Work Text:
Testing, testing-”
“I can hear you!” Albert calls over from the entrance to the empty hall. It's small-cosy, it's limited capacity after all. Albert strides to the stage, looking back once, imagining the studio audience. He picks up his guitar, strums, hears the expected Fender blissed out tone. Julian's watching him, doesn't say anything yet but nods.
“Where's, uh-”
“Steve says he'll get here in like, two minutes,” Albert replies, picking up the guitar and testing its weight.
“Okay… it had better be like, two minutes,” Julian says a little impatiently, already, just as Fab walks in. Nikolai has been here before the rest of them, occasionally playing an old baseline. Standing off to one side.
“Can't see a thing in here,” Fab is saying. It is dark. The lights are low, so low there's shadows over Julian’s face as he smiles comfortably at the drummer. Neon, red. Does Julian still have a thing about not showing his eyes? What did somebody joke once? Something about a shame to hide a pretty face. Son of a model after all.
“Hey, guys, so anyway, it's gonna be good tonight,” Julian says a little vacantly. Fab sits down behind his drum kit.
“We’re like, starting again…” he continues, singing it like that Maya Wiley ad song.
It's always self promotion with him. Fight for a good cause, man. But not too much, man.
“I'm really glad this is like, a fresh start,” Albert is kidding himself as usual. It's like a puppy you don't wanna kick.
“Yeah, we’re, uh, not leaving old fires burnin’” Julian says, and then looks at Fab directly and Fab can see his eyes even through the shadows. Sharp, direct.
“Julian,” Albert says tightly. Kind of joking but not really.
Fab looks down at the drums, he tests the volume, they're not plugged in. He gets up to sort it out. In a way it's a relief to not have do careful diplomacy between people like fucking international relations in the same band. Steve gets in right on time. And he's so precise, almost a bit too good.
-
We can't let any speculation, no of course. It's shut up tight. You know what I mean.
-
That Mexican place with the hot dressing, Albert is enthusing, on the sidewalk, four PM. It's Angles. Album, that is. Nick is also all angles though. He didn't even know Julian was coming back today. He's so angry, he can't think straight. Fuck he should be back in Los Angeles. He's more wanting a full time job with his wife and kids. But he's the damn one who wanted to get the gang together. He's not enjoying any of it.
Later on they're at the place and Fab isn't there for some reason- probably sucking face with the latest-but Julian shows up halfway through the meal. Nick doesnt like remembering this part. They then have some cliched studio fight. Oh right he wants the synthesiser?
“You're gonna get exactly what you want, Nick.” Julian says. You're gonna get a collaborative record. Then it turns into the usual- Nick is jealous of something, maybe the solo record-
“I'm not jealous of your shitty dramatic stupid pop record-” Nick spits like a teenager.
“Touché,” Julian says.
Then breathes “So you were jealous of my ad-”
“Your fucking perfume ad,” Nick can't control it when Julian makes a start to walk away and he reaches out for his wrist. Stupid studded leather jacket. Where the hell does Casablancas get off wearing that? Looks down at Nick’s bony hands. Like an anatomical diagram.
“Oh, really, you wanna get physical?” Julian says, louder then he was before. He wants to get overheard. Nick gets some violent urge to push him against the wall. For fucks sake. He regress back to that fourteen year old. Fucking perfume ad. Wasn't Gus meant to lock up?
Still there's no one around. To watch it when it happens. Nick isn't the type of guy who cheats on his- there's some disconnect when it actually happens.
“Make up your mind, Valensi” Julian mutters.
“Don't call me that.”
“Why? You do it, use my last name, like we’re in the fucking mob,”
“It would be preferable to be in the mob, I think.” Nick says. Then Julian tugs on his hair. “Fucking ow, man.”
“Like a girl.” Julian says and then realises what he's said. No one is clean in this. Nick’s already done too much. It's like he's not himself any more in New York.
They can say what they want but at the beginning it was honest. Nick worshipped Julian like every dumb fuck kid on the Upper East Side. Sweating in every bar.
He's not even sweating now. Julian's hands give him a chill.
-
If you're going to San Francisco-
Julian rolls his eyes before Albert and Fab stop singing.
“I came here for a good time, like once” Fab says. He realises it was twenty years ago now. Over actually. Fab is such a good looking guy it could be ten though.
I love Fab Moretti, Julian says often. Even though he never did. Not in that way. Its so friendly between them it's like an ideal friendship.
-
He's still in the damn pool, Fab thinks on reflex. This hotel is like a maze, he got lost on the way. It's an infinity pool. Looks out over LA. It's concerning for Fab how it looks like you could just swim out into the roofs. Skyline. Like you could swim away and out and not have anything but yourself.
I think you're in the minority with that, Albert says. Calls from the pool. “Where's Nick?”
“I thought he was here,” Fab calls back.
“ I think there's like three different pools,” Albert gets out. Dripping wet. Tiny shorts. Fab wishes he could look at all his damn bandmates half-dressed with no interest like this. Urgh… talk about nostalgia. When Fab looks back at this tour all he's gonna feel is shame. Meet me in the fucking bathroom. Or the pool.
Later in the bar Julian's somehow drunk already and his fruity breath hangs heavy in front of Fab’s face.
“Feel bad for your girlfriend, man.” Julian laughs. “Valensi’s got pretty hair, could give her some tips ,”
Fab recoils a little and tries to hide his shock. Julian laughs a little harder.
“You think we didn't know?”
Fab shakes his head again and again.
“Drew is a speci-al lady,” Julian says, “I mean it, cos it's the fucking truth,” he takes a breath and says-”I mean we’ve also got a really special guitar player-”
Fab goes off to his hotel room. After that he comes back after a half a bottle of whisky, actually tastes like shit. He goes off to look for the other pool. The lights on already, the water like tepid blue silk.
-
I should move to Costa Rica, Julian thinks. Actually no, New York is good right now. But it's so warm and bright and green here. Even better everyone is taking his ideas. It would even better if he could put out some old fires burning. Steady and warm. Low and hot.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Nick says.
“Like what?” Julian laughs. It would be even better if they didn't keep getting interrupted by Rick fucking Rubin of all people.
“Fab, he-” Nick sighs.
Julian didn't think he'd still be competing with Fab Moretti. He is more lovable though. Fab has never pushed Nick in the way Julian has.
Why is his band practically incest? Julian’s tearing his hair out. Metaphorically. He even took coke with Albert back in the day and, uh, took care of his needs. Making the most of his mouth related talents. It's not even like they can exclude Nikolai.
-
It's nothing personal, guys.
-
2001.
“If one of goes we all go!” Fab chirrups.
Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours, the contract is done. Big label execs like idiots in suits. Do they really wag their tails for greasy kids from New York? “We’re gonna be, so like,” Albert starts.
It was better when they had something to be. Somewhere to go.
-
Fucking party, yeah. Julian just sits and thinks. Watches the empty stadium. Lights all on. Fabs behind the drums for soundcheck. Playing a drum roll.