 

Finley was on cloud nine. The only thing the Englishman loved more than attending a good party was hosting one. He’d spent the night riding on congratulations for this brilliant little brainchild of his and June’s, sipping on perhaps one too many decadent cocktails and dancing the night away with friends and family. Not even a spilt drink could sour his mood. But apparently, Edgar could. “No, no... That’s quite--” Finley chirped out before he realised just who had collided with him. His cheeriness deflated. “Edgar.” He slicked the drink from his forearms and pressed the other a brittle smile. “That’s alright.” It was stupid of him to feel threatened by Edgar when Teagan had made it abundantly clear that he needn’t to. But he couldn’t help it. All the wariness he’d swallowed down weeks ago got stuck in his throat again. “Perks of owning the place is the drinks come free.” Finley lifted a nonchalant shoulder as he flexed his metaphorical muscles. 

They were already deep into the party he and June had put together when Finley finally decided to approach Hayden. He looked a little less put together than he had when he’d arrived: glasses askew, an extra button undone and a lone curl fallen from his done up hair. All the dancing and the alcohol were to blame but all in all, it suited the 90s Hugh Grant aesthetic well. “You know, I think I owe you one, superstar.” Finley cocked his head at his ex-girlfriend as he approached her. Armed with liquid courage, as usual. “I bet half this town’s just here to karaoke with you.” ( @hcydensxndrs​ )

“Oh, bloody hell.” It was clear Finley usually opted for contacts over his glasses, given the number of times he’d lost them over the course of the evening. His hand flew to the top of his head (where they’d been the last time he’d thought he’d lost them) but he was just met with his springy, blowdried curls. Melodramatic as usual, he turned to Emma with a overly pained expression, the colourful cocktail he’d made himself almost flying out of it’s glass. “I’ve lost my glasses again, Em. How am I supposed to do Cypress Hill on karaoke now? Can’t read the bloody screen. We’re going to have to pick something easier.” Finley whinged to his friend, entirely unaware that his glasses were poking out the top of his shirt pocket as he waved his hands about in front of her. ( @emmadvs​ )

“Obviously.” Finley echoed Isabella with his nose wrinkled up at the mention of the DJ’s American-inclined taste in music. “Right, well I ought to have a word with him then. Make sure he knows that us Brits run the joint. Or, yeah, let you have a crack instead.” The praise from Isabella tasted sweet and it had him sucking in a drag of the cigarette through a smirk. His hand squeezing hers before he let it go to pinch the cigarette from his mouth briefly. “I honestly don’t know how you ever doubted me. You know I –” The smug look morphed into one of indignation as she pulled his glasses from his face. Finley blinked, his immediate world turned blurry. “Oi! Well, I won’t know who to call Ginger without those.” He squinted like he was struggling to make her out but even in the blurred shadows, it was easy to pick someone so familiar from a crowd. “Thought you’d never ask. Now, I’m sure you look bloody cute but give me those back so I can fetch us some.” Finley extended his hand out to her, his fingers grabbing at the empty air. “What do you fancy? Anything but vodka. Would you believe I still haven’t gotten over that bottle we shared last time.”

It never mattered how terrible you were at dancing if you brought your sparkling enthusiasm to the floor. At least that was what Finley told himself as he found himself surrounded by amused and adoring townsfolk. The running man was his move of the evening and he was making a right crack at it – knees and elbows thrown about as people around him clutched onto their drinks lest he send one of them flying. When he heard his friend’s voice joined the chorus of cheers, Finley spun on his heel. His grin wide and aglow beneath the low light. “Well, look who decided to bloody show.” Already several drinks deep, he left the centre of the circle to crash into Drew. As his arms wrapped tight around the other, he smacked his lips against the side of his head. “Really had me thinking you were going to break our pinky promise.” Finley pulled back from him to lay a hand over his wearied heart. A faint smirk playing on his lips. “Just for that… I think you owe me a show of your best nineties moves.”

"Mate.” Finley sauntered up behind Ben with a grin and clapped his hand against his shoulder. A lot had changed since his friend had left all those months ago. Namely the fact that Finley had found himself with a baby on the way and fallen happily into a relationship because of it. But those were circumstances that had changed, not Finley himself and he would be buggered if Ben didn’t know that. “I’m telling you, I’ve still got it. I just had all five Spice Girls fetching me drinks.” Finley raised his eyebrows over the top of his glasses. “Granted, one of them was my sister and one of them was Iz. But still. That Scary’s a right sort.” ( @bcnhqs​ )

“Oh! Oh!” He clapped his hands together and cried out as ‘Back For Good’ began to strum over the speakers. Much to his dismay, the enthusiasm of the Americans around him was non-existent. Finley wondered if they even knew who Take That were but he didn’t stop to ask. He craned his neck in search of one of his fellow Brits -- his mother, Freya or Isabella. Instead his gaze fell upon June, looking decidedly less sour than the last time he’d seen her. Humbled, even. Then it clicked -- back for good. He tilted his head in question at her across the crowd, a cautious smile on his lips. Was this the white flag he’d been dreaming of? ( @jvnewoods​​ )