I keep going to the river to pray

but then he thinks about how reggie had looked, up on that stage, shiny red guitar in hand, properly jamming out for the first time in years. the way the music flowed from his fingers, he’d looked five years younger, more alive, happier than bobby can ever remember seeing him. some weight had been pulled from his shoulders that night and bobby couldn’t bear to see it dropped back on him.

and that’s not saying anything about how luke had looked —

bobby swallowed hard. he wasn’t here for luke.

(there would be time later to think about luke, vibrant, shining brilliantly on the stage of bobby’s bar — and that time would come when he was alone. in his bed. with the door firmly shut and locked.)

focus.

just then, a sleek black car — not that different from any of the other cars that have come by over the last forty-five minutes — double parks and a familiar face pops out. bobby steps back into the shadow next to the door, pulls his hat lower over his face so he won’t be recognized, but reggie only has eyes for the woman who steps out of the car when he opens the door.

julie molina, followed by a blonde woman he doesn’t recognize.

reggie’s eyes might as well be heart shaped as he stares after julie — though she isn’t much better. it takes the blonde woman tugging sharply at her elbow to actually get her to look away from watching reggie and not trip up the curb. reggie probably would have stayed standing the middle of the road, gazing longingly after her, but the citizens of nyc had other thoughts about someone blocking their drive, and their obnoxious honking finally caused him to dive back into the driver’s seat and take off.

which meant this was bobby’s chance.

“ms. molina!”

oh this was so fucking stupid.

she didn’t turn around. the blonde turned sharply though, holding up a hand in his face. “ms. molina is not giving autographs at this time. please visit her website to find out more—“

bobby ignores her. “i’m friends with reggie!”

julie stops.

he pushes past the blonde's outstretched arm, stopping only when her perfectly manicured nails grab and hold onto the hood of his jacket. it's close enough.

"listen," he starts, stops because what the hell is he doing? why did he think this was a good idea?

julie still doesn't turn around, but she turns her head, glancing backward over her shoulder.

"you know reggie?"

"yeah, he's—he's one of my best friends," not that he has that many friends to go around, or that he's ever told reggie that, but he's. working on it. or something like that.

"i know there's the stupid NDA, and i'm not supposed to know he's driving for you right now—i promise he doesn't know i'm here right now, don't fire him, he really needs this job—"

that gets julie's attention. "i would never—"

"i would," the blonde behind him snorts and bobby glowers at her. she meets his glare straight on with one of her own and bobby's not like a coward or anything, but damn.

"look, it's the guitar," he says. "that guitar you bought for him—"

"you bought your driver a guitar?" the blonde sputters, incredulous, but both bobby and julie ignore her.

"i don't know what he told you or if you even realize how much it means to him—who knows, maybe you give everyone vintage guitars worth more than my mortgage, rich people are weird—"

she opens her mouth, indignant, but he doesn't let her get a word out.

"but it means more than you could know. and—i own a bar, okay? and reggie plays there with some other guys. sometimes." bobby digs a business card out of his pocket—he's got a box of them in his office, years old and gathering dust because he's never actually used them before—which he sticks out in her direction.

"you should come by sometime. and just. i don't know. have a beer and watch him play. or not! fuck this was a stupid plan."

there's a gentle hand on his hand, taking the half-mangled card and turning it over to read the embossed letters.

"the sunset curve, huh?" julie asks, quietly, smiling. and like, bobby's gay, okay, but he can almost understand why reggie's so enamored, if she looks at him with even a fraction of this fondness.

"yeah. that's—that's us. me. whatever."

he finally tugs his hood out of the blonde's grip—which hadn't loosened for a second—and straightens his jacket out as he takes a step back.

"so, anyway. he'd kill me if he knew i was here, but i just thought—doesn't matter what i thought. see you around, maybe."

he turns away before he can make more of a fool of himself or the blonde can get her claws back into him and starts walking away, not caring which piles of slush he's stomping through to get away as quick as he can.

"robert!"

bobby stops. no one calls him robert—but it's the name printed on that stupid, stupid card.

when he glances back, julie molina is holding his card close to her chest, eyes gleaming with something he doesn't have a name for, but it feels like the warmth of a kitchen, the gleam of a freshly-cleaned bar, luke patterson standing there, waiting for him to come home.

it's familiar. it's terrifying.

"thank you," is all she says and he nods.

they both turn and go their separate ways, back to their separate worlds, that really, never should have touched.