summary/excerpt: you wish there is a blinding white noise that could muffle your ears right now. the light tapping of allison's fingers on the windowsill isn't enough, won't ever be enough
a/n: disjointed. weird. kind of. :) has a companion drabble here. i haven't checked it much so if you see any mistake, tell me? and leave a comment ♥
Inside the tour bus, in cramp bunks and stuffy couches, you find comfort and peace you haven’t had in a very long time.
The whole gang spends rest time in a single bus, sidling closer, invading personal space.
Allison’s laughs her loud laugh, head thrown back, hand trying to cover her mouth but failing miserably. Matt throws another joke and another until everyone is doubled over their stomachs they can’t listen anymore. Lil and Megan shout and urge and urge and urge for Anoop to do that hand thing again, while you pretend to cringe away. The rest just laughs some more.
You watch them from where you sit and think how amazing it could be to catch this moment and keep it. There is so much joy in all your faces it breaks your heart.
This is a family. You’re friends, family and brother and sisters and mother and fathers. The bonds are deep and strong it won’t break even if you want it to, not that you do. You’ve become so close to the point everyone tells you its unhealthy already. You’re a bunch of different people, clashing cultures and polar opposites, but that doesn’t stop you from forging relationships that would shame anyone else’s.
They won’t be here forever, you won’t be here forever and one day you’ll have to go your separate ways. It’ll be more painful if you stand too close now.
You know what’s happening, you really do. The tour is the last thing that binds all of you. So you try to make as many memories as possible, try to memorize each other’s faces, voices, laughter. Beyond the bus, and the singing and the screaming fans, a life that isn’t as crossed path as it is now waits. It scares all of you a bit, but for now, you just laugh out loud.
The TV is on Discovery Channel, fishes and corals against the blue background of the sea. It’s on mute. No one really cares. You really don’t care. It wasn’t made for sounds. Just light. Dull light hovering over your faces, hiding sunken eyes and deep lines and abominable emotions that should never see the blinding white light.
Everyone is sleeping save for you. Allison’s head is pillowed on Adam’s outstretched leg. His back is leaning on the foot of the bed, hands on top of Allison’s red hair. Megan’s head is on your lap, blonde hair creating swirls of patter on your gray sweatpants. Matt’s in one corner of the room, back against the wall, hat covering his sleeping face. Anoop and Danny crowd the bed, Scott and Michael the other, sheets tangled in their limbs. Lil’s curled up in the duvet, a pillow clutched in her hand.
You let your eyes wander form face to face, try to etch the lines and shades in your head. The color of their hair under the blue light of the television, their almost unmarred skin, the grace of their hands and the movement of their shoulders. It’s impossible not to feel nostalgic and sad. You’re half way into the tour, a few more and you’ll be leaving the whole idol experience behind. You wish your relationships won’t change but you know there’s a fat chance you’d all be too busy to give a call.
You won’t tell them of course, won’t let them know that you have the same thoughts worrying in your head. When you’re all awake and talking, you’re a bunch of fun and awesome, enjoying every bit of the moment in your hand. But here, when everyone is asleep, their eyes shut tight, their ears filled with the buzzing of the air-con and the mute sounds of life outside the hotel room, you can think and feel and be sad.
So you watch. You listen.
Their breaths are even, almost in sync, like they’re singing or something. The air-con continues to rumble softly, its a melody on it’s own. And if you close your eyes, you can almost hear a song. Words turn into lines, lines into verses in your head. You can see the makings of a song you’d want to put in your album. Something about family and treasures and love and little moments that makes your heart swell.
You hum it under your breath, try to memorize the song before it flits out the window. It’s something to immortalize this moment and you won’t let it pass you by.
When you can, you try to write songs, guitar draped on your leg and knee, notepad on top of the table, pen stuck between your fingers, the usual happening in the background: Anoop and Allison fighting about which board game to play, Lil and Megan talking about kids and cooing at pictures and videos on their phones, Danny and Scott eating snacks with Matt occasionally stealing a chip or two while exchanging stories with Michael and Adam... Adam is nowhere to be found.
Your a line short and you don’t know what to write. You read it over and decide it’s not worth your time. It’s another cliché love song. As if the world needs more sappy love songs. You hump and frustrate yourself and mull over the tragedy of writers block when hot air is blown in your ears.
You shudder and turn pink. Adam’s laughter ghosts over your skin. You think you could get used to that, his laughter ghosting over your skin. You shudder and turn pink even when he’s three feet outside your radius.
It’s a clear night, too hot to be cramped inside one bus, but too far away from a hotel. Everyone decides to chill under the night sky.
Adam sits beside you, knees bumping yours. The warm breeze cools your sweaty skin and it gives you comfort, you’re still in the same plane after all.
You don’t really talk, just chill. You’re strumming chord after chord while the rest hums and sings and jumps here there. The lyrics all jumbled mess and unsung lines, but you go on and on and on. This is your breather from all the craziness of screams and cheers and shouts of love and adoration, your haven where you can be the regular dork again.
Their are z’s floating around you when you prop your guitar on the side of the bus. It’s a few hours shy of dawn.
You’d all have sores in your hands and your backs and somewhere along there, but you don’t make a move to disturb the tranquillity.
You stumble back on the grass beside Adam. Your eyes are slowly losing focus and you know you’re about to go under. Beside you, Adam yawns more than usual and you think he’ll be out cold a little before you.
”You’re practically sleeping. Just rest your head on my lap.”
You stretch your legs out to let him lay his head on. The lack pools on your lap like black water on muddy rocks. It’s heavier than Megan and you know your legs would feel dead in the morning when you wake up, but you let him rest.
For a few too many seconds, you’re tempted to run your fingers through them, stroke it until he sleeps. You don’t. You just lean on the cool metal of the bus. It’s an awkward angle but you’ll get by.
You’re almost dead to the world but words and questions start to form in your mind and they stumble before you could reel them in.
“You know, I envy your confidence. Everything you do, every word you say, it’s full of certainty that it feels like you have no room for doubt.”
Adam chuckles, his body heaving a little, his eyes squinting. It makes you a little ticklish, just a little.
“No matter how confident everyone thinks I am, I get insecure attacks too.”
You aren’t really contemptuous, just making conversation, dragging your tired minds a little longer.
“You know how everyone thinks I can get whatever I want, whoever I want like I’m some kind of god? It’s not really true.” Pause. “I’m gay.” He looks at you. You shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve made that assumption way ago but it’s different when you hear the words. It’s too real now. But you don’t flinch, just stays there and prompts him to continue. “At the end of the day, men still choose women.” His voice is tiny but you hear him.
You look out into the open sky, there are stars dotting here and there. You’d tell Adam he’s wrong, that there’s someone out there willing to be with him, who’d choose him over any other person in the planet. But you don’t find the courage to, and somehow, you know why.
It’s the last stop and the energy is so high you can barely contain it. The crowd is cheering and screaming and chanting and singing.
The lights are out and you’re all making your way backstage. You’re all high off the adrenalin rush and so is the crowd. You want to ride it out so you take your guitar and walk to the stage.
You strum the strings of your guitar, mellow and slow. Then the music is there and you lose yourself in every note and every word. You can bask in this forever.
You’re all hugging in awkward angles and giving sloppy kisses and punching numbers on your phones. This is the end of the tour, the end of Idol. You pray that the friendship you’ve built would last longer.
There are cars waiting for you, impatient drivers waiting behind the wheel and feet shuffle on the ground, hurrying and going and bidding farewells.
When Adam hugs you, you try not to cry, just hug back. Tight and warm and comforting. This is goodbye. This is goodbye for real. And you think how much this is anti-climactic. This is a love you're letting go. But it's something. You would go for something rather than nothing.
You rest your chin on his shoulder and whisper in his ears you’ll always be in my heart. Always.
I know. And maybe he does. Maybe he shares the sentiment. But you don’t bring it up.
Katy echoes from the car, her sweet voice calling out your name. She isn’t impatient. Maybe she’s just reminding you that she’s still there, waiting in the dark SUV.
Adam kisses you on the forehead. You keep your heart from leaping out of your chest.
You kiss him, just beside his lips, chaste and quick and sweet and you hug him again. He hugs you quick and then he lets you go and pushes you to the direction of your ride.