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The curling smoke bleeds into the cold night sky and all his eyes can do is let his sight linger along the unraveling spirals as they dissipate. His thumb flicks the back of the cigarette causing some ash to fall down, the embers glowing and fading as they’re cradled by the air they fall through. His hands feel a bit restless, his idle fist clenching and unclenching periodically. It was the kind of mysterious unrest where you feel you ought to do something but you don’t know what it is pricking your insides exactly. He clenches his fist as he takes another drag of his cigarette and unclenches it as he blows out the smoke. He exercises this rhythm for quite a while.
He’s pulled out of his trance as he hears laughing noises from inside the motel room they were currently staying at. He abruptly presses the cigarette to the wall to put it out and dusts himself clean of the cigarette ashes whose scent will linger till long after but he didn’t care. There was very little consistency in his life beyond his stable smoking and drinking habits.
His back slides against the grainy wall that tugs slightly at his back as he thumps down before pulling out a small notepad and pencil. He jots down something in the notepad, a feverish urgency in his hands as he does. As if his train of thought is slipping through his mental fist like a scarf of silk that’s too fluid to be held and too transparent to be seen. His hands come to a sudden halt, his pencil tapping on the paper, the pressure growing with each one. He grunts and gives up, both of his hands sliding off his lap and going static by his sides as he looks up.
He could swear the night was still relatively cold but he hadn’t felt this sweaty in long, a slight tremble over his entire demeanor. His mind keeps going back to those tabloids on the counter that night. He mutters a string of curses under his breath as he continues looking up through droopy eyes. His eyelids felt a magnetic pull downwards because of part inebriation and part exhaustion. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead to the end of his chin, holding on for a second too long before falling down by virtue of its own crippling weight.
Another bead of sweat gathers at his chin, faltering in the cold breeze…
The screeching of the guitars ceased just as their set finally ended. Julian could hear nothing but a loud buzzing in his ears as he pressed his palms together in a gesture of gratitude to the bustling audience. He stumbles forward slightly before Nick pulls him up by the arm while the rest put down their instruments to go back to the tour bus.
“You seem spent.”, Nick only gathers some broken grumbles from Julian before deciding he’s too disoriented at the moment and drags him along.
Julian watches the rest of them talk amongst themselves, occasionally nudging at each other’s shoulders as they joke around. Julian can barely make out anything because of the loud ringing in his ears but he tries to not let it seem apparent.
Albert and Nikolai walk ahead as the other three lag behind them, Nick being held back by having to drag Julian along and Fab staying with the two as a gesture of some common courtesy, pulling out the camera from his bag.
Fab holds the camera and his thumb brushes against the cold metal of the exterior. They had been recording small excerpts and clips of themselves messing around to include on a tour doc that they’d probably use for promotional material later. Nick notices Fab flick open the camera and the following click of the shutter as it opens.
“We’re almost out of film on that one, you better turn it off.”
“Nah it’s fine, I just wanted to record whatever for the hell of it, you could always change it when we get back to the tour bus.”
“Fair enough..”, Nick looks back at Julian looking a little disoriented and quiet and it brushes him the wrong way.
“Hey what’s up with you?”
“Huh? Nothing I was just, y’know, thinking.”
“You’ve seemed a little out of it since the show ended, look up man, we’re finally getting our big fucking break, this is gonna be huge.”
“Well yeah but we haven’t even released the album yet and what if people listen to that shit and think ‘hey this wasn’t worth my time’ and… ugh, just forget it.”
“Hey don’t be so hard on yourself.”, Fab slings his arm around his shoulders, his body swaying into his, causing Julian to swerve as well.
Julian rubs his face, feeling the dirt and grime chafe against his fingers, “I know, I just don’t know how to make it stop. I feel like I’m always trying to measure myself up to something I feel like I should be.” Every word is spoken through the garbled filter of inebriation, punctuated with the occasional slurring of words. Fab picks up on what he means regardless though. All that joke-kissing had accustomed him to the meaning of every movement of his lips even when their lips weren’t moving against each other’s. Although he’d always hoped that the kissing was more than just a joke.
He pats his back in reassurance. “It’ll be fine.”, He didn’t feel the need to elaborate, he just knew, optimism and hope so potent in his worldview that it only had to be pointed out if need be.
Nick had snatched the camcorder from Fab’s unsuspecting hands a while ago and was sifting through the footage. His finger hastily clicked the downward arrow repeatedly to browse through the vast collection of footage they had gathered thus far. He wondered how long it would take to edit all of it together to make some semblance of a tour documentary. Something in between his rushed browsing catches his eye however. The cover on the clip is a blurred mess of red and orange with a figure in the middle that appears to be Julian.
“Huh, never seen this before.”, He presses the play button and takes bigger steps so as to not lag behind Fab and Julian, who are swerving into each other like a drunken teenage couple head over heels over each other. He notices Fab pepper kisses along the side of Julian’s neck and ignores them, ‘They’re at it again’, is all his brain thinks as he turns his attention back to the screen.
His eyes stay fixed on the video unfolding before him, the audio is a little compressed, as if someone had their thumb over or in proximity to the mic, constant noises of rubbing against it would interrupt the video, he could still roughly make out what was being said.
“C’mon, I need that back.”, Julian’s voice crackles through the fuzzy mic as some unknown person handles the camera and points it at him, Julian tries to cover his face with his hand only to have the only barrier of privacy between him and the camera lens snatched by someone nearby. Nick’s brow furrows as he continues watching. Julian clearly looks drunk and high which only lowers his defenses.
“Just entertain us a while, won’t hurt ya.”, Julian grumbles in response.
The camera zooms in on Julian’s annoyed expression looking away, the idiot handling the camera clearly had a bad understanding of how to work it. Someone nearby makes an insensitive joke about Julian’s dad cheating on his mom which Nick could half make out from the words “Seymour” and “left” on top of the added annoyance on Julian’s expression. But he seemed too out of it to fight back.
Nick continued to watch the rest of the five minutes of the humiliation ritual that the video was, occasionally wincing at Julian’s inability to refuse to entertain them. Whether that was because he genuinely couldn’t tell he was being ridiculed or because he was just too docile to, only god knew. Nick’s footsteps slowed down a bit as he was too absorbed in trying to make out what was being said in the short video.
“Should’ve just followed in line with daddy so you could fuck a bunch of those models.”
“Nah, I think he’s just a faggot is what it is.”, The uproar of laughs in the room along with Julian’s awkward laughs to seem like he fit in adds another crease to Nick’s already creased forehead. He’s bad at pretending though, always had been, whatever he felt surfaced to express itself on his face like ice in a cup of water.
“Yeah, whatever man.”
“So you’re not gonna deny it?”
“I guess.”, Julian raises his brows in an exasperated gesture of resignation. He just seemed like he wanted to be anywhere else but there.
As the video continued, Nick grew more confused as to why he didn’t call for any of them. He quickly checks the recording date on the video. One month ago, they were in London then. Why did he wander off to some bar with the camera alone? Why didn’t he mention this later? Why-
Nick’s mind was flooded with questions of every variety when the events of the video grab his attention once more.
“So why start a band then, daddy’s money not enough for you?”
“I’ve asked for the camera back like 12 times now man.”
“Answer the question first, faggot.”, Julian grunts and looks away.
“Because I wanted to.”
“So you’re not in it for the groupies?”
“Can I have it back now?”
“You’re no fun.”, Another voice chimes in, “You think you could get me in contact with some of those groupies.”
The video captures Julian getting up, stumbling from being under the influence to grab the camera from the guy. The screen falters as he tries to tug it out of his stubborn grip. He resists, of course. Julian leans in, the camera capturing a partial snapshot of the scene, which Nick can only make out to be Julian lunging for the guys lips and making out with him, causing an array of reactions among the small crowd around them. The camera falls down, the footage ending right there.
But right before the screen turns to black, he can faintly make out Julian saying something as he broke the kiss.
‘Faggot’.
His idea of a comeback, maybe. Nick was as confused as he was intrigued.
He compensated for his slow pace with a few big steps as he flipped the camcorder screen shut with a click.
“Hey wait up!”
He flips the tabloid pages with shaky hands, one article after the other. It’s as if he’s bound by shackles to continue reading. It was a constant internal monologue of him saying "That dude sounds like an asshole, oh wait, that’s me.”
But despite the piercing pain of going through every word written down he couldn’t help but satisfy the curiosity of how the public perceived him. He wasn’t sure he liked it. He almost wishes someone would snatch them out of his hand to keep him confined within his blissful ignorance like a concerned mother. His eyes traced the same sentences again and again and again-
The click of the door pulls him out of his daze as he rushes to put the magazines to the side and look occupied doing something else. Nikolai walks in and his eye instinctively goes to Julian, he picks up on how he feels a bit rattled and disheveled.
Everything good?
Yeah it’s all good man I don’t know why it wouldn’t be.. Just..”, He mumbles some half finished sentence under his breath, he had a habit of chewing on the latter half of his sentences. As if he’s trying to appease some council sitting within his mind, scrutinizing his every word, forcing him to over explain, and in doing so he just stumbles over his words. His tongue tramples, his finger taps endlessly, the flashcards in his mind scatter and suddenly there’s nothing to say anymore.
“I don’t know man, you’ve just seemed on edge since we started touring Europe. We’re all worried y’know.”
Julian sighs, he’s just anxious, what else is there to tell.
“I’m sorry.”, Julian can’t help but wonder about the idea of it all, touring with your friends who you made a band with, getting recognition for your work, it sounds so great on paper. Then why is it that his dissatisfaction has to knock it all down for him.
“It’s not about the apology.”
“Look, it’s all going to be fine, I promise. The work load, the expectation that people have from, what, like 3 goddamn songs off an EP, I feel like I just want to scramble. Like I want to take it all back all of a sudden.”, he pauses to catch his breath, his eyes scrambling around as if to find the unsaid sentence his tongue is incapable of tracing, “It’s like, I let someone look through something private and now I regret it all.”
“Don’t say that, I know the press is, well, the press is gonna do what it does. Don’t focus on all that noise.”, Nikolai slumps down into the couch as he speaks, turning on the tv to surf channels for something interesting till he reaches the final one and starts all over again.
Julian hisses before making a clicking noise with his mouth in approval, “Guess you’re right.”
He taps his foot before getting up and walking over to Nikolai, his arms creeping up behind him to hold him in a loose embrace, his hands crossing across his chest and settling on his shoulders as Julian’s head is rested on Nikolai’s. To call the line between platonic and romantic in Julian’s perspective a blur would be a blatant lie. It was as existent as his love for pringles. Just not there. To him it was a matter of intention and since he hid that well enough he could essentially get away with whatever.
“Whatcha watching?”
“Nothing.”, He feels Julian’s hands squeeze his shoulders, reassuring himself for the most part.
“Just don’t put on MTV.”
“What if I do?”, Nikolai teases before being bit in the cheek in retaliation.
“Ow! Alright alright, don’t have to tell me twice.”, Julian hums in approval as he soothes the bitemark with his tongue which eventually just turns into him kissing him on the cheek. Nikolai tries pushing him away.
“C’mon Jules.”
“Just one.”, Nikolai rolls his eyes, turns his head to gaze into Julian’s pleading ones, an expression that reads ‘if you so insist’. Julian gleams. He’s clearly still drunk, off his ass at that. Their lips touch and Julian bites his lower lip to let him access into his mouth and Nikolai can’t help but think “God this man always wants more.” But he succumbs, letting Julian deepen the kiss.
He eventually pulls away as he notices the tv is switched to MTV resulting in a gentle fist bumping against Nikolai’s head, he pretends it hurts with an exaggerated ‘ow’.
“What’d I say about doing that?”, Nikolai rolls his eyes like a retaliating teenager.
“You look cute though.”, The comment flicks Julian’s interest to the tv all of a sudden, they were screening some concert footage from a gig they played. Julian laughs at Nikolai’s compliment as he sits down on the couch next to him.
“Yeah I kinda do.”
The rush of breeze from the rushing train in the subway ruffles Julian’s hair. Usually he would sneer or grunt in annoyance but not today, today his mind is fixated elsewhere. His eyes seemingly absorbed in staring at the crumpled pieces of paper go back and forth in front of him as an excuse for all other senses to go on auto pilot as he’s absorbed in whatever his mind has soaked him in. He occasionally bites the outer corner of his lip out of force of habit. He continues watching the pieces of paper without registering fully. First it’s pushed to the left then to the right, then it halts for a while…
“Ryan told me to stop being satirical when answering journalists and press people.”
…to the left again, then it sways in its place…
“Fuck that, I’m not owing it up to some mothefuckers who keep baiting me for the most controversial headline that’ll get them more readers.”
…it rolls too far north, it trembles on the railroad now, calmer and stiller this time…
“All they fucking ask me about is my dad or his modeling agency or ‘Swiss schools’, do they want me to feel ashamed about the stuff I grew around? Are they trying to expose me for being a hack, a fraud, a manifestation of some… some stupid conspiracy of the music industry?”
…the paper ball trembles ever so slightly in its place on the railroad…
“Do they want me to tell them ‘Yeah man, I’m real ashamed, I think you guys should forgive me, baptise me with your acceptance so I can be born anew and judged on the merit of shit I make.”
…the trembling continues to grow as the train nears, the crumpled paper ball stays put all while affixed on the same spot, like a stunned animal caught in the crossfire…
“Every fucking thing they write, it’s all Elite Modeling Agency and Swiss boarding schools first and the music second and I’m so fucking…”
…the paper ball crushes under the train as it rushes by in its usual fashion. Julian’s thought is left unfinished as he winces when he realizes he bit his lip too hard. He brings up a hand from its folded place on his arms to feel the smallest trickle of blood. He curses himself under his breath. He perks up when he thinks someone called for him, asking if he’s okay only to realize it’s some mother and her young son talking to each other nearby. Of course he mistook misplaced affection as his, he always does. He settles down again, shifting a bit as he focuses now on some other trash flying around to sear his gaze into.
The record company executive is elaborating on the details of the publishing of their debut album, much to Julian’s boredom. He’d elucidated on multiple occasions that he prefers staying more on the creative front while the record label can manage the rest but Ryan, their band manager, would drag him to these pointless meetings regardless. “You need to be more involved with the process” he says, Julian mentally scoffs, his fingers tracing nonsensical patterns on the glossy wax table all five of them along with other important looking people were seated at.
He grunts as he feels Fab’s foot hit his leg. He looks up to see Fab absorbed in whatever slide the presenter was waving his laser at. His expression betrayed his faux interest in the subject matter of the meeting. Julian gives him the benefit of the doubt before he feels another hit to the leg causing his gaze to swerve back to Fab’s half contained smirk. Julian hits back and Fab promptly turns his attention to Julian now. They were clearly bored and messing around and now Fab has finally gotten Julian to initiate back. They exchange expressions of mutual boredom and exasperation, both of them a little relieved at not being alone in their weariness in the business related aspects of the record.
Julian subtly points at the presenter and mimics his expression, his left hand coming up to mock his incessant ranting as his fingers move up and down against his thumb to mimic the movement of his jaw. His brows furrowed and pout exaggerated as he ridicules his mannerisms. Fab tries to one up his mockery with a version of his own, his expression turning to a comically stern one as he folds his thumb to bring it up against his knuckles, making a slightly different hand puppet than Julian’s. The action gets a little chuckle out of him. The presenter pauses to look at them and they feel his ever present attention looming over them to which they straighten up immediately. Fab clears his throat to indicate all is well, he goes back to talking about the marketing or whatever it was that Julian couldn’t be bothered to even hear right.
They immediately go back to playing with their hand puppets like two kids in an ever so boring maths class taught by a teacher with a stick up their ass. Albert notices and wants to join but is elbowed by Nikolai into behaving. He grunts in exasperation and gives him a look of complaint, not that Nikolai cares either way, two of them are already making fools of themselves in front of the people with their supposed career trajectory in their hands, he couldn’t have another one of them monkey out right here and abort the fetus of their promising futures.
As the presenter turns his back to the table entirely to take a breather and have a sip of water, Julian leans in closer across the table to Fab and he follows as well. They bring their hand puppets forward, The fingertips on Julian’s hand puppet brushing against the knuckles on Fab’s as they have them make out, very passionately at that. Nick snickers from across the table only to cover his mouth to muffle the noises. As amusing as Nikolai finds their antics he can’t help but shake his head in disapproval. Julian makes a funny face, pretending to smooch the air as the hand puppets continue to devour each other's boney, finger-like lips. Fab takes it all the way as he unravels his hand puppet to hold Julian’s hand as they now make pretend hand puppet sex. The presenter grunts, having been watching and patiently waiting for them to cease their tomfoolery. Fab notices before Julian does as he thrusts the palm of his hand against Fab’s in a gesture of passionate love-making. He looks up a little oblivious and immediately retracts his hand in embarrassment.
“I, uhm, yes, continue.”
The presenter seems visibly annoyed but continues anyway. The two of them exchange slight looks of embarrassment mixed with humor as they go back to slouching in the fancy seats.
Nick finds himself unable to sleep. Too much humidity maybe, at least that’s what he told himself. There were certain things dwelling on his mind that he couldn’t just brush off quite easily. He tosses and turns in the single bed for quite a while before his unrest renders him irritable. He finally gives in and sits up. His fist tensing and relaxing against the bed sheet as he lets the ticking of the clock drown out all else next to him. His heart was thrumming unusually loudly against his ribcage. Or maybe it always did, he seldom noticed.
The spell of his brief trance is broken as he looks out his half open door to notice light spilling out of the door adjacent to his.
Julian’s room.
He wanted to feel surprised but it wasn’t no secret that Julian often had night terrors which was the cause of his odd sleeping habits. He’d often catch up on his sleep during commutes. It had become customary for him to use either Fab or Nikolai’s shoulder as a pillow or headrest. It had become a joke among them.
A few more loud thrums of his heart beating later he decides to walk up to check up on him, for the hell of it. He tells himself it’s not because he’s concerned, it was just instinct. He slowly creeps up next to the half opened door to see Julian at the edge of his bed with his back facing him. His head cradled in his feverishly restless hands that are always itching, often to his detriment. Nick notices a small notepad in his lap and a pencil tucked in the crooks of his fingers.
“Hey.”
“Fuck.”, Julian jumps in his place, he was too zoned out to notice Nick’s presence catching him off guard. “Don’t scare me like that dude.”
“You’re always such a pussy, gosh.”, Even in his sleep ridden state, the snark refused to let go of the steep slope of his tongue. It would kill him perhaps not to be, in part just a little bit snide.
“Shut up.”, Julian grunts as he subtly slams the notepad and puts it aside.
“What were you writing?”
“Stuff.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what.”
“All closed off.”
“It’s late, you should be sleeping.”, Julian lifts his legs up on the bed, his knees hugging his collarbones as he attempts in some twisted fashion to compress himself into invisibility.
“You should be too.”, Nick picks up on him trying to escape the topic on the sly by switching subjects, he’d become accustomed to how difficult Julian was at times. Communicating felt like getting through to a mute child who he has the misfortune of parenting.
“Yet here we both are.”, Nick rolls his eyes at his response, ‘typical’, that’s what he thinks to himself. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to him.
“Can we talk?”
“What else have we been doing?”, Nick stares at him and almost feels a pinch of sympathy at the exhaustion that resides in his youthful eyes. You could almost see the hollow of his undereye peeking through in this specific light while he simultaneously donned a tiny little sparkle reflecting in the moist of his eyes. It was an odd contrast. Like some part of him carried on regardless in a sort of protest that is carried out by the mere existence of the self. Like seeing a tiny sapling sprout from the rubble of demolition.
“Are you just dumb or does my presence just numb your brain?”, Julian laughs as he kicks the heel of his foot lightly against his arm in protest. “No but seriously, I wanted to talk.”
“Go on.”, Julian is clearly uninterested, somewhat even distracted as he picks up the camcorder and goes through old pictures of them. He looks up as he feels Nick’s permeating gaze scold him via his cold silence.
“I’m listening I swear.”, Nick decides he’s too stubborn to be reasoned with so he carries on with no regard for his attention, he just wants it out there.
“I’m worried about you, the way you carry yourself, the way you’ve been acting.”, Nick looks up to see his uncaring demeanor just staring at the camcorder. His lower lip protruding just a tad extra subconsciously. Nick tugs his leg in retaliation, extracting a gasp from Julian as his head hits the pillow.
“Don’t make me resort to being fucking cheesy about this, dude.”, Julian pauses, his hands still lifted up from the sudden pulling of his leg as he looks up at him, more attentive now.
“You’re unwell and I don’t like seeing you like this, you keep going this way and you’ll fucking break and you can quote me on that.”, Julian feels a little touched by the misplaced affection, surely he doesn’t actually care about him, does he?
Nick pauses, putting his hand on Julian’s chest, his fingers slightly digging into the fabric of the shirt. Julian forgets to exhale for a moment too long, only doing so when he finds it in him to put his hand on top of his. Reassurance, he tells himself, that’s what this is.
“You’re going to burn yourself out at the rate you're going.”, Nick says again.
“And I for one am not gonna see you do that to yourself.”
He would.
“Just know I’m here, okay?”
Only temporarily.
Truth be told, the video on the camcorder had been weighing on Nick’s mind quite a bit. Against his will even. It doesn’t take a genius to see the slight edge of self destruction in Julian’s ways. The way he so easily accepts flack from anyone, simply because he believes it to be true as well. Always accepting being smeared because that’s what his perception of himself is. There’s no condescension he could face that his mind hadn’t subjected him to itself. Nick wondered why that was. Self preservation? Protection? God knows.
Julian lifts his hand to bite his finger, humming in approval against it. In a way that says “You worry too much, man.”
Nick smiles in satisfaction, for the time being.
…it gives way eventually, splattering flat against the floor joining the other drops of sweat. The floor stays right there, tortured by the irregular dripping of droplets but Julian could’ve sworn he felt it sway.
Still sitting outside he could only feel more lost. Strange how the only noise drowning himself out was his own. Even his solitude comes to lunge at him in the most vicious ways.
He couldn’t write for his life at the given moment. Yet he felt such a strong calling to. Without moving his gaze travels to the notepad in his still hand, visually tracing his garbled handwriting. He finds it in himself to lift the notepad up to his lap. The resistance in his hand in doing so would make an unknowing observer think someone had flicked a switch to strengthen the forces of gravity on the planet. He scribbles something again, scratching something else out before letting out a hum that was akin to the blur between satisfaction and frustration.
“Can’t you see I’m trying?”