Paddy's Pub wasn't the most elegant place in town—it wore its years proudly on every scuffed table and chipped neon sign—but it had soul. Arcade machines blinked lazily in the corner like retired boxers; the smell of fried food clung to the air like a stubborn ghost. And at the center of it all stood a modest karaoke stage, lit in flickering blue light, as if daring people to make fools of themselves for the price of a song.
Archie stepped inside with Anne and Marco flanking him like overenthusiastic bodyguards. Anne wore a denim jacket covered in obscure band pins, her hair up in a messy bun that screamed "I don't care," while actually being very carefully curated. Marco, on the other hand, looked like he'd just walked off a runway in Berlin—black boots, eyeliner, and a mesh shirt under a leather jacket that squeaked ominously every time he moved.
Archie, in a plain navy button-down and jeans, felt like a beige crayon next to two neon markers.
"Okay, people," Anne announced the second they entered. "Operation Woo William is a go."
Marco rolled his eyes. "Can you please not call it that? Sounds like we're trying to assassinate him with affection."
"I mean, technically—" Anne began, but Archie groaned.
"Please stop calling it anything," he muttered, scanning the pub.
William wasn't there yet.
"Relax," Anne said, bumping his shoulder. "It's not a date. It's karaoke. Which is basically just socially acceptable screaming."
Marco had already peeled off to flirt with the bartender, leaving Anne and Archie to claim a booth near the stage. Archie tried to focus on the menu, but his foot was tapping restlessly beneath the table.
And then, the door opened.
In walked William, casual but composed, wearing a gray pullover and fitted black jeans, looking both out of place and perfectly at ease, like someone who'd been born to crash whatever party he happened upon. His gaze swept the room, and when he spotted Archie, something shifted behind his eyes—recognition, amusement, maybe something softer.
Archie stood instinctively, brushing nonexistent lint off his shirt. "Hey."
William's smile deepened just slightly. "You weren't kidding about the atmosphere."
Anne leaned across the table with a grin. "Welcome to Paddy's. Where dignity goes to die."
William laughed and slid into the booth beside Archie. "I think I like it already."
A round of drinks came—Anne ordered something neon and glowing, Marco returned with two free shots and the bartender's number on a napkin, and Archie decided he needed exactly one beer to calm his nerves.
They chatted—mostly Anne doing the chatting, telling stories about classes and mutual friends, interspersed with Marco heckling strangers at the pool table. William listened more than he spoke, but when he did speak, his words were deliberate, often thoughtful, occasionally sarcastic in a dry, charming way that made Anne raise her eyebrows in approval.
Archie found himself leaning closer, laughing more easily than he expected. Every time their knees accidentally bumped under the table, it sent a ripple of awareness through him.
And then, the karaoke machine chirped to life.
"Alright, folks," a bearded man with a mullet and a karaoke mic called from the stage. "Time to ruin your friendships and your vocal cords. First up, we got... Marco!"
Marco shot out of the booth like a man possessed. "I signed up while getting drinks," he called over his shoulder. "Try and stop me."
"What's he singing?" Anne asked, half-concerned, half-impressed.
The opening chords of "Toxic" by Britney Spears blared through the speakers.
Archie covered his face. "Oh no."
Marco took the stage like a rock god. He didn't sing so much as seduce the microphone, throwing dramatic hip sways and unnecessary falsetto into every line. The crowd loved it. A group of older women in the corner screamed like it was a strip show.
By the time he strutted back to their booth, breathless and smug, even William was clapping.
"I regret nothing," Marco said, collapsing beside Anne.
Anne raised a brow. "You shouldn't. That was disturbingly entertaining."
And then she turned to Archie, her grin predatory. "Your turn."
"What?" Archie said, eyes wide. "No way."
"Oh, come on," she said. "You promised."
"I did not—"
"William, don't you think he should sing?" Anne interrupted sweetly, batting her lashes.
William sipped his drink, considering. "I think he's afraid."
"I am absolutely afraid," Archie said immediately.
Anne nudged him. "Do it scared, then."
And somehow—God only knew how—Archie found himself being dragged toward the stage with Anne shouting "'80s power ballad!" behind him.
The mic was heavier than expected. The screen blinked with the title: "Take On Me" by A-ha.
Archie sighed.
And then the music started.
He stumbled through the first few lines, cracking on the high notes and missing half the beat. But the crowd didn't care. They clapped, they hooted. Somewhere during the chorus, something clicked—he gave in. Let the nerves go. Belted out the final verse like he was auditioning for a bad musical.
He returned to the booth, red-faced and panting, to thunderous applause from Anne and Marco.
William leaned in as Archie sat down. "You were... enthusiastic."
"Rude," Archie muttered, grinning despite himself. "I was fine."
"You were," William said, meeting his eyes. "More than fine."
Anne fake-gagged and took a sip of her drink.
The night went on with more laughter, more ridiculous singing, more clumsy arcade attempts. At some point, Marco disappeared with someone from the pool table. Anne commandeered a game of air hockey. And Archie and William ended up back at the booth, nursing drinks and letting the chaos move around them like a tide.
"I didn't expect tonight to be fun," William said, gaze flickering to the stage, where someone was butchering Bohemian Rhapsody.
Archie chuckled. "Me either."
They were quiet for a beat, the kind of silence that felt comfortable, like the lull in a song you didn't want to end.
William spoke again, softer this time. "You're different than I expected."
"Different how?" Archie asked.
William tilted his head, eyes locked on Archie. "I'm still figuring that out."
And just like that, Archie's world tilted a little.
Not a free fall.
But the slow, quiet pull of gravity toward something he didn't understand yet—something that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to run from anymore.
And outside, the moon hung low over the city, shining like a spotlight on a stage they didn't yet know they were standing on.