Princess Andy

Peter turns back around to a scene he has seen hundreds of times before. Boris, with greying hair and a towel thrown over his shoulder, his apron dirty and ratty but his clothes beneath it impeccable. A cup of coffee on the bar, milky and smelling of everything lovely and warm and comforting. Dark outside, alcohol in the very air, heat radiating from the fireplace and all of it lulling hardened seamen to sleep like babies. He knows it all, expects it all, greets it all like he would an old acquaintance who he doesn't like much, but keeps on seeing anyway, because he has nobody else. But what he does not expect or welcome, is another sound. One he hears regularly enough, but cannot handle as well as the others. The sound of someone taking a relaxed breath as they enter the bar, and the door swinging closed behind them.- Or: I thought this song seemed a tiny little bit gay so I made it more gay