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Jul. 6th, 2021 07:11 pm(OOC: The morning after this <--- thread contains violence and profanity.
For Nexus Prompt: 3. "If one good thing came of all that, it was this.")
It all felt so strange to have someone laying beside him every night. The three years since Trine left seemed an eternity, an endless loneliness that he couldn't shake. It haunted him most of the time. The hole she had tore through him never healed and never had a chance to while she constantly hounded him at every turn. He pushed Viktor's hair out of his face while he slept, passed out from fighting and too much drink.
They both wore wounds from earlier in the night. Vars protecting Ziggy from harassers, Viktor coming to help Vars when they turned on the Norwegian in mass, and Vars turning on them again when they tried to tear into Viktor. His head throbbed where it had been smashed into the wall, it kept him awake, as did the black bruises across his throat, and Viktor's face was slowly turning black and blue where they had busted his mouth open in the fight. That wound on Viktor's face hurt inside, almost like the wound from Trine. Trine was utter loss that could never be regained. While he knew that Viktor could hold his own after years of fighting, the image of three guys jumping him played over and over in the bassists head. What if he had lost the other punk to a knife or a gun?
He didn't want to think about it and yet that was all he could think about in the quiet of near morning. Everything dredged up emotions; loss, fear, heartache. As Viktor shifted and leaned in closer in his sleep, Vars endured fear.
Three years and he hadn't even tried to be with anyone. It was all a joke and the band knew it from all the times people had slapped him in the face or stood him up. Vars didn't care and drifted around aimlessly for years in mild to extreme disinterest in anything outside the band and playing. This might be real. The anger he couldn't control when he saw Viktor get jumped in the bar was undeniable. Knowing that he would have killed to protect him in that moment was just as true. The bloody lip and bruises continued to make him see red when he caught sight of them.
More than his own fear was in play. There would be backlash; in Britain and even in Norway, despite the culture being more accepting. Outside the band and the closed hotel room there would be consequences for closeness. Hatred of gay men was brutal in many countries and the perceived weakness might get them both jumped by other punks. The position was tenuous, the classic walking a knife edge. He couldn't help but wonder if the impulsive singer thought that far ahead.
Trine would be part of that danger. Newly married, she'd still go for his throat at any opportunity. He knew that and it hurt, burned at his pride and sense of self. The flurry of thoughts was almost too much but in the forefront was Mick telling him about the guilt of hiding and Aarne screaming for people to fuck off every time they questioned how he lived. Could there be a middle ground to being in the shadows and brazen? As a rockstar, it was unlikely to last long. Someone would get a picture and then the media would slather it everywhere about Vars having a secret lover and hiding or whatever else they decided to dump on him, on both of them and their bands. Fame was like a circus where you were a lion fighting to be the ringleader instead of at the end of the whip.
The more Vars lingered on these thoughts the more he knew the source of it was a sense that others could shame him for his behavior. Trine shaming him for moving on when she already had and the media trying to shame his choices. Surrounded by groupies and fans day in and day out, being here with Viktor every night was a choice that was made with confidence. Rebellion fueled all the thoughts after as he zeroed in on a sense of not giving a damn what others thought or saw. As a rockstar everything caused fall out unless you kept your head down and stayed mainstream. No one here followed the mainstream.
In the end only one thought remained; fighting the media was little different than fighting a bunch of thugs in a bar. Go at it together. Divide and Conquer, and when all else failed stab the bastards in the face.
For Nexus Prompt: 3. "If one good thing came of all that, it was this.")
It all felt so strange to have someone laying beside him every night. The three years since Trine left seemed an eternity, an endless loneliness that he couldn't shake. It haunted him most of the time. The hole she had tore through him never healed and never had a chance to while she constantly hounded him at every turn. He pushed Viktor's hair out of his face while he slept, passed out from fighting and too much drink.
They both wore wounds from earlier in the night. Vars protecting Ziggy from harassers, Viktor coming to help Vars when they turned on the Norwegian in mass, and Vars turning on them again when they tried to tear into Viktor. His head throbbed where it had been smashed into the wall, it kept him awake, as did the black bruises across his throat, and Viktor's face was slowly turning black and blue where they had busted his mouth open in the fight. That wound on Viktor's face hurt inside, almost like the wound from Trine. Trine was utter loss that could never be regained. While he knew that Viktor could hold his own after years of fighting, the image of three guys jumping him played over and over in the bassists head. What if he had lost the other punk to a knife or a gun?
He didn't want to think about it and yet that was all he could think about in the quiet of near morning. Everything dredged up emotions; loss, fear, heartache. As Viktor shifted and leaned in closer in his sleep, Vars endured fear.
Three years and he hadn't even tried to be with anyone. It was all a joke and the band knew it from all the times people had slapped him in the face or stood him up. Vars didn't care and drifted around aimlessly for years in mild to extreme disinterest in anything outside the band and playing. This might be real. The anger he couldn't control when he saw Viktor get jumped in the bar was undeniable. Knowing that he would have killed to protect him in that moment was just as true. The bloody lip and bruises continued to make him see red when he caught sight of them.
More than his own fear was in play. There would be backlash; in Britain and even in Norway, despite the culture being more accepting. Outside the band and the closed hotel room there would be consequences for closeness. Hatred of gay men was brutal in many countries and the perceived weakness might get them both jumped by other punks. The position was tenuous, the classic walking a knife edge. He couldn't help but wonder if the impulsive singer thought that far ahead.
Trine would be part of that danger. Newly married, she'd still go for his throat at any opportunity. He knew that and it hurt, burned at his pride and sense of self. The flurry of thoughts was almost too much but in the forefront was Mick telling him about the guilt of hiding and Aarne screaming for people to fuck off every time they questioned how he lived. Could there be a middle ground to being in the shadows and brazen? As a rockstar, it was unlikely to last long. Someone would get a picture and then the media would slather it everywhere about Vars having a secret lover and hiding or whatever else they decided to dump on him, on both of them and their bands. Fame was like a circus where you were a lion fighting to be the ringleader instead of at the end of the whip.
The more Vars lingered on these thoughts the more he knew the source of it was a sense that others could shame him for his behavior. Trine shaming him for moving on when she already had and the media trying to shame his choices. Surrounded by groupies and fans day in and day out, being here with Viktor every night was a choice that was made with confidence. Rebellion fueled all the thoughts after as he zeroed in on a sense of not giving a damn what others thought or saw. As a rockstar everything caused fall out unless you kept your head down and stayed mainstream. No one here followed the mainstream.
In the end only one thought remained; fighting the media was little different than fighting a bunch of thugs in a bar. Go at it together. Divide and Conquer, and when all else failed stab the bastards in the face.
