Frustration -SERIES- [Part 2] Headphones & Reveries [boyxboy]

Chapter Thirteen

Regardless of how repetitive the whole procedure can get, gig night is always the most exciting night in any city. The band are all practically vibrating with energy, usually separating off into their own sub-clique since nobody else can really relate to what they're feeling. The excitement is infectious though, and even if we complain occasionally about groupie life, there isn't a whole lot else I'd rather be doing than getting to watch Name Withheld perform live every night.

It was a still a couple of hours until the support act was even supposed to hit the stage, and the whole band had crowded onto one couch by themselves in a corner of the green room. There was barely enough space to sit three people comfortably on that couch, so they were all sort of piled on top of one another, a big tangle of limbs and Sally's bright white-blonde hair. They looked to be having even more fun than usual, laughing and joking with one another and taking the piss.

Slowly, so as not to startle the animal in its natural habitat, I reached for Jackson's polaroid camera that I'd taken to carrying everywhere with me, and snuck up on them, snapping a picture of them all mid laugh, bending and looking around at one another.

'Sneaky,' Conor accused me, but they were all still grinning.

'Let me see that,' Sally demanded, stretching her had out towards me and flexing her fingers. I handed her the still developing photo and she looked at it until the image cleared. 'Oh wow,' she said, happily. 'This is great, Tyler.' She took out her phone and looked at me. 'Can I?'

I shrugged. 'Sure.'

She took a picture of it and handed the polaroid back to me, tapping on her phone quickly before I got a notification on mine that I'd been tagged on Twitter. I checked it and saw she had uploaded the photo with the caption, "Me and my Lost Boys" adding photo credit to me.

'That's a good one,' I said, smiling.

After an hour or so they excused themselves to go prep and psych each other up and do whatever semi-ritualistic things they usually did before going onstage that nobody else really understands or wants to get too involved in.

Jackson was off in a quiet corner somewhere working on his next article and Josh and Rachel had disappeared as well so I was by myself in the green room when a troop of very excitable, slightly tipsy models spilled through the doors and made an energetic beeline for me.

'You made it, then,' I observed, as they settled into piles of big hair and long limbs on the various couches.

'Model wrangling should be a sport,' Chloe complained to me as she squeezed in beside me. 'And I should be given a trophy for managing to get them all here on time.'

'Like an AVN Award?' I asked cheekily, and she slapped me, but couldn't stop herself laughing.

'You're vulgar,' she accused me. 'Where is everyone?'

'It turns out some of them have jobs,' I said, like it was a revelation. 'Like, singing and playing instruments and writing for music magazines.'

'Fuck off,' Chloe exclaimed with fake surprise, playing along. 'That sounds so boring.'

'Right? Imagine getting on stage in front of twenty-thousand screaming fans when you could be chilling back here with us.'

'I'm frankly appalled,' Chloe agreed, 'at the life choices that some people make.'

We settled in and kept chatting for a while until Chloe decided she was thirsty and stood up to raid the fully stocked mini fridge in the corner for a bottle of water. When she got back she was absent-mindedly humming a melody I recognised as intro to Hurricane, the third single from Name Withheld's first album.