REAGAN AND DAVE stood in the middle of a music store, surrounded by a plethora of guitars, amps, drum kits and other musical components decorating the walls and floors. Dave had led her into one of the specialty rooms of the shop, solely dedicated to drums. The room was void of any other customers.

"We had to come all the way here just so I could watch you play drums?" Reagan asked, folding her arms across her chest. She still donned Dave's old Scream shirt, wearing her blue jeans beneath it.

"I didn't feel like putting my kit together," Dave reasoned, selecting a pair of drum sticks that laid atop another set. "Plus, I like to show off to the locals."

"That doesn't surprise me," Reagan said. She walked around a particularly shiny, new drum set in the center of the show room. As nicely sculpted as it was, she could not picture herself playing it. She did better on the kind of sets that already had wear and tear to them. That way she never felt bad about playing as hard as she could.

"We could have gone to your house," Dave told her. "You said your dad's old kit is there."

"My house is a zoo," Reagan justified automatically. "Don't expect to ever visit any time soon."

"What if I want to meet your dad?" Dave contemplated impishly. Reagan tried not to snort at his suggestion.

"Don't question it because it's not happening," she replied with finality.

The thought of bringing Dave through the threshold of her front door was borderline horrifying — she'd had nightmares that were more pleasant than that.

Reagan could not even begin to think of how she would even introduce Dave to her family members. As her boyfriend? No way in hell. Her friend? That would be offensive to Dave and all that they'd physically been through. Her sexual partner? Too much information for blood relatives. All those options were far out of left field.

"Want me to play on these?" Dave asked. He jerked his chin in the direction of the glossy kit Reagan had been lurking around. She stepped out of his way and panned her arm out towards the kit.

"Go for it, maestro."

Dave sat down on the drum stool with flourish, clearing his throat professionally and side-eyeing Reagan as she watched. She giggled, her newfound weakness being Dave's unrefined silliness. She had not laughed that much in ages.

With his hands wrapped tightly around the drumsticks, Dave confidently launched into his drum solo, banging out the beat of a song that Reagan was quite familiar with. She smiled as she identified it in her head. It was the last portion of John Bonham's drum solo in 'Moby Dick,' and somehow, it sounded even better being played from Dave's hands.

He drummed effortlessly, wearing an expression of ease as he flicked his wrists and bounced each stick flawlessly from one part of the kit to another. He even turned his head to grin at Reagan, needing no visual of where and when he made contact with the drums sitting in front of him.

If she were to compare it her own playing, Reagan would have said that Dave shared her similar trait of using the drums as an extension of the body. He didn't need to focus so much because for him and Reagan both, playing was no different than using their arms or legs.

She felt a conflicting tidal wave of feelings as she watched him, her arms still interlocked across her chest. There was a sensation of intense attraction that fell upon her as she viewed Dave in his element. She'd already assumed that he would be a good drummer, but he'd gone above her expectations -- he was not only good, he was ultimately the best she'd ever seen.

The other feeling, the one that was comparably more nagging rather than warm and fuzzy, was the twinge of jealousy that reared its ugly, green head as Dave pounded out the Led Zeppelin tune leisurely. As much as Reagan would have loved to entertain the idea that she had been the better option for Nirvana, it was obvious who the job was truly meant for.

As Dave stopped playing, he flicked back the hair that had fallen into his eyes and took a large breath. With a drumstick still in either of his hands, he looked to Reagan.

"Well? How was that?"

Reagan smiled at him, tilting her head to the side. In a strange, secretive way, she liked that he was searching for her approval.

"Could have been better. You were a little shaky in those last thirty seconds."

They were interrupted by the furious sound of clapping coming from the front of the room. Dave and Reagan both looked for the source of the noise, finding one of the music store's employees standing by with an exhilarated look on his face as he beat his hands together furiously. Reagan held back her laugh that was threatening to explode.

The squat employee, a young blonde kid with bad acne, looked desperate to flatter Dave as he finished his clapping and took a few hurried steps forward.

"Dude," the kid began. "You played the hell out of that. You don't understand how many people come in here, play Zeppelin and absolutely butcher the whole fucking thing. But you . . ."

He was at a clear loss for words, raising his hand in motion to Dave and letting it fall back to his side. Reagan pressed her fist to her mouth and looked away, still trying to smother her laughter.

"Thanks man," Dave said graciously. He tucked his hair behind his ear and shot a look at Reagan, as if to further his point that he was indeed an excellent drummer. She hardly needed the affirmation from a stranger to know that.

The employee scurried off, most likely sensing that he had intruded upon a private moment between Dave and Reagan. As soon as he was out of sight, Reagan doubled over, clutching her stomach and laughing quietly at the ground.

"Come on, he meant well," Dave mumbled, though he too was fighting laughter. His smile was both proud and shy.

"You should give him an autograph before we leave."

"That would be nice if my autograph actually meant something."

"It might, one day. Don't count on it though, bud," Reagan teased, continuing to pester him. She had to keep him on his toes somehow.

Dave jokingly threw one of the drumsticks at Reagan, chuckling as she yelped and lurched out of the way before it hit her thigh.

"You're fucking mean," Dave accused, though he smiled as he said it.

"I'm a judge, not a groupie. I didn't come here to fawn over you, Grohl."

He reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging her to him. She felt his palm linger on her lower back, causing a surge of desire to spread like a warm ache through her stomach and all the way down to her legs. Her evasive smile was suddenly wiped from her face when she felt his touch press a little harder into the small of her back.

He made it so damn difficult not to want him, even standing there in a music store of all places.

"Let's switch it up then, shall we?" he suggested. Dave bent down to grab the drumstick he'd thrown, handing them both to Reagan.

"No way," Reagan objected, jumping away from Dave's offering as if the drumsticks were on fire. "I'm not playing after that. Your little friend is going to come back in here and tear my solo apart."

"If he does, I'll kick his ass," Dave promised, making Reagan laugh. She continued to shake her head.

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

Dave pried open Reagan's hands and shoved the drumsticks into them, standing up and grabbing her by the shoulders. He pushed her down onto the drum stool.

"I don't even know what to play!" Reagan cried. She could feel a humiliated heat creeping up her neck, turning her skin red as she looked pleadingly at Dave. He had already watched her play before, but now she felt differently about having Dave serve as her audience. He'd blown her away with his talent and she didn't see how she could live up to the display of skill he'd showed.

"Think of something bad-ass and just play it," Dave insisted. He mocked the pose she had taken on while observing him, cocking his hip out dramatically and folding his arms. Reagan narrowed her eyes.

"I'm starting to really hate you."

"Good, maybe making you angry will get you to play. How do you recommend that I piss you off?"

"You're pretty much there already."

Reagan looked at the drum kit in front of her, hating that for the first time ever, she felt anxious sitting behind a place that usually felt like home to her. She weighed her options on what would be best to play for Dave, but couldn't think of anything that she was spectacularly good at it. She considered 'In The Air Tonight' by Phil Collins, just to make him laugh, but decided against it. She didn't want Dave's Number One Fan at the front of the store to hear Phil Collins as a follow-up to Led Zeppelin.

She continued to catalogue the list of songs in her head that she had bookmarked as being accompanied by good drum solos before finally settling on a selection. She told herself that she could have at least switched it up instead of semi-copying her opponent, but she knew with certainty that her performance would be solid if she went with the song she had in mind.

She dove straight into 'Rock and Roll' by Led Zeppelin, telling herself to pretend that Dave was not standing there. Instead of focusing on his presence, she trained her mind into hearing Robert Plant's voice and Jimmy Page's guitar playing, layered over the drum part that she'd taken over in place of John Bonham.

It was like one of her childhood dreams all over again; pretending that she had taken over for Bonham and become apart of Led Zep. While other girls her age had longed to be models and princesses (which she respected, though she did not relate to), Reagan had been dreaming of being in a rock band.

When she finished her two minutes of basking in the spotlight, Reagan leapt to her feet and shoved the drumsticks back at Dave. She begrudged him for making her feel so nervous around her favorite instrument, but acted as if nothing happened, walking away from the kit innocently. Dave was beaming at her.

"That was crazy," Dave proclaimed, his smile only seeming to grow bigger.

"Don't flatter me," Reagan said with a roll of her eyes, a move she was beginning to think was her very own trademark.

"I'm serious, Reagan. You did great. You're my favorite drummer to listen to now and no one will ever replace you."

Reagan turned away from Dave and his shower of compliments, but he caught her by her arms and pulled her close. She was facing him, staring again into his honest eyes.

"You really are fucking talented. You're the only girl I know who can do John Bonham and put the damn dude to shame. I think I might even love you after that."

Reagan gulped back the electric shock that zapped her body as Dave confessed what she guessed was a fake declaration of his love. She could have gone ahead believing that it was far from truthful, but the look on his face told a different story as he stood there holding her in his hands.

"Now I know you're insane," she muttered, glancing down at the brown-speckled carpet beneath their feet.

"Maybe I am," Dave said, backing off and sitting back down on the drum stool. Reagan avoided looking at his face, not wanting to register what his response had been to her claim that he was crazy. He could have either taken it to heart or seen it as a joke. She hoped for the latter.

"Can I hear you play again?" he asked softly. She sighed.

"Wasn't one song enough?"

"Not even close."

Reagan eyed the drumsticks that Dave held out to her again. It wasn't as if she'd played and absolutely bombed the song. By Dave's standards, she had done well, which meant a lot. It was a reassurance that few could probably tack on to their list of achievements. Coming from a drummer like Dave, his praise was highly valued.

She took them from Dave's hands and traded spots with him, wasting no time playing the next song that popped into her head. When she finished with that one, Dave hopped onto the stool and did his own rendition of a Rush song that of course, both flustered and impressed Reagan.

And so they went, back and forth taking turns on the kit and boasting their skills to one another. Reagan became more comfortable as time passed, realizing that she was not as embarrassed to play in front of Dave as she had initially thought.

"Uhm, hey guys?"

They looked up and at the front of the room stood the employee from earlier, looking nervous. He clung to the wall, peeking around it as if he knew that he was encroaching on a certain kind of moment.

"We're closed now," the kid explained. "I've got to lock up the store."

Reagan widened her eyes, looking around the room and out towards the glass doors at the front. It was pitch black outside and a clock on the wall showed that it was almost nine o'clock.

"Shit man, we had no idea. Sorry about that," Dave said, standing up from the drum stool and balancing the drumsticks across the snare.

"I'd let you stay if it were up to me," the kid contended as Dave and Reagan walked past. "But my boss would kill me."

"It's okay. Thanks for putting up with us," Dave smiled.

Reagan was biting her lip, wondering how Dave did not recoil awkwardly away from the employee's obvious worship of him. They stepped outside, entering into the cold night. Reagan shuddered involuntarily, leading Dave to pull her into his side and rub his hand against her arm. Her car was not that far away, but she found warmth to be more pleasurable when it was coming from Dave rather than her Honda's half-broken heating system.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

The question was straightforward, made without any hesitation. Reagan had been expecting it out of him and although she had already basically told him yes, she understood his worry. He didn't want her to leave. That made her feel good.

"I shouldn't," she admitted. "But I think I will."

You're stupid and you know it, she thought. All her decisions had been reckless, but the silver lining happened to be that she'd yet to regret a single one.

"Good," Dave whispered as they reached her car. He stopped at the driver's side door, fully intending on opening it for Reagan before she got in. But before he did so, he kissed her again, proud to be kissing the most talented girl he had ever yet to meet.

Reagan kissed him back, forgetting every thought she'd had before seeing Dave earlier that day. It didn't seem to matter anymore how long they'd known each other or what their relationship was morphing into. All Reagan knew in that moment was that despite the October chill, she'd never felt as warm as she did then kissing Dave in the music store parking lot.

[ i'm laughing to myself because in 'in the sun,' 7 chapters in and lindy and kurt are practically married, ready to have a baby and grow old with each other. meanwhile, we're almost 20 chapters in with dave and reagan and reagan will most likely kick dave in the throat if he tries to call her his girlfriend ]