|noah exists in a world that's (loud) wrote in repose,|
@ 2020-02-08 00:27:00
It took a lot of secret maneuvering for Noah to get this all set up without tipping Holly off. He'd had to get Hugh in and out of the store, get decorations, all that jazz, and he had to do it without saying anything to his husband—which, for Noah, was a feat, bro. But, he did it. The usual hodgepodge, rummage-sale-esque space of the vinyl store was gussied up, only in the sense of the sudden, wild appearance of multicolored heart-shaped paper decorations dangling here and there and everywhere, and red and pink and white streamers tacked up like bunting to the walls.
Near the front door, but beyond the stage just there to the left, a mini-photobooth-thingy had been set up, with this stand thing for people to stick their phones into and snap pics with the props. It was lowkey af, because, hey, some people didn't have dates and the point of this was to make everyone feel welcome and chill. The stage itself had been cleared, save for a handful of cheap microphones, connected to the much better sound-system, and a monitor that displayed the words meant to be sung/shrieked/moaned/etc. If you went up to the monitor, you could choose, from the computer connect, from a few playlists there. There wasn't any kind of instituted order or anything. People could go up and sing/bleat/etc. their hearts out in their own time—and with friends!
For those who preferred to listen, there were chairs and stuff set around, kind of between aisles of ancient vinyl. There were a couple tables stowed up near the register, that were laden with fried food—some veggie options too! This is 2020, man—, sodas, drinks, whatever. There were some cookies, brownies, and a bunch of little heart-shaped plates to load up with. The keg—and there was one, along with a thing of sexy-ass Valentine's sangria and some smaller things you could take shots of, bottles obviously just bought on the cheap—was all in the back storeroom, to the right of the single bathroom under the stairs. Noah, who had been to enough frat parties to know the drill, stuck up a piece of paper that advised only people over 21 were allowed to drink, but that was as far as he went.
If a reprieve was sought, away from the noise and the dancing lights, the bathroom was a good choice. That, or one of the two staircases (one was inside, one was outside), where people jammed themselves too close to friends and crushes and tried not to blush as they sloshed their drinks on each other.—The vibe, overall, was more like a house party than anything fancier. Noah, as a host, was friendly. Greeting everyone in his romantic Hawaiian shirt, and with an uncanny ability to know which guests needed encouragement to get up on the stage and which ones needed reassurance that it was chill to just chill.