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Chapter 1 | Let Me Love You
Summary:
Manchester, 1990.
Even the creation of the universe kicked off with a four-to-the-floor beat, and from the dawn of mankind we have come together in numbers, in tribes. And at the heart of this delirious connection was music. Always the music.
This is the story of Dylan's tribe.
Warnings: use of a slur in a non-derogatory way
This is the reader version of the story. You can read the original version with OC Rose on AO3
The song Dylan plays: Let Me Love You For Tonight (House Club Version)
Spotify Link | YouTube Link | Amazon Music Link
It was never really a relationship. You'd been mates since you were kids, knocking about Derby with fuck all to do until you were old enough to knock about in Manchester instead. You'd kissed, you'd had sex, you'd shared a flat for five and a half weeks until Dylan moved in with Matt and left you in the lurch with the rent. Half his things were still cluttering up the flat, owing to the fact you were the one doing his laundry because Matt's machine hadn't worked since he moved in and neither of the boys could be arsed to get it fixed. Dylan hadn't even given you his set of keys for the flat, treating your bed like a rest stop when he was too pissed up and sky high after a night out to remember he wasn't supposed to live there anymore. It was never supposed to be a relationship, but every time he walked in with that stupid grin and takeout for two, you wanted it to be.
You looked around at the peeling wallpaper and the stained carpet, remnants of the people who had lived there before you lingering because redecorating cost money you just didn't have to spare. If you were smart, you'd pack up and move back to Derby. Your mum and dad would take you in in a heartbeat, and you could probably talk your way back into your old job if you put a little charm into it, but that meant leaving behind Dylan and you weren't sure you had it in you to abandon him. You had stuck together from playground trouble to the plight of the dole. You'd be leaving a piece of yourself in Manchester with him.
"You have got to hear this. This is audio gold," Dylan announced as he let himself in, brandishing a bootleg cassette like a golden chalice. He slid it into the player sitting on the kitchen counter and turned it up so loud you almost wept for the woman next door with the baby that never slept through the night. Almost. She was a pretentious bitch that looked down her nose whenever she copped Dylan leaving in the early hours, like you were the single mother fighting for child support from a maybe-father.
Dylan closed his eyes and moved his body to the music, hands rhythmically alternating in the air. The carefree grin he wore when he was in the zone always made your heart feel tighter. You rolled your shoulders and started to dance in your chair, nodding your head to the beat. Dylan pulled you to your feet, moving his body around yours in abstract shapes with enough enthusiasm to create the world's only two-man rave.
"Coming out tonight?"
"Haven't got enough for the door."
"Don't worry about that, I'll get you in. Matt and I have something planned. Come on. Come out tonight. It's never as good without you." Dylan shot your conviction down with a pet lip, hands clapping together like he was praying to you.
"Alright!" you relented. "Pick me up on the way. I've gotta get changed after my shift."
"Yes! Out on the town with my best girl!"
"Dickhead," you laughed and shoved him.
"My sweetheart? My darling. Princess! No… beloved light of my life." Dylan cackled when you whipped him with a twisted tea towel. "Did you have a chance to sort out those boiler suits? Can't rob a fag machine in my England shirt, can I? I'll look a right tit banging on about switches and faults looking like I'm there for a piss up."
"Dylan, babe," you hung your arms over his shoulders and kissed him. "You look like a tit on your best days."
"Oh very funny," Dylan shook his head. "I don't know why I come here."
"Sex, food and laundry services. Usually in that order."
"You should be a comedian. You'd fit right in with the other wankers."
You laughed and dropped your head between your elbows, "Fuck you too. The suits are on the back of the bedroom door. I even ironed them for you."
"You, my lovely, are Derby's shining star." Dylan gave you a brief kiss, "I'll show you a good time later, yeah? I'm late already." He moved into the hallway, slipping a tenner into your jacket while you weren't looking. "Oh and keep the tape! Made that one up for you last night. Got loads of proper tunes on it."
Matt was leaning against the van when Dylan got outside, watching him panting to catch his breath. Sometimes Dylan wondered if there was a vendetta at the council to make sure every lift in the north broke down before anyone bothered to fix them. "What the fuck took you so long?"
"Matt. Mate. You can't just run in, grab shit and get out. You gotta sweeten the ladies up a bit. She's not a doormat."
"Did I say she was? Didn't need to spend twenty minutes picking up two suits though, did you?"
"God help any girls you get with." Dylan pulled on his boiler suit and got in the passenger seat.
"What part of this are you not getting?" Matt zipped his own suit up and started driving, speeding to make up time. "If we don't get in early enough, the landlord will stop us. If we fuck it up, we don't have any coin to get into the rave tonight."
"If there is a rave tonight." Dylan huffed, leaning against the window and watching the road race beneath them.
"Don't start. The Captain is never wrong about a party."
"You have got to get out of his arse, Matthew. You've never even met the geezer. He's probably a right cunt."
"You're a cunt. He's the real deal."
"Yeah, well, if there is a party then I promised our laundrette we'd pick her up on the way so he better not go radio silent tonight."
"Here we go."
"Shut up, Matthew."
Dylan hit play on the cassette player, letting the music wash over him. It was the same song he'd played for you and it dragged his mind back to that moment. Flashes came between the lines of the road across his vision of those pockets of bliss where it was just the two of you. He didn't know if he'd have ever really left Derby if you hadn't been by his side; he knew he wouldn't have lasted in Manchester as long as he had without you to lean on. You were more than his best mate, you were the constant that kept him going through the hard times, and one day he was determined to pay you back for it all. He didn't notice when the van stopped.
Matt shut off the music. "You ready?"
Dylan faced him. "Let's have it."
They walked into the pub through the open fire door. Dylan held back, keeping his eye out for any additional staff and the landlord while Matt did the talking to the woman smoking behind the bar. "All right, love. We're here about the fag machine."
"What about it?"
"Ah, your coin dispenser needs a new trip switch."
"Eh?"
"It's proper fucked, love." Dylan backed him up.
"Well I'll go get t' landlord, he's still bed," the bartender flicked her ash and turned toward the back.
"Oh, don't worry about it. We've got a new one in the van. Just be two ticks." Matt fobbed her off as he and Dylan lifted the machine out the door.
"Hurting my back, this is, Matthew," Dylan huffed.
"Good, that means it's full."
"Can we not park closer to the fucking doors next time?" He reached ahead to open the boot.
"What you fucking doing, you fucking little bastards?!" The landlord shouted out of the window above them.
Dylan caught the machine as Matt ran around to the driver's seat. "Oh, yeah, fucking lovely, Matt! I'll break my back while you play fucking Buggy Boy up there. Leave me to graft. I want a bigger percentage for this one, mate." He finally shoved it in and climbed on top of the machine to pull the boot shut.
The engine stalled on them. "Oh, mate!" Matt kept turning the key, watching in disgust as the landlord ran out of the pub bare bollocks naked to attack the van.
"What the fuck!" Dylan could've gone his whole life without seeing some pervy old cunt's sagging cock bouncing in his face.
"Give me my fucking machine back, you little bollocks!" The landlord opened the boot and grabbed Dylan by the ankle. He tried not to look as he kicked himself free, crawling deeper into the van to escape. "Who do you think you are?!"
"Matthew! Drive, drive, drive, drive, drive!" Dylan shouted, clawing towards the front. His shoe came off in the landlord's hand, making him fall back far enough for Dylan to yank the boot shut again. "You dirty, dodgy bastard!"
The van finally came to life and Matt put his foot down to get them out of there.
"Oh that was fucking horrible, man." Dylan climbed into the front and threw his singular shoe out the window. "This party better be fucking worth it."
Even the creation of the universe kicked off with a four-to-the-floor beat, and from the dawn of mankind we have come together in numbers, in tribes. And at the heart of this delirious connection was music. Always the music.
This is the story of Dylan's tribe.
Some dialogue is lifted from the movie. Warning for offensive language, heavy drug use, borderline domestic abuse, mental manipulation and gang violence. Please heed these warnings.
As decided by a vote, this is the reader version of the story. You can read the original version with OC Rose on AO3
Thank you so much to the lovely Jude for creating the banners for this post, and for all chapters.
Some language in this story, and in the film, is incredibly English. This is based in the north of England in the 1990s and the language is tailored to that effect. Harmless phrases, such as 'pet lip' for pouting, and phrases that may offend people, such as 'fag' for cigarette, will be a frequent occurrence.
