Feeling Pretty Psyched

~500 words :: Jude Law/Ewan McGregor :: 1/13/07
“Oh,” the boy says a split-second later, his hand hovering over the empty space where the tape used to be. “Was that-” He flips through the rest of the R.E.M. albums and sighs, his shoulders slumping. “It is.” A hint of a whine creeps into his voice and his lower lip juts out in a pout. “The last one.”


‘Strangelove’ is playing on the speakers and Ewan sings along under his breath, his headphones off for the moment. He makes a note to go back to the Ds and look for the new Depeche Mode album on his way out. Mum’ll probably roll her eyes when she hears he spent an entire afternoon at Tower Records, but he’s wanted to go ever since the shop opened last year. Now he’s got a job, he’s got plenty of money (well, relatively speaking), and he doesn’t intend to let this opportunity go to waste. It’s not like he’s in London very often, and Uncle Denis is perfectly happy to let Ewan do whatever he wants while he’s here. He understands the shops back home just aren’t the same.

Ewan finishes up the last of the Qs and starts browsing through the Rs, frowning as he tries to remember what he was going to look for here. There was definitely something starting with R, but his attention keeps drifting to the boy next to him every time he laughs at something his mate says, which is often. He has a nice smile and Ewan fantasises idly about chatting him up, about his mouth, and, crap, his mind really doesn’t need to be going there right now.

He bites his lip and goes back over the two rows he just skimmed by without really seeing. R.E.M., that’s who he was looking for. He reaches out and grabs a copy of Document.

“Oh,” the boy says a split-second later, his hand hovering over the empty space where the tape used to be. “Was that-” He flips through the rest of the R.E.M. albums and sighs, his shoulders slumping. “It is.” A hint of a whine creeps into his voice and his lower lip juts out in a pout. “The last one.”

“Sorry…”

“‘S all right…”

“It’s not all right,” his mate says suddenly.

“Jonny!” The boy’s cheeks go red and he elbows his mate in the ribs. “Don’t be such an arsehole.”

“But it’s your birthday.”

“So?” He glares at Jonny, then smiles apologetically at Ewan and shrugs. “Sorry. It’s okay, really. We can look somewhere else.”

Ewan hesitates, then holds the tape out. “Happy birthday.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks!”

“Didn’t cost me anything,” Ewan says, grinning. He bites his lip and shrugs.

The boy smiles back, opens his mouth to say something and then stops. He looks down and Ewan thinks he might be blushing again. “Erm, all right, then. Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

It’s not until Ewan’s back at the Ds, copy of Music for the Masses in hand that he hears a voice behind him saying, “D’you want to come with us?” He turns around and the boy holds up his bag with the tape inside. “I mean, I could make you a copy.”

Jonny is hanging back, scowling down at the floor, and Ewan wonders what that’s about, but he just says, “Yeah. Um, yeah.” He grins. “That’d be brilliant.”