Back to Black.
Title: Back to Black.
Author: AlexGokart
Pairing: Implied Jalex
Rating: PG
Summary: You go back to her, and I'll go back to black.
Notes: This one is told from a fans point of view. Song credit goes to Amy Winehouse, not that I really like her, but there's just something about that song.
It was all so different.
From the very beginning I could see that there was something different, something off, and it wasn’t for the better. From my place amongst the thousands of others around me, it was more than obvious; to every single one of us.
They were up there, on that stage, with their instruments and their flashing lights, and there was physically nothing missing. But there was something downright wrong about their performance.
We could hear it in his voice, though he hit his notes as defined as ever. We could see it in his movements, his bounce and energy absent. We could see it in his eyes, because they didn’t even see. Not us, anyway. They saw right through us.
We tried to ignore it. We just tried to just enjoy the - still brilliant - show they were playing just for us, but we couldn’t. Because it broke our hearts to see him this way, and we didn’t have a clue as to why it was. Why Alex Gaskarth looked so defeated.
“Thank you guys so much.” He smiled weakly as the last chords of Therapy faded out, and we cheered, we cheered as if there was nothing wrong. We cheered despite the quiver and distance in his hollow words.
The other members of All Time Low were coming back into view, ready to thrash their instruments with every piece of energy in their bodies. This is where Alex traded his acoustic for his electric, where he kicks over his stool, where he jokes around with Jack or Zack as they prepared for a dance-tune. But instead of doing what was expected of him, Alex stayed put on that little wooden stool, fingers trembling on the neck of his guitar and eyes slipping closed.
“I…” And there it was again; that crack, that quiver. “This isn’t supposed to be apart of our set but, I was just…I want to play another song.” And we knew that it defiantly wasn’t planned, because the looks the other members were shooting him were just as confused as ours. What was he going to do; to sing?
“I know it’s not one of our songs, and probably not the kind of music you guys listen to…I know I don’t. You probably don’t even know this one, but, I feel….I need to play this, so bare with me.” His smile was so sad, trying so desperately hard to not turn into tears, that we were too shocked to protest. We cheered, urged him on, because if he had to rant, we were all ears.
Once he started to strum at those strings, the vibe from the crowd instantly said that, no, we did not know the song. So we listened patiently, waiting for his beautiful voice to envelop us in an experience probably to never happen before or again.
The others held their instruments loosely in their hands, watching just as intently as us, waiting to see just what their singer was about to do.
“He left no time to regret,”
His voice was soft and slow, and maybe I had heard the tune someplace, at sometime, but I couldn’t place it. Not that it mattered; all that we could focus on were the tears starting to well in his gorgeous eyes.
“Kept his dick wet, with his same old safe bet.”
He was holding back, holding in all the emotions he just wanted to let go, and above that, he was sending side glances to a horrified looking Jack Barakat, who was backing off to the side of the stage.
“Me and my head high, and my tears dry, get on without my guy.” His fingers were fumbling with his pick, just about ready to drop the precious instrument in his hands, and he focused his gaze on the floor. As if looking up would just be too hard.
“You went back to what you knew, so far removed from all that we went through. And I tread a troubled track, my odds are stacked, I'll go back to black.” His voice was wavering undeniably, body shaking, and he was mere seconds away. We held our breath, because we weren’t ready, we couldn’t witness this. We couldn’t.
”We only said good-bye with words, I died a hundred times. You go back to her and I go back to…” And that was it; it was all he could take.
Alex Gaskarth broke in front of all of our watching eyes.
A sob wretched through his lips, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. He didn’t want us to see him like this, and we couldn’t take it. He was our hero, and we were watching him shatter into a million pieces before our very eyes. He was throwing his guitar aside, climbing to his unsteady feet and bounding from the stage. He was out of sight, leaving us in nothing but a cone of deathly silence, with the remaining members looking shocked and us on the brink of our own tears.
He didn’t come back.
They cleared us out, telling us they would refund every one of us. Money; it was hardly on our mind at all. They assured us like money was the problem here, like Alex Gaskarth hadn’t just run offstage sobbing.
We were left to our own accord, every single one of us trying to find out why. Searching high and low for any indication as to what brought this on. And we found it, in the form of a Tweet.
@JackAllTimeLow: Back with my girl. It took a while but I think I made the right choice between the two.
And why hadn’t we seen that before? We’d overlooked what else it could have meant, just glad that our favourite guitarist was happy with his girlfriend again. We didn’t stop to think that this could have hurt anyone. Let alone destroy Alex.
Now that we knew why, it didn’t make it any easier at all. Because what came next? How was he? We hadn’t had a single Tweet from any of the members for an entire day, nor the crew. No contact had been made from All Time Low to their worried fans, and it was killing us.
And then it came.
@ZackAllTimeLow: I don’t want to be writing this, because putting it out there makes it official, and I don’t think any of us can take that, but we agree that as our fans, you guys deserve to know just as much as we do. Alex killed himself last night. You don’t know how much it pains me to write this.
He was dead. That boy we had put every ounce of trust, of respect, of dedication, of fucking downright love into, he was gone. He’d left us all behind, every single fucking one of us.
How were we supposed to go on when the one person we could always rely on had taken his own life? He hadn’t just died; he had killed himself and taken the lot of us with him.
So, like good soldiers, we followed.
__________________________________________________________________________________
So I kind of wrote this when I had been really down for a few weeks, that's why it's so angsty.
Funny story though, because there was a day a few weeks ago where nobody from All Time Low band or crew had tweeted for the whole day and Alex's last tweet had been pretty depressing, so me and my friend were freaking the fuck out. For nothing obviously, and then we kind of felt like idiots. But anyway, hope you liked the story.
Author: AlexGokart
Pairing: Implied Jalex
Rating: PG
Summary: You go back to her, and I'll go back to black.
Notes: This one is told from a fans point of view. Song credit goes to Amy Winehouse, not that I really like her, but there's just something about that song.
It was all so different.
From the very beginning I could see that there was something different, something off, and it wasn’t for the better. From my place amongst the thousands of others around me, it was more than obvious; to every single one of us.
They were up there, on that stage, with their instruments and their flashing lights, and there was physically nothing missing. But there was something downright wrong about their performance.
We could hear it in his voice, though he hit his notes as defined as ever. We could see it in his movements, his bounce and energy absent. We could see it in his eyes, because they didn’t even see. Not us, anyway. They saw right through us.
We tried to ignore it. We just tried to just enjoy the - still brilliant - show they were playing just for us, but we couldn’t. Because it broke our hearts to see him this way, and we didn’t have a clue as to why it was. Why Alex Gaskarth looked so defeated.
“Thank you guys so much.” He smiled weakly as the last chords of Therapy faded out, and we cheered, we cheered as if there was nothing wrong. We cheered despite the quiver and distance in his hollow words.
The other members of All Time Low were coming back into view, ready to thrash their instruments with every piece of energy in their bodies. This is where Alex traded his acoustic for his electric, where he kicks over his stool, where he jokes around with Jack or Zack as they prepared for a dance-tune. But instead of doing what was expected of him, Alex stayed put on that little wooden stool, fingers trembling on the neck of his guitar and eyes slipping closed.
“I…” And there it was again; that crack, that quiver. “This isn’t supposed to be apart of our set but, I was just…I want to play another song.” And we knew that it defiantly wasn’t planned, because the looks the other members were shooting him were just as confused as ours. What was he going to do; to sing?
“I know it’s not one of our songs, and probably not the kind of music you guys listen to…I know I don’t. You probably don’t even know this one, but, I feel….I need to play this, so bare with me.” His smile was so sad, trying so desperately hard to not turn into tears, that we were too shocked to protest. We cheered, urged him on, because if he had to rant, we were all ears.
Once he started to strum at those strings, the vibe from the crowd instantly said that, no, we did not know the song. So we listened patiently, waiting for his beautiful voice to envelop us in an experience probably to never happen before or again.
The others held their instruments loosely in their hands, watching just as intently as us, waiting to see just what their singer was about to do.
“He left no time to regret,”
His voice was soft and slow, and maybe I had heard the tune someplace, at sometime, but I couldn’t place it. Not that it mattered; all that we could focus on were the tears starting to well in his gorgeous eyes.
“Kept his dick wet, with his same old safe bet.”
He was holding back, holding in all the emotions he just wanted to let go, and above that, he was sending side glances to a horrified looking Jack Barakat, who was backing off to the side of the stage.
“Me and my head high, and my tears dry, get on without my guy.” His fingers were fumbling with his pick, just about ready to drop the precious instrument in his hands, and he focused his gaze on the floor. As if looking up would just be too hard.
“You went back to what you knew, so far removed from all that we went through. And I tread a troubled track, my odds are stacked, I'll go back to black.” His voice was wavering undeniably, body shaking, and he was mere seconds away. We held our breath, because we weren’t ready, we couldn’t witness this. We couldn’t.
”We only said good-bye with words, I died a hundred times. You go back to her and I go back to…” And that was it; it was all he could take.
Alex Gaskarth broke in front of all of our watching eyes.
A sob wretched through his lips, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. He didn’t want us to see him like this, and we couldn’t take it. He was our hero, and we were watching him shatter into a million pieces before our very eyes. He was throwing his guitar aside, climbing to his unsteady feet and bounding from the stage. He was out of sight, leaving us in nothing but a cone of deathly silence, with the remaining members looking shocked and us on the brink of our own tears.
He didn’t come back.
They cleared us out, telling us they would refund every one of us. Money; it was hardly on our mind at all. They assured us like money was the problem here, like Alex Gaskarth hadn’t just run offstage sobbing.
We were left to our own accord, every single one of us trying to find out why. Searching high and low for any indication as to what brought this on. And we found it, in the form of a Tweet.
@JackAllTimeLow: Back with my girl. It took a while but I think I made the right choice between the two.
And why hadn’t we seen that before? We’d overlooked what else it could have meant, just glad that our favourite guitarist was happy with his girlfriend again. We didn’t stop to think that this could have hurt anyone. Let alone destroy Alex.
Now that we knew why, it didn’t make it any easier at all. Because what came next? How was he? We hadn’t had a single Tweet from any of the members for an entire day, nor the crew. No contact had been made from All Time Low to their worried fans, and it was killing us.
And then it came.
@ZackAllTimeLow: I don’t want to be writing this, because putting it out there makes it official, and I don’t think any of us can take that, but we agree that as our fans, you guys deserve to know just as much as we do. Alex killed himself last night. You don’t know how much it pains me to write this.
He was dead. That boy we had put every ounce of trust, of respect, of dedication, of fucking downright love into, he was gone. He’d left us all behind, every single fucking one of us.
How were we supposed to go on when the one person we could always rely on had taken his own life? He hadn’t just died; he had killed himself and taken the lot of us with him.
So, like good soldiers, we followed.
__________________________________________________________________________________
So I kind of wrote this when I had been really down for a few weeks, that's why it's so angsty.
Funny story though, because there was a day a few weeks ago where nobody from All Time Low band or crew had tweeted for the whole day and Alex's last tweet had been pretty depressing, so me and my friend were freaking the fuck out. For nothing obviously, and then we kind of felt like idiots. But anyway, hope you liked the story.