Jay's POV or What We Did Last February
He has to cough from the exhaust fumes Howard
produces by accelerating his Audi fully. He can't see it, but he knows
Dougie is grinning madly now. He sighs and waves around with his arms to
chase the smelly cloud away. Gary smiles silently at the wasted effort.
"Can't leave without showing off, that lad can!"
"Obviously needs to compensate something, eh?" Robbie says from somewhere behind Gary, slipping into his jacket.
They all giggle, of course they know that's not true. Robbie hugs Gary, then him. The latter hug definitely is tighter, endures longer, and there's a short moment of cheek to cheek (or stubble to smooth-shaven, to be more precise) Gary has not been offered. He appreciates it, and he hugs back fondly. Then Robbie grins at them once more and heads over to his car, taking a seat next to his driver. Gary smirks, his forehead wrinkled.
"What's up, Gaz?"
"I was trying to come up with a joke here, about compensation, y'know? But I just can't nail it, me." Gary shakes his head.
"It's been a long day, mate, don't worry, I'm sure you'll get another chance to bring this one on. You know, we are going to have lots of this in the near future?" he smiles at him affectionately.
"Yeah, you might have a point there..." Gary smiles back.
"I better dash now, looks like it'll start raining soon," he looks up to the heavy clouds above them, hoping the sky might prove him wrong. It doesn't. A cold, grey February day in London - maybe taking the bike to Gary's house hadn't been his best idea today. He shivers and pulls the collar of his coat tighter. "Where's Mark?"
Gary still stands on the threshold, hands in pockets, now turning around and vaguely gesturing into the corridor "The loo, I s'pose?" Then, turning around again, facing him and grinning from ear to ear "dressing his quiff?"
He smiles at him leniently, turning the bike around in the drive, "Oh, Gaz,....well, tell him bye then, will ya? I really should get going or I'll get soaking wet, and you don't want me ill with flu in Japan, right?"
"Definitely not, you're a real sissy when it comes to being sick."
"Yeah, well, I love you too, Gaz." He gets onto the bike, kicking off. "Don't forget to tell Markie bye, okay?!"
"I won't! Bye Jay!"
As soon as he turns into the street and the cold winter wind hits his face, the thoughts start running through his head. For a while he tries to chase them away by pedalling heavily, picking up pace quickly, hoping the physical effort will exhaust him enough to stop the brooding. It doesn't work. Body vs. brains might work with others, but not with Jason Orange. He is well fit for sure, but there is way too much going on in his head to ever get fit enough to let the body win that battle. So inevitably the pondering sets in. With a sigh he slows the pace, accepts his fate and recalls the afternoon. Something is not quite right, not really wrong, just...not quite okay, something just doesn't sit comfortable in his head. But just like Gaz couldn't quite nail the joke a couple of minutes ago, he seems to be not quite able to figure this problem out.
All he knows is it's not Gary he's worried about, he doesn't mind doing promo stuff, giving interviews, smiling into cameras. Being away to faraway countries means he can eat things he's not at all allowed at home, he will be driven around, given presents, and hang out with the lads. All fine for Gary Barlow.
It's not Howard he's worried about, either. Sure, he's still wary about Rob being back in the band and he doesn't like the whole interview stuff, but the prospect of real Sushi in Tokyo, and spare ribs and a spliff in Sydney are enough to make Howard Donald happy as a Larry. He will manage to stand a couple of days in Taiwan in between, somehow.
He's not even worried about Robbie, for he is calm and confident, lean and mean and funny, and generally anticipating everything that has to do with being back in Take That - with a childish glee he has not seen on him since 1993. That tad little bit of stage fright is under control by now. No, no, Robbie Williams isn't the problem.
It must be Mark then, obviously. Markie. Something is wrong with him, but no matter how long he thinks it over, he just can't put his finger on it. Mark should be happy, with Rob being back in the band, "his" Rob. And writing and recording this really brave new record, finally straying from the well-known paths. He remembers Mark's worried face when "The Circus" was mixed, and the discussion they had about it back in L.A. "It's just... I dunno, Jay, but I fear we've not moved on enough, we're playing it too safe, methinks. It feels like leading 1-0 and then second half starts and the coach takes out all strikers and just defends defends, it's never good...it ends in tears..." - "Gosh, Markie, you start sounding like me, lighten up, mate!" But that was then - this time, with "Progress", Mark is really happy, because they'd dared something. And they all feel it's good. Progress, actually. Still, Mark is worried about something. The up-coming journey perhaps? But he knows Mark loves Japan, and Australia, and the giddiness that is Taiwan. If Mark was a country, he'd probably be Taiwan, colourful, bubbly, sweet, funny, and utterly adorable.
He has to stop at a traffic light. A girl crosses the street, she recognizes him and smiles. He smiles back. Automatically.
February, 15th, 2011
Taiwanese sweets from Valentine's Day Candy Boxes are surely not healthy. He does not care and munches away on them. He's more gracious with himself these days, ditching the health regime every now and then, enjoying the forbidden stuff. Sitting on his bed, iPod in ears, listening to Mark's "Four Minute Warning". What a great song. Every time he chooses another one of those sweets he can't help but giggle about the kitsch of that box and wonder why Mark was so angry about it. He had looked as if he wanted to bash Rob up with the Candy Box. His behaviour over the last weeks was...odd. Mood swings, from giddy joy and happiness to a very strange kind of suppressed anger, and back again in no time. Like yesterday. First he stays in with him, they chatter away, have a right proper laugh or two, everything's brilliant. Then he finds Rob's present and goes all ballistic and is not seen for the rest of the day.
He knows that mood swings are more or less normal after rehab. It's the time the patients learn to deal with their demons in a different way than numb them with booze, drugs, sex, or a cataclysmic blend of the aforementioned. Being sober after a longer period of addiction is like facing the sunlight after being buried underground. Facing the bright sunlight without shades, that is. Sometimes, he supposes, Mark has to literally close his eyes to stand the sunlight.
And still he feels that's not all. There's more to Mark's sadness, something unspoken, something darkled, something repressed... a sudden knock on the door makes him lose track of that thought.
He jumps up and by doing so causes a little tremble that makes one of the singing Valentine's day cards fall off his bedside table. In falling it opens and starts playing its tinny, analogue version of "Love Is In The Air". He remembers Mark dancing and miming to that very tune the other night. It makes him grin. Automatically.
February, 20th, 2011
While he's watching Mark sleeping right beside him, the unsolved mystery of his mood swings and at times strange behaviour takes over lead of his thoughts again. They've been talking a lot these last nights and still they're not getting anywhere. By now he knows that Mark is happy with the album, happy with being tee-total, happy with travelling. All his loved ones are happy and healthy. He's looking forward to the tour. He's glad Rob's back. His life is brilliant.
But even after all the talking he has no clue what that little cloud of sadness wavering over Mark's head consists of. Still no resolve as to why Mark's eyes sometimes turn to that darker shade of green. Still no hint why Mark's nose every so often crinkles in discontent. Why his lips suddenly lose all colour and tighten to a very unusual frown now and again.
He sighs, he feels the headache's returning, and that is no surprise with him running on so little sleep and so many thoughts. Mark turns slightly in his nap, mumbling something, a strain of hair cheekily falling into his face. Later he will state "I didn't sleep, I'd just had me eyes shut for a little while!" He always says that, but it's not true. He knows 'cause Mark's snore always proves him a liar. And though Mark's making funny noises, he can't take his eyes off of him, he's just too beautiful when he's asleep. He's always beautiful of course, still momentarily always a bit stressed. But right now he looks all peaceful, curled up beside him, slightly smiling in his sleep.
A new thought crosses his mind: Mark enjoys his company, he feels safe when he's around him. Safe enough to relax. Safe enough to sleep. His heart misses a beat. Automatically.
February, 22nd, 2011
Some days are complete mayhem, communicationwise. It'd be funny, he thinks, if it wasn't that exertive sometimes. Like Tuesday.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"And what you'd need the lube for?"
"Where's Mark?"
"What...?"
"Lads, can I go like this?"
"Ask Mark."
"I couldn't get me wedding ring off me finger the other day..."
"How can you gain weight when you're working out with Jay?!"
"Where is Mark?"
"I've been asking that first..."
"We're not working out, we're..."
"Was that shirt a freebie, Gaz?"
"No, I bought it in L.A, with Rob."
"Oh, Robbie...."
"Hey, it wasn't my fault, I told him it looked shite...why do you think I gained weight? Do I look fat?"
"You didn't say it looked shite..."
"No, I thought you'd gained weight coz you couldn't get that ring off your finger..."
"Has someone yet answered my question?"
"What question, mate?"
"I don't think it looks shite, I like it, me..."
"My fingers were swollen coz of all that soy sauce, Jay says it's the salt, it causes water to..."
"Boring!"
"Where Mark is!"
"What about Mark?"
"WHERE IS HE?"
"Oh, don't scream, please..."
"WHERE'S WHO?"
"That shirt is ridiculous, Barlow!"
"MARK!"
"Dunno....his room?"
"I don't like it either, told him so."
"No, you didn't! I'd not have bought it if you'd said that!"
"Christ, you're worse than 15-year-old girls...I go looking for him."
"Looking for who?"
"MARK!"
"Blimey, what's wrong with you? No need to scream at Gaz."
"He's right, Jay, the shirt's not that horrible."
"Urghhh...."
"So you used the lube to get that ring off your finger?"
"I'll go looking for another shirt..."
"Yep. What did you think I'd used it for?"
"What do you think I thought?"
"Is there anything else you can ever think about, Donald? You're a daft sod..."
"You ask Jay to give you private dancing lessons and then use lube only to remove a ring from a swollen finger - now who's the daft sod...?"
"That shirt better?"
"Come to think of it - did I give you the lube back?"
"No."
"What's wrong with this shirt then?"
"What?!"
"Sorry, mate, I completely forgot about it, I'll go get it immediately."
"I really don't get what's wrong with that shirt, I've worn it many times before and you never said a word..."
"You really think I'm a daft sod, don't you?"
"What?"
"Why? - Great shirt, Gaz, like it."
"Thanks, Rob..."
"As if I'd go on a 3-week-journey halfway round the world with only one flask of lube..."
"Huh?!"
"Yeah, Gaz, that's a good shirt."
"Ah, silly me! Of course you don't!"
"But you said you don't like it just a minute ago...?"
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did!"
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Stuff like this is enough to make other bands break up. We've come a long way, he thinks. We're not invincible, he worries. But we hope for more, he grins.
He knocks on Mark's door. He straigthens his back, runs his finger through his hair, sorting his fringe. He's trying to look good. He's a bit nervous. Automatically.
February, 23rd, 2011
He knows he should have seen it coming. It was all too good, these last days were. He was so busy, doing the daily routine. And working with Rob to get him back into dancing and moving as part of a group. And sleeping. He is so happy he can finally find a bit of rest at night. It's only at breakfast when he notices.
Mark does not look at him. Not once. His stomach rumbles. Automatically.
February, 24th, 2011
He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there. He doesn't know what time it is. He doesn't know and he doesn't care. So that's it. Mark's jealous because he thinks he's shagging Rob. No matter how long and how hard he'd have thought it over - that to be the reason for Mark's anger and sadness, he'd have never found out.
Especially as it means that Mark still is in love with Rob. He'd said he wasn't - while they were talking in one of these nights. And he'd believed it. He wanted to believe it. And now Mark believes he's shagging Rob. Who could blame him, he'd done very little to get rid of his bad reputation. Still he had thought Mark knew him better. He had hoped Mark knew him better. That's a significant difference, and he knows it.
There's a stabbing pain in his back that reminds him he's been sitting there like this for too long. He gets up, and wandering around the dark room stretches his aching bones. He stops by the window, resting his hot forehead against the cool of the pane, closing his eyes. When he opens them again he sees his face, mirrored in the window. He backs away, startled by the sight. From a safe distance, arms folded up in front of his chest, he watches the shimmering Sydney skyline. He's overthinking his situation and how he got there. If he is truthful - and he is - he recognizes the well-known patterns of his life-long self-punishment. He only ever falls in love with those he can't have. With Howard being the most prominent and most painful one. In return he makes others fall in love with him, with no intention whatsoever to follow them there (it's too simple for him, a strange talent, he thinks). With a rare kind of blunt precision he manages to hurt and get hurt in carefully balanced perfection. And next in line is Mark, obviously. Unrequited love yet again. Irritating thing is, this time he could have sworn it had felt - different. It had felt as if he could fall in love with him. And, yes, he had felt a glimmer of hope that maybe perhaps possibly he might be worthy of being loved by Mark. He had felt worthy. For the first time in a long time. That's why it hurt so much more to learn how very angry Mark got about him blurting out that (what-the-heart-is-full-of)-joke of Mark being his boyfriend. What a stupid cunt I am, he thinks. Worthy, hah!?
The other day he had listened to a couple of songs on Rob's iPod while waiting in a dressing room. There was a song called "Concrete Bed" of an American band on it (Nil Surf? Nada Swim? No, no, but something like that....) and some of the chorus' lines have haunted him ever since, now slowly creeping back into his mind: "To find someone you love, you gotta be someone you love".
I'd love to be someone I'd love, he thinks. Tears well in his eyes. Automatically.
February, 26th, 2011
He stands by the door, one hand on the knob, waiting for Mark, who's run back into the bathroom to check his hair once more. He rolls his eyes, but still can't manage to not smile at the same time. Everything that has happened within the last 48 hours is still yet far from sinking in. At times he's overwhelmed, then his eyes stray, staring into nowhere for a little while. But he never stops smiling. He just can't. He blames the endorphines, because after all he's more than just a little bit loved-up. And far more than just a little bit sexed-up. And he's a little bit proud of himself, too, for handling the situation so well. And for being so brave. For that one right decision he took, that immensely inane idea he had, to just not fucking bother anymore and kiss Mark.
They've decided to go out for dinner and he feels a bit of anxiety about leaving the hotel. What's happened until now - getting started, the kisses, the glances, the touches, the cuddles, the sex - is tremendously exciting and new, prickling on his skin and carrying him off his feet, but after all it's only between the two of them. They both wanted it, had been anticipating this. It had taken his breath away to let Mark undress him and explore his body slowly and gently - and the other way around maybe even more so. But still Mark's touches and embraces and smiles and kisses all steady him, make him feel safe and protected. And now they were about to leave that cocoon they’d placed themselves into, and yes, he feels a bit reluctant about that. But the prospect of going out into the world, as a couple, smiling, holding hands, doing couple-things has something wonderfully thrilling he can't resist either. He feels tremendously nervous about that. Everyone will watch, people all over the world will comment on the pictures that will be taken of them. But, hey, showing off is his profession, isn't it??
Mark is back from the bathroom, and he is correcting the collar of his shirt, nodding his head, pleased with his efforts, smiling at him, then placing a soppy kiss on his lips. "Off we go!", he says, clapping his hands excitedly. They're walking down the corridor, next thing he notices is they're in the elevator. Mark's hand taking a hold of his hand, Mark's fingers curling around his fingers. He glances over to him: Mark's not nervous at all, he's loving it, looking forward to show the world. And he just loves it when Mark smiles like that. Makes him smile, too. Automatically.
Ground storey. The elevator doors slide open. Automatically. Of course.
"Can't leave without showing off, that lad can!"
"Obviously needs to compensate something, eh?" Robbie says from somewhere behind Gary, slipping into his jacket.
They all giggle, of course they know that's not true. Robbie hugs Gary, then him. The latter hug definitely is tighter, endures longer, and there's a short moment of cheek to cheek (or stubble to smooth-shaven, to be more precise) Gary has not been offered. He appreciates it, and he hugs back fondly. Then Robbie grins at them once more and heads over to his car, taking a seat next to his driver. Gary smirks, his forehead wrinkled.
"What's up, Gaz?"
"I was trying to come up with a joke here, about compensation, y'know? But I just can't nail it, me." Gary shakes his head.
"It's been a long day, mate, don't worry, I'm sure you'll get another chance to bring this one on. You know, we are going to have lots of this in the near future?" he smiles at him affectionately.
"Yeah, you might have a point there..." Gary smiles back.
"I better dash now, looks like it'll start raining soon," he looks up to the heavy clouds above them, hoping the sky might prove him wrong. It doesn't. A cold, grey February day in London - maybe taking the bike to Gary's house hadn't been his best idea today. He shivers and pulls the collar of his coat tighter. "Where's Mark?"
Gary still stands on the threshold, hands in pockets, now turning around and vaguely gesturing into the corridor "The loo, I s'pose?" Then, turning around again, facing him and grinning from ear to ear "dressing his quiff?"
He smiles at him leniently, turning the bike around in the drive, "Oh, Gaz,....well, tell him bye then, will ya? I really should get going or I'll get soaking wet, and you don't want me ill with flu in Japan, right?"
"Definitely not, you're a real sissy when it comes to being sick."
"Yeah, well, I love you too, Gaz." He gets onto the bike, kicking off. "Don't forget to tell Markie bye, okay?!"
"I won't! Bye Jay!"
As soon as he turns into the street and the cold winter wind hits his face, the thoughts start running through his head. For a while he tries to chase them away by pedalling heavily, picking up pace quickly, hoping the physical effort will exhaust him enough to stop the brooding. It doesn't work. Body vs. brains might work with others, but not with Jason Orange. He is well fit for sure, but there is way too much going on in his head to ever get fit enough to let the body win that battle. So inevitably the pondering sets in. With a sigh he slows the pace, accepts his fate and recalls the afternoon. Something is not quite right, not really wrong, just...not quite okay, something just doesn't sit comfortable in his head. But just like Gaz couldn't quite nail the joke a couple of minutes ago, he seems to be not quite able to figure this problem out.
All he knows is it's not Gary he's worried about, he doesn't mind doing promo stuff, giving interviews, smiling into cameras. Being away to faraway countries means he can eat things he's not at all allowed at home, he will be driven around, given presents, and hang out with the lads. All fine for Gary Barlow.
It's not Howard he's worried about, either. Sure, he's still wary about Rob being back in the band and he doesn't like the whole interview stuff, but the prospect of real Sushi in Tokyo, and spare ribs and a spliff in Sydney are enough to make Howard Donald happy as a Larry. He will manage to stand a couple of days in Taiwan in between, somehow.
He's not even worried about Robbie, for he is calm and confident, lean and mean and funny, and generally anticipating everything that has to do with being back in Take That - with a childish glee he has not seen on him since 1993. That tad little bit of stage fright is under control by now. No, no, Robbie Williams isn't the problem.
It must be Mark then, obviously. Markie. Something is wrong with him, but no matter how long he thinks it over, he just can't put his finger on it. Mark should be happy, with Rob being back in the band, "his" Rob. And writing and recording this really brave new record, finally straying from the well-known paths. He remembers Mark's worried face when "The Circus" was mixed, and the discussion they had about it back in L.A. "It's just... I dunno, Jay, but I fear we've not moved on enough, we're playing it too safe, methinks. It feels like leading 1-0 and then second half starts and the coach takes out all strikers and just defends defends, it's never good...it ends in tears..." - "Gosh, Markie, you start sounding like me, lighten up, mate!" But that was then - this time, with "Progress", Mark is really happy, because they'd dared something. And they all feel it's good. Progress, actually. Still, Mark is worried about something. The up-coming journey perhaps? But he knows Mark loves Japan, and Australia, and the giddiness that is Taiwan. If Mark was a country, he'd probably be Taiwan, colourful, bubbly, sweet, funny, and utterly adorable.
He has to stop at a traffic light. A girl crosses the street, she recognizes him and smiles. He smiles back. Automatically.
February, 15th, 2011
Taiwanese sweets from Valentine's Day Candy Boxes are surely not healthy. He does not care and munches away on them. He's more gracious with himself these days, ditching the health regime every now and then, enjoying the forbidden stuff. Sitting on his bed, iPod in ears, listening to Mark's "Four Minute Warning". What a great song. Every time he chooses another one of those sweets he can't help but giggle about the kitsch of that box and wonder why Mark was so angry about it. He had looked as if he wanted to bash Rob up with the Candy Box. His behaviour over the last weeks was...odd. Mood swings, from giddy joy and happiness to a very strange kind of suppressed anger, and back again in no time. Like yesterday. First he stays in with him, they chatter away, have a right proper laugh or two, everything's brilliant. Then he finds Rob's present and goes all ballistic and is not seen for the rest of the day.
He knows that mood swings are more or less normal after rehab. It's the time the patients learn to deal with their demons in a different way than numb them with booze, drugs, sex, or a cataclysmic blend of the aforementioned. Being sober after a longer period of addiction is like facing the sunlight after being buried underground. Facing the bright sunlight without shades, that is. Sometimes, he supposes, Mark has to literally close his eyes to stand the sunlight.
And still he feels that's not all. There's more to Mark's sadness, something unspoken, something darkled, something repressed... a sudden knock on the door makes him lose track of that thought.
He jumps up and by doing so causes a little tremble that makes one of the singing Valentine's day cards fall off his bedside table. In falling it opens and starts playing its tinny, analogue version of "Love Is In The Air". He remembers Mark dancing and miming to that very tune the other night. It makes him grin. Automatically.
February, 20th, 2011
While he's watching Mark sleeping right beside him, the unsolved mystery of his mood swings and at times strange behaviour takes over lead of his thoughts again. They've been talking a lot these last nights and still they're not getting anywhere. By now he knows that Mark is happy with the album, happy with being tee-total, happy with travelling. All his loved ones are happy and healthy. He's looking forward to the tour. He's glad Rob's back. His life is brilliant.
But even after all the talking he has no clue what that little cloud of sadness wavering over Mark's head consists of. Still no resolve as to why Mark's eyes sometimes turn to that darker shade of green. Still no hint why Mark's nose every so often crinkles in discontent. Why his lips suddenly lose all colour and tighten to a very unusual frown now and again.
He sighs, he feels the headache's returning, and that is no surprise with him running on so little sleep and so many thoughts. Mark turns slightly in his nap, mumbling something, a strain of hair cheekily falling into his face. Later he will state "I didn't sleep, I'd just had me eyes shut for a little while!" He always says that, but it's not true. He knows 'cause Mark's snore always proves him a liar. And though Mark's making funny noises, he can't take his eyes off of him, he's just too beautiful when he's asleep. He's always beautiful of course, still momentarily always a bit stressed. But right now he looks all peaceful, curled up beside him, slightly smiling in his sleep.
A new thought crosses his mind: Mark enjoys his company, he feels safe when he's around him. Safe enough to relax. Safe enough to sleep. His heart misses a beat. Automatically.
February, 22nd, 2011
Some days are complete mayhem, communicationwise. It'd be funny, he thinks, if it wasn't that exertive sometimes. Like Tuesday.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"And what you'd need the lube for?"
"Where's Mark?"
"What...?"
"Lads, can I go like this?"
"Ask Mark."
"I couldn't get me wedding ring off me finger the other day..."
"How can you gain weight when you're working out with Jay?!"
"Where is Mark?"
"I've been asking that first..."
"We're not working out, we're..."
"Was that shirt a freebie, Gaz?"
"No, I bought it in L.A, with Rob."
"Oh, Robbie...."
"Hey, it wasn't my fault, I told him it looked shite...why do you think I gained weight? Do I look fat?"
"You didn't say it looked shite..."
"No, I thought you'd gained weight coz you couldn't get that ring off your finger..."
"Has someone yet answered my question?"
"What question, mate?"
"I don't think it looks shite, I like it, me..."
"My fingers were swollen coz of all that soy sauce, Jay says it's the salt, it causes water to..."
"Boring!"
"Where Mark is!"
"What about Mark?"
"WHERE IS HE?"
"Oh, don't scream, please..."
"WHERE'S WHO?"
"That shirt is ridiculous, Barlow!"
"MARK!"
"Dunno....his room?"
"I don't like it either, told him so."
"No, you didn't! I'd not have bought it if you'd said that!"
"Christ, you're worse than 15-year-old girls...I go looking for him."
"Looking for who?"
"MARK!"
"Blimey, what's wrong with you? No need to scream at Gaz."
"He's right, Jay, the shirt's not that horrible."
"Urghhh...."
"So you used the lube to get that ring off your finger?"
"I'll go looking for another shirt..."
"Yep. What did you think I'd used it for?"
"What do you think I thought?"
"Is there anything else you can ever think about, Donald? You're a daft sod..."
"You ask Jay to give you private dancing lessons and then use lube only to remove a ring from a swollen finger - now who's the daft sod...?"
"That shirt better?"
"Come to think of it - did I give you the lube back?"
"No."
"What's wrong with this shirt then?"
"What?!"
"Sorry, mate, I completely forgot about it, I'll go get it immediately."
"I really don't get what's wrong with that shirt, I've worn it many times before and you never said a word..."
"You really think I'm a daft sod, don't you?"
"What?"
"Why? - Great shirt, Gaz, like it."
"Thanks, Rob..."
"As if I'd go on a 3-week-journey halfway round the world with only one flask of lube..."
"Huh?!"
"Yeah, Gaz, that's a good shirt."
"Ah, silly me! Of course you don't!"
"But you said you don't like it just a minute ago...?"
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did!"
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Stuff like this is enough to make other bands break up. We've come a long way, he thinks. We're not invincible, he worries. But we hope for more, he grins.
He knocks on Mark's door. He straigthens his back, runs his finger through his hair, sorting his fringe. He's trying to look good. He's a bit nervous. Automatically.
February, 23rd, 2011
He knows he should have seen it coming. It was all too good, these last days were. He was so busy, doing the daily routine. And working with Rob to get him back into dancing and moving as part of a group. And sleeping. He is so happy he can finally find a bit of rest at night. It's only at breakfast when he notices.
Mark does not look at him. Not once. His stomach rumbles. Automatically.
February, 24th, 2011
He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there. He doesn't know what time it is. He doesn't know and he doesn't care. So that's it. Mark's jealous because he thinks he's shagging Rob. No matter how long and how hard he'd have thought it over - that to be the reason for Mark's anger and sadness, he'd have never found out.
Especially as it means that Mark still is in love with Rob. He'd said he wasn't - while they were talking in one of these nights. And he'd believed it. He wanted to believe it. And now Mark believes he's shagging Rob. Who could blame him, he'd done very little to get rid of his bad reputation. Still he had thought Mark knew him better. He had hoped Mark knew him better. That's a significant difference, and he knows it.
There's a stabbing pain in his back that reminds him he's been sitting there like this for too long. He gets up, and wandering around the dark room stretches his aching bones. He stops by the window, resting his hot forehead against the cool of the pane, closing his eyes. When he opens them again he sees his face, mirrored in the window. He backs away, startled by the sight. From a safe distance, arms folded up in front of his chest, he watches the shimmering Sydney skyline. He's overthinking his situation and how he got there. If he is truthful - and he is - he recognizes the well-known patterns of his life-long self-punishment. He only ever falls in love with those he can't have. With Howard being the most prominent and most painful one. In return he makes others fall in love with him, with no intention whatsoever to follow them there (it's too simple for him, a strange talent, he thinks). With a rare kind of blunt precision he manages to hurt and get hurt in carefully balanced perfection. And next in line is Mark, obviously. Unrequited love yet again. Irritating thing is, this time he could have sworn it had felt - different. It had felt as if he could fall in love with him. And, yes, he had felt a glimmer of hope that maybe perhaps possibly he might be worthy of being loved by Mark. He had felt worthy. For the first time in a long time. That's why it hurt so much more to learn how very angry Mark got about him blurting out that (what-the-heart-is-full-of)-joke of Mark being his boyfriend. What a stupid cunt I am, he thinks. Worthy, hah!?
The other day he had listened to a couple of songs on Rob's iPod while waiting in a dressing room. There was a song called "Concrete Bed" of an American band on it (Nil Surf? Nada Swim? No, no, but something like that....) and some of the chorus' lines have haunted him ever since, now slowly creeping back into his mind: "To find someone you love, you gotta be someone you love".
I'd love to be someone I'd love, he thinks. Tears well in his eyes. Automatically.
February, 26th, 2011
He stands by the door, one hand on the knob, waiting for Mark, who's run back into the bathroom to check his hair once more. He rolls his eyes, but still can't manage to not smile at the same time. Everything that has happened within the last 48 hours is still yet far from sinking in. At times he's overwhelmed, then his eyes stray, staring into nowhere for a little while. But he never stops smiling. He just can't. He blames the endorphines, because after all he's more than just a little bit loved-up. And far more than just a little bit sexed-up. And he's a little bit proud of himself, too, for handling the situation so well. And for being so brave. For that one right decision he took, that immensely inane idea he had, to just not fucking bother anymore and kiss Mark.
They've decided to go out for dinner and he feels a bit of anxiety about leaving the hotel. What's happened until now - getting started, the kisses, the glances, the touches, the cuddles, the sex - is tremendously exciting and new, prickling on his skin and carrying him off his feet, but after all it's only between the two of them. They both wanted it, had been anticipating this. It had taken his breath away to let Mark undress him and explore his body slowly and gently - and the other way around maybe even more so. But still Mark's touches and embraces and smiles and kisses all steady him, make him feel safe and protected. And now they were about to leave that cocoon they’d placed themselves into, and yes, he feels a bit reluctant about that. But the prospect of going out into the world, as a couple, smiling, holding hands, doing couple-things has something wonderfully thrilling he can't resist either. He feels tremendously nervous about that. Everyone will watch, people all over the world will comment on the pictures that will be taken of them. But, hey, showing off is his profession, isn't it??
Mark is back from the bathroom, and he is correcting the collar of his shirt, nodding his head, pleased with his efforts, smiling at him, then placing a soppy kiss on his lips. "Off we go!", he says, clapping his hands excitedly. They're walking down the corridor, next thing he notices is they're in the elevator. Mark's hand taking a hold of his hand, Mark's fingers curling around his fingers. He glances over to him: Mark's not nervous at all, he's loving it, looking forward to show the world. And he just loves it when Mark smiles like that. Makes him smile, too. Automatically.
Ground storey. The elevator doors slide open. Automatically. Of course.
