There’s a drunk man on the stage singing Bohemian Rhapsody while Flynn plays along. Even as his fingers move across the keys, he almost stops playing completely when you walk through the door.

You started gracing this crummy bar with your presence about a month ago. Ever since then, Flynn has been pining for even a scrap of your attention, yet you still weren’t taking the hints.

He forces himself to remain focused on the task at hand, watching from the corner of his eye as you sit at the bar. You exchange a few words with the bartender that Flynn can’t quite make out, but then you look at him and it’s like the whole world stops. Flynn tunes out the drunk man’s pitchy ‘oooohs’ and the crowd's chattering. The only thing he can focus on is you. Your hair, your clothes, your eyes…your lips…

He jolts back to reality as he realizes he’s been playing the wrong notes for the last few seconds. That’s probably why you were staring at him. You were probably thinking that he sucks and should never touch a piano again.

He quickly gets back on track, earning a glare from the belting man. As if it was the piano that was ruining his performance. Nonetheless, Flynn flashes an apologetic smile before lowering his head to focus on the keys in front of him.

After the song is over, a few people come over to drop money into Flynn’s tip jar. The man jokes about how they should be giving him tips instead as he steps off the dais. Flynn stares at you the whole time. You’re talking to the bartender, and Flynn feels a flicker of fear in his heart. That bartender is Tommy. Or the man he’s been talking to about you nonstop. No doubt he’s throwing Flynn under the bus right now.

Flynn watches as you glance over your shoulder at him, immediately looking away as his cheeks heat up. God, he was going to kill Tommy. He was going to-

He looks up at the rustle of paper as money is dropped into his jar. He looks up to see you, placing a twenty-dollar bill into his jar.

“Um, wha- I mean, h- I mean, thank you.”