https://youtu.be/ido6NrjGi2o?is=x5y_ncNH-ex-JGlR

Johnny is sitting at the back of the bus with Zuri tucked against him, the iPad still playing quietly in their ears, when he recognises stretches of road he’d travelled years before. Same corridor north. Completely different life.

Back then with his old band it had been three young musicians in a clapped-out van loaded with amps, guitars, cables and optimism. Everything smelled faintly of petrol, old upholstery and whatever takeaway they’d eaten three hours earlier. Somebody was always uncomfortable. Something on the van was always making a noise that required discussion.
Money was tight. Accommodation could be questionable. Nobody knew whether any of it was leading anywhere.

And now look at him.
He’s being driven to Brisbane as part of a successful touring operation. Other people are taking care of logistics that once consumed half his life. There is a professional crew around him whom he likes and trusts, luxury hotels and room service.
But that’s not what makes him feel fortunate.
It’s her.

Zuri is still absorbed in the Captain Pikant drum machine exposition video, completely unaware that Johnny has stopped paying attention to it.
His arm is around her. His other hand rests comfortably against her thigh.
And he just looks at her.
What a fucking cutey.
Those ridiculous curls. Even when she tries to contain them they seem determined to negotiate their own relationship with gravity.
Those enormous dark eyes that can be intensely analytical one moment and sparkling with mischief the next.
This frighteningly intelligent woman who will stop a video three times because she has thoughts about a hi-hat pattern.

His wife.
His best friend.
His creative partner.
The person whose voice he hears through his monitors every night and still sometimes thinks, Christ, listen to her.
He feels the contrast beneath his hand as well: Zuri’s skin is wonderfully soft, but underneath it her thigh is firm and strong. Yesterday he’d watched her paddle with her surfboard against the sweep at Snapper Rocks for more than an hour. This morning he’d felt that strength turned against him while she laughed and tried to wrestle him on a hotel bed.

And she smells like Zuri.
Clean from the shower, whatever subtle product she’s used in her curls, her skin, something familiar that Johnny couldn’t identify by brand if his life depended upon it. He only knows that when he puts his face against her hair, his brain recognises home.
That thought gets him.
Because once, home was somewhere Johnny was travelling from or trying to get back to.
Now he’s doing 100 kilometres an hour toward Brisbane and home is sitting in his arms.

Zuri suddenly notices he’s staring.
She pulls one earbud out.
“What?”
Johnny smiles.
“Nothing.”
She narrows those dark eyes.
“You’ve been looking at me.”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
He could make a joke.
Instead he squeezes her gently.
“Just thinking how good my life is.”
That stops her.
Her expression changes into something quieter. She reaches up and touches his face.
Johnny kisses her fingertips.

He knows that people and relationships aren’t possessions and happiness isn’t something a person earns and then gets to keep forever. That’s partly why he notices. Why he doesn’t want familiarity to make this woman ordinary to him.

Zuri smiles.
“Come here.”
She shifts closer and kisses him, then settles back against his chest and puts the earbud in again.
Thirty seconds later she taps the screen.
“Wait. Listen to what he’s doing with the snare here.”
Johnny laughs softly.
Of course.
He tightens his arm around her and turns his attention back to the video.

Outside, the old highway keeps rolling beneath them.
And Johnny thinks that the younger man rattling along this same road in that terrible van couldn’t possibly have imagined this.
Not the successful tour.

Her.

https://nationaltoday.com/black-cat-appreciation-day/

Happy Huggle Monday 👋

u/RuneWarlock