Chapter Text
Ed had planned on walking past the shop.
He had meant to keep his head down, making it back to the car before the woman on the street could decide whether she was certain or just hopeful.
Instead, he caught the edge of her stare, felt the familiar spike of panic, and ducked through the nearest shop door without thinking.
He’d been famous for most of his adult life. Queen Anne’s Revenge had started when he was barely twenty, and nearly thirty years later the band was still enormous, still loud, still everywhere.
Touring never really stopped, and lately Ed had found himself desperate for somewhere that belonged only to him.
The house he’d bought outside the quaint New England town was meant to be that place. A quiet, solid, almost fortress-like retreat, set far enough back that no one stumbled across it by accident. No one knew it was his. That was the point.
It was where he could vanish during the holidays, whenever the band’s schedule allowed him a break.
When he came into town, he kept his head down and his visits brief, in and out before recognition could catch up with him.
This time, he hadn’t been quick enough.
A small bell rang as he pushed the door open.
Everything else on the street was closed for the holiday, shutters pulled down, signs turned dark, but this shop was open, lights on, door unlocked, as if Easter Sunday simply hadn’t registered as a reason to stop.
“Be right out,” a voice called from somewhere in the back.
Ed paused, then moved further in, drawn by the quiet more than anything else.
Framed album covers lined the walls like art, rows of records stacked neatly beneath them, and in the centre of it all was a seating area: worn leather armchairs, a sofa, and small tables with record players and headphones, inviting customers to sit and listen before buying.
He wandered slowly, hands trailing along sleeves and spines, half looking for his own albums out of habit before realising they weren’t there. Instead, his hand stopped on an album he hadn’t thought about in years, the one that had first made him believe he could do this. That music might be something worth chasing.
Before the band. Before the pressure. Back when music had not yet felt like a burden.
He hesitated, then carried it over to the record player beside the nearest chair, eased it from its sleeve, lowered the needle with care, and sat down.
He fell asleep before the needle reached the second track.
*
Stede came out from the back with a stack of mail orders tucked under one arm and stopped short.
There was a man asleep in one of his chairs.
That alone was unusual, but not unheard of, as the chairs were designed for lingering.
The startling part was the man himself.
He was long-limbed, settled comfortably into one of the leather armchairs, one leg stretched out, the other bent, ankle resting loosely against his knee.
He wore black, muted rather than sharp. A thin knee-length jacket lay open over a well-worn sweater that fit him neatly, dark jeans sitting low on his hips, worn in at the seams.
His hair was long and streaked with silver, the same soft colour running through the trimmed beard that framed his lower face.
He looked out of place in the shop, yet somehow as if he fit there anyway, as though he’d wandered in by chance and found the right spot to rest.
Stede stood there for a moment, watching him breathe.
Up close, the exhaustion was obvious. There were dark smudges under his eyes, lines in his face that spoke more of tiredness than age. It showed in the slackness of his shoulders, his unclenched jaw, and his face, unguarded in a way people rarely were when they knew they might be seen.
Stede didn’t wake him.
He glanced at the door, then back at the sleeping stranger, checked the time out of habit, then stopped. He knew what he was going to do.
He flipped the sign to Closed, locked the door, and turned the volume down on the record player next to the sleeping man.
After a brief search, he found a blanket folded on the couch and draped it over the man with care, tucking it around him.
*
Ed woke to warmth.
For a moment, panic flared. The familiar feeling of not knowing where he was set off every instinct to brace himself. It eased as he opened his eyes and remembered the shop, the quiet broken only by the sound of a kettle somewhere nearby.
He turned his head and spotted a man by the counter, pouring tea with an air of open amusement.
“Oh,” Ed said, sitting up too fast and immediately regretting it. “I’m so sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to—I just sat down and then I fell asleep.”
The man's grin blossomed. "Kia ora."
Ed paused, then instantly relaxed at the sound of the accent and smiled back. "Kia ora."
He hadn’t expected another Kiwi this far from home. Maybe that explained why the shop was open, even on a holiday, just carrying on as usual.
Still sluggish from sleep, Ed looked at the man properly. He wore a finely knit sweater in a soft blue tone that sat neatly across his shoulders, sleeves pushed back as if he’d been busy before Ed woke. The jeans were fitted and dark, clean lines that matched the quiet order of the shop.
He was undeniably handsome, with blond windswept hair and a disarming smile. Ed had the strange sense that he’d woken up somewhere unexpectedly safe.
“I don’t usually charge for naps,” the man went on mildly, lifting a mug and offering it out. “But I may have to reconsider my pricing structure.”
Ed laughed, flustered despite himself, tugged the blanket draped across him closer as if that might make the situation less ridiculous, and nodded in acceptance of the mug. “I promise I wasn’t trying to take advantage of the furniture. Though it's excellent furniture.”
“I take great pride in the chairs,” the man replied solemnly as he approached and handed Ed the mug. “They do most of the sales.”
With a small smile, he sat down in the chair opposite. “Though I try not to encourage sleeping. It would be difficult to get anything done with striking figures like yourself lounging in the shop.”
Ed froze.
The man’s eyes widened slightly, as if the words had caught up with him a second too late. He cleared his throat, colour rising fast in his cheeks. “That came out wrong.”
Ed stared at him, then smiled slowly. “I thought it came out very right.”
The tension broke easily, both of them laughing into their mugs.
The man set his down and reached out a hand. “I’m Stede.”
Ed hesitated.
For a moment, he had simply felt normal, just another person in a quiet shop. But he knew that as soon as he said his name out loud, it would all change. That was always the moment when people rearranged themselves around him, leaned in, allowed themselves to pry.
He had almost forgotten what it felt like, sitting here half wrapped in a blanket with tea warming his hands. It was rare to simply exist without being processed.
“Ed,” he said at last, a little weary despite himself.
Stede smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ed.”
And that's when Ed realised something.
Stede wasn’t looking at him with recognition. There was no flicker of pretended delayed understanding, no careful recalibration, no attempt to place him. Just interest, open and uncomplicated.
“So. You own this place?” Ed asked, glancing around.
“I do,” Stede said cheerfully. “I bought it with the money my father left me.”
Ed glanced around again, curious. “He was into music?”
Stede huffed a quiet laugh. “God, no. He hated music. All of it. Except classical. And even that only counted if it was sufficiently serious.”
“So you grew up listening to—”
“Things that came with programme notes,” Stede finished. “Anything with a drumbeat was thrown out.” He shrugged, still smiling. “Quitting my corporate job and buying a record shop felt like a reasonable response when he passed away.”
“And now you run this second-hand record shop,” Ed said slowly, incredulous and a bit awed.
“I most certainly do,” Stede replied.
Ed laughed outright, the sound bubbling up before he could stop it. “Do you know anything about music?”
“Extraordinarily little,” Stede said, entirely unapologetic. “But I’m enjoying learning that I love it, which feels like something I should have known earlier. And while the shop’s quiet because of its location, I like that. Most people find me online and tell me what they want. If I have it, I sell it to them.”
Ed lifted his mug and leaned in just enough to tap it gently against Stede’s. “Here’s to the shitty dads club.”
Stede blinked, then smiled, softer this time, and clinked his cup back. “Membership seems regrettably large.”
They drank and settled more comfortably in the chairs.
“What about you, Ed,” Stede asked, tilting his head slightly. “Do you dabble? In music, I mean.”
Ed froze.
It took him a moment to answer, the pause protective, and when he did, his tone was carefully casual. “A bit.”
“Oh,” Stede said, brightening. “That’s lovely.”
And that was it. No follow-up, no shift in the air at all.
The simplicity of it left Ed oddly off balance.
Ed hesitated, then nodded at the shelves around them. “So… do you like it? Running this place, I mean?”
Stede looked thoughtful, tracing the rim of his mug with one finger.
“I do, actually. More than I ever expected to. It’s a strange thing, starting over in the middle of your life. Especially when I know so little about what I sell.”
He smiled, a little self-conscious. “But sometimes you just have to do something different. Maybe we believe we only get one shot at changing our life, and if we miss it, that’s it. But honestly, I think it’s never too late. Sometimes you just have to… jump.”
Ed looked at him, caught off guard by how much the words hit home. “Jump and hope there’s a soft landing?”
Stede smiled. “Or at least hope the ground isn’t too far down. It took me forever to work up the nerve to quit my old job. Everyone thought I was mad, buying this place. Sometimes I wonder if they were right.”
Ed was quiet a moment, turning the mug in his hands. “I don’t think it’s mad. Or maybe it is, but I’ve started to think a little madness might be necessary.”
“That’s what I’m telling myself,” Stede said, his voice a touch lighter.
“Sometimes the hardest part is deciding to move,” Ed said quietly, “even if you don’t know where you’ll end up.”
Stede nodded. “It was either make a change or keep drifting along, wondering if I ever would.”
Ed’s gaze lingered on him. “That sounds familiar.”
Their eyes met, just long enough for Ed to feel the weight of all the things he wasn’t saying, and to recognise a kindred understanding.
After a moment, Stede’s curiosity returned. “So what brings you here? If you don’t mind my asking. This town’s not exactly on the tourist map.”
Ed smiled, eyes just a little evasive. “Change of scenery. Needed some quiet. Needed a break from… everything.”
Stede accepted that easily, no pressure for more. “You’ve found it here, at least for today.”
There was another pause, and Ed realised he was in better spirits than he’d been in a long while.
After a moment, he pulled the blanket from his lap and set it neatly on the arm of his chair. He pushed himself up and crossed to the racks along the wall, scanning the rows of albums. After a minute’s browsing, he picked out a few records and brought them back to the low table between them, settling once more into his seat.
He talked about why he liked each one, describing favourite albums from different genres, explaining what made them stand out or what mood they suited. He shared stories from his childhood about certain tracks, but careful not to overwhelm.
Stede listened closely, occasionally picking one up, reading the sleeve with interest, asking questions that had nothing to do with reputation and everything to do with how it sounded.
At some point, the light outside shifted, the warm afternoon fading toward evening, and Ed’s phone began vibrating insistently in his pocket. He ignored it at first, then finally sighed and stood, reluctant despite himself.
“I should go,” he said.
Stede nodded, but it wasn’t quite convincing. His mouth curved into a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and for a moment he hesitated, as if there were something else he might say and then decided against it.
Ed nearly said something, but the words never quite made it out.
Stede followed Ed to the door, hands slipping into his pockets.
“I hope I see you around,” Stede said, easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Colour crept up his neck as soon as the words were out, a faint flush Ed caught and couldn't unsee.
Something in Ed’s stomach shifted in response, the unmistakable recognition of being wanted. Not for what he did, not for what he was known for, but simply for being Ed.
The pull of it surprised him, how immediate and mutual it felt. He liked Stede. He was certainly attracted to him. He found himself very much wanting to stay in it, already reluctant to let it go.
The thought of what waited for him rose up immediately after. The shows already scheduled, the distances already decided, the version of himself he’d have to step back into as soon as he left this shop.
For a second, he considered explaining. Saying something now, while Stede was still just Stede and not yet someone who might look at him differently.
But the moment slipped past him.
Ed smiled instead, soft and genuine, and hoped it would be enough for now.
“So do I,” he said, and meant it.
*
Ed left with a small lift of his hand, disappearing down the street without looking back.
Stede watched him go from the doorway, longer than was necessary, until the empty street settled back into itself, and the quiet returned.
He locked the door, and the shop felt larger than it had before Ed arrived.
He stood there for a moment and let himself acknowledge what had been sitting just beneath the surface all afternoon.
He was attracted to Ed. There was no point pretending otherwise. But he was also drawn in by the ease of him, by the way he’d talked, by how comfortable he’d seemed simply sitting there.
It felt strong, maybe too strong, and Stede suspected he knew why. Loneliness had a way of sharpening things, of turning a spark into something that felt like fire.
He told himself not to be foolish. Men like Ed didn’t wander into quiet shops and stay. They didn’t come back. They certainly didn’t want someone like him.
Still, the thought lingered.
Eventually, he turned off the lights and climbed the stairs to the flat above the shop. From his upstairs window, he could see the street below, darkening and still empty.
He stood there for a moment longer, then drew the curtains and went to make dinner, carrying the unexpected warmth of the afternoon with him whether he liked it or not.