Far Side of the Sun
Far Side of the Sun -3
Author - Riastarstruck
Rating - R
Warnings - Angst, UST
Summary - The story of the boys dealing with their demons during the making of Screamworks, how they find their way back to each other, and the REAL meaning behind Bam's portrait tattoo of Ville
Disclaimer - I own nothing and no one, sadly. i would be a good god... perhaps a little cruel...
Authors Note - please comment, what ever you think, i want to hear.
Chaoter One, Chapter Two
NEW! Chapter Three
"...and the girls were like 'what do you want us to wear?' and we were like 'As little as possible...' the guys where...." Time is fleeting; it becomes liquid with the rolls and rhythm of life. Single moments of time are highlighted as quarter seconds in the great scheme, heartbeat quick moments which stand out for reasons you can't fathom.
For some reason, even knowing this, it still came as surprise when one evening after almost a week of driving Ville home in awkward heavy silence, broken only by the music which permanently filled the car and the brief flashes of stories Bam couldn't hold back to fill the dead space between them, Ville broke in mid sentance about doing the video for the 69 Eyes, Bam didn't even remember what he'd been saying, he'd told aspects of the story so many times already and no doubt would again.
"How come you never use girls like that in our videos?" Bam was torn between joy at hearing that voice for him alone and dread at the question he had asked, the last thing he wanted to discuss was his artistic decisions when it came to Ville -he didn't even think about it in the safety of his own mind. He made a corner too quickly as he tried to formulate an honest answer.
“It just wouldn’t have worked man,” he thought of all those hours spent searching for the perfect model in Prague, hundreds and hundreds of beautiful girls dismissed in the blind pursuit of perfection, a girl who could stand opposite Ville and still be beautiful, not reduced to a shadow. “People don’t watch your videos for hot chicks, they watch them for you.” He realised belatedly that that sounded a bit gay; he shrugged it off as the truth and hoped Ville didn’t ask him to elaborate. Ville simply raised an eyebrow and blew out a long stream of smoke in what might have been a sigh. As he shifted back in his seat and looked out at the city streets which rushed past. He spoke again, his voice a low murmur above the purr of the engine.
“Why didn’t you ever use Missy in our videos?” Bam thought of his wife, of pretty, suburban looking Missy with her open and honest face, her shiny lip gloss and her manicured eyebrows. He couldn’t imagine her in a film clip next to Ville, with his pale translucent skin, his piercing stare and that cool, angular scandinavian reserve. Putting them in a film clip together would be like putting a child next to a god, a Barbie next to an old school portrait. It was just wrong somehow.
“It just wouldn’t have worked.” Ville didn’t push, Ville never pushed.
Like each night previous Bam followed Ville back to his room, where they sat with the tv on and pretend they were comfortable with each other. He tried to pretend it didn't come as a relief when Ryan called to say they'd landed and were heading out for drinks.
*~*
Bam had left hours ago, a stilted awkward goodbye at the door and a murmured something about drinks with the guys and an offer to drive him to the studio in the morning. Ville had nodded throwing out a greeting to the rest just to fill the silence. As the hours passed the faint scent Bam had left behind, a mix of sweat and expensive Cologne, had faded too. when the phone rang sometime around midnight he'd answered without thought. There was laughter on the other end of the line, mixed in with the noise of a crowd and the garbled sounds of a hundred voices speaking at once. A bar, his mind supplied like a slap, sharp and clear he could imagine it; the smell, the sound the blur of light and motion and warmth at his side. He breathed deep as if he could smell it but all that came to him was the scent of cigarettes and his own loneliness.
He still went to bars, confident in his own restraint, at least he was when he was surrounded by people, but lately anything besides the album was too much effort for so little gain.
"Viiille! Man I love you Willa, you’re like my fucking idol man, like Billy. Dude duya remember..." Ville settled back into his seat, Bam never reminisced with him anymore never talked about the old days; like he couldn't be bothered remembering when he wasn't drunk. He missed Bam’s endless chatter with an intensity which startled him. Bam rambled on and Ville let it lull him feeling his brain slow from the tornado of thoughts which consumed him, finding comfort in the familiar peaks and valleys of Bams excited ramblings. "...and then Jussi was... fuck Jussi should be here, he's kick-arse at that shit." Ville's stomach clenched. It used to be Ville who was kick-arse at stuff when Bam was drunk. "...Willa will you sing for me? You never sing for me anymore. Fuck I love your music, I love you Willa, like I love your music coz you are it and it’s you and your so sad all the time but I love you..." Ville let the phone slip shut, letting it fall with a dull clack to the table at his side, amongst the cigarette packets, ashtray and scraps of paper, he breathed in the heavy warm night air letting the thick heat settle in his lungs like it settled along his skin. Bam only loved him when he was drunk, it sounded like some lame love song some whiney girl would sing.
He let the bitchy thought settle; letting it fill his mind for a moment, he would have once been able to turn and share his thoughts with someone, most likely Bam, but now he could only share it with the empty impersonal room, and the white walls didn't care.
Despite that, there was something to be said for solitude, solitude never replaced you with someone else, solitude never broke in and ruined the quite order of your life, reminding you of everything you'd left behind. He ran a hand across his face, rubbing at his dry eyes and scratchy beard. He sat there in the dim glow of an LA night; fingers stroking his beard absently, only moving his trance from the evening sky at the sound of his phone ringing again. Bam flashed across the screen and Ville let his head roll back, counting his breaths until the ringing stopped.
He stood up slowly, feeling his joints click and his muscles protest as he made his way across the room. He had to blink away from the bright glare when he flicked the bathroom light on before he reached blindly for his razor and cream. When he raised the blade to his cheek he heard his phone ring again in the other room, he faltered, meeting his own gaze in the mirror before beginning his task with sharp determined strokes. With each revel of a new tender strip of flesh he felt like a weight was lifting, like he was cutting away the layers of dead skin to reveal something within, something clean and unblemished -something with bitterness and sadness warring within it. He stared for a time at his face, at once different and familiar, he was so pale in the glaring bathroom light, the vanity mirror unforgiving and cruel as he judged himself.
He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it loose from the messy bun he wore at the nape of his neck, his hair fell in messy untidy clumps around him, ugly brown waves which hung in his face and got in his eyes. With a final sigh he flicked off the light and moved blindly towards the bed in the middle of the room. He sat for a time on the edge, watching the sky through a crack in the sheer curtains making his breathing slow and steady as the thoughts tumbled around in his head.
~*~
Bam picked him up the next morning like promised, he grunted a hello and didn’t remove his sunglasses, Ville watched him curiously, some part of him fascinated with hangovers now that he didn’t experience them anymore. He remembered what they were like, the ache that wouldn’t fade, the bright lights, loud noises, and the taste of doing something monumentally stupid in the back of your throat.
He felt a vindictive thrill when he turned the radio up in the car, watching as Bam flinched away from him but didn't tell him off like he would most people. Bam never told Ville off.
When they pulled up next to the studio Ville was opening his door before Bam had even shut off the engine.
“Go home and sleep Bam.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just shut the door with a resounding thud and made his way to the studio, not looking back. As he closed the security door on the ground level he watched Bam's car speed off down the street with a screech of tires and a shimmer of shiny paint work. He wondered if he should feel guilty for being relieved Bam left without a fight, he was too tired and too preoccupied to deal with Bam today. He never used to be, he used to make time to be around Bam, his joy for life and exuberance in everything became infectious. With a soft sigh he turned and made his way up the stairs, refusing to acknowledge that he missed that fire.
Despite his cool dismissal that morning when Ville glanced up sometime in the late afternoon Bam was standing at his post in the studio, lights from the mixing board flickered across his features and Ville couldn’t decide on his expression. He motioned to the producer that he wanted to re-do that section again, receiving a sharp nod he closed his eyes and breathed in nodding slowly to the intro before forcing the words out in a melody he already knew by heart, the words were written on the sheets in front of him but he didn’t need to look, he knew them like he knew his own heartbeat, like he knew the rattling hollowness of his breaths.
When he opened his eyes again he received another curt nod, but his focus was for Bam alone, his eyes were closed and his body loose. Like in a dream the words from last night came back to him Because you are it and it’s you... the wisdom of drunks, no pointless linguistic acrobats, no fluttering around the point, stark reality in slurred words, Ville had to appreciate that.
They exchanged brief stilted conversations on the way back to the hotel much later in the day. jarring broken sentences which hung pointlessly in the space between them before falling away into terse silence. The trip seemed to take forever and Ville felt himself holding back harsh words everytime Bam fidgitted at traffic lights, the tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel sounding like drum beats with no rhythm. When they were parked at the hotel Ville found an invitation blurted out his mouth before he could stop it, and even as he waited for the nod he knew would come he felt a spark of longing burn through him, longing for all they used to be, the ease and comfort, the familiarity that transended simple friendship.
Bam followed him, a silent presence both reassuring and infuriating, he breathed a sigh when he breezed past him to the bathroom. Ville settled down, going through his notebooks and successfully ignoring Bam's presence in his room.
“The fuck is this Ville?” Ville glanced up from the book in his hands to see Bam standing in the bathroom door, his small frame filling the space. Ville let his gaze travel to Bam's gesturing hand
“It’s a bottle Bam.” Maybe it was the strange tension that had been growing between then for the past two years, maybe Ville was just exhausted with having to explain his every move, but some part of him wanted nothing more than to push Bam on this, force some kind of confrontation.
“I know it’s a fucking bottle, why is it in your bathroom?” Ville knew where this was going, and some deep part of him raged that his once close friend would jump to conclusions even as he asked him for an explanation.
“Because it’s not in the mini bar?” Ville had never been frightened of Bam before, he knows people who have been, who are intimidated by his recklessness and his quick temper and even quicker fists, but Ville has never felt real fear in his company.
“Quit fucking around Ville! Are you drinking again?” Until now.
“How the hell can you ask me that?” Bam fumed as he stepped into the room, his fists clenched, one around the small bottle and the other into a tight fist Ville had seen fly, but still some petty, selfish part of Ville was offended, so offended he jumped into the growing fight with everything he had, hungry for the violence, the opportunity to let loose this anger and tension that just kept growing no matter how many songs he wrote, no matter how many hours he spent lost in his music.
“I can ask you that because you refuse to leave the hotel room and there’s a pile of empty bottles in your bathroom!” it was logical, Ville knew that; and the truth seemed strange even to him, but he didn’t want to listen to reason.
“I didn’t drink them; I poured them down the sink.” He spoke calmly, trying to settle the situation down even as part of him screamed for him to shout and kick and throw punches. Bam didn’t look convinced in the least, and Ville felt a wall of control crumble. “You don’t believe me. You spend all your life drinking and not giving a shit about anything or anyone, and now you’re going to preach to me because you found some empty bottles?!” Ville’s voice rose and cracked with outrage.
“I’m not an alcoholic!” it felt like a slap in the face. Bam's cheeks were flushed and blotchy, he waved the empty bottle around like a club and Ville couldn’t help but absently admire how the light caught on the glass even as he felt his own fists clench at his sides.
“Aren’t you? Gee Bam if something goes wrong where can we find you? If something goes right, oh guess what? We can find you with a drink in your hand!” Ville hated how he couldn’t throw punches like Bam's friends and couldn’t kick someone even if they stood still. He always seemed to sound like a bitchy woman, pulling out his proverbial claws and hissing mean, spiteful things. “Don’t fucking lecture me Bam, when you have no idea what it’s like to resist! I haven’t had a drink in almost three years! Not like you check in though, not like you’d ask me, you’d just jump to fucking conclusions.” He clenched his teeth, they were moving away from the bottles, encroaching on the dangerous territory of hidden grievances and bitter disappointments; all the things Ville kept so hidden he didn’t even acknowledge them to himself usually.
“i want to believe you!” Bam hissed, somewhere between desperation and fury.
“Bullshit! You hate me like this, you can barely stand to be in the same room as me anymore.” Ville didn’t want to fight anymore, now it was becoming too real, too personal, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth in shaky, pathetic accusations.
“That’s not fucking true!” Bam protested, but Ville wasn’t listening anymore.
“You have to be off your face to stand talking to me! Then you have the fucking audacity to accuse me?” Bam seemed to realise that this fight was moving into uncharted territory, far out of the realms he was prepared to enter.
“Look, I’m sorry; but what am I meant to think?” he clung helplessly to the bottle as though it would stop him having to discuss the hundred small things that have been piling between them, the huge fucking crater that had formed between them recently being just the beginning, ten years of friendship brought about a lot of pet hates.
“You could fucking trust me! But no! I’m Ville fucking Valo, no self control, no fucking backbone! Well fuck you Bam if you don’t want to be here then fucking leave! Go on, fuck off! If you hate me so much then stop coming around here.” Ville lunged forward, not even knowing what he was hoping to achieve as he clawed and pushed Bam towards the door. His face was wet with angry tears and he clawed and batted at Bam knowing nothing except that he wanted Bam out, didn’t want him to see him like this -pathetic and emotional and ugly.
“Ville! Ville stop! Ville fucking calm down!” Bam immobilised his flailing arms holding them to his side as he walked Ville back towards the safety of his bed. “Ville, please I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, please...” as gently as he could he pushed the taller man down onto the bed.
“You hate me like this.” Ville sounded broken and he hated himself for it. His face was slick, he could feel the tears pooling around his eyes and sticking his hair to him as he writhed and bucked under the force of Bam's hold, eventually giving up and going limp; refusing to look at Bam above him.
“I hate me,” Bam finally whispered when Ville stilled. “I hate how you make me feel more like a failure then I’ve ever been.” Ville swallowed thickly and breathed a deep shuddering breath in and finally looking at the younger man. “I can’t help thinking that if you had to get clean, if you had to become sober, than do I? And I know I’m not as strong as you. What if I fail? And end up some stupid old celebrity who’s been to rehab more times than the tabloids can count?” Ville heard him breath in shakily and felt his body crumple further into the mattress as Bam told him things he shouldn’t be told. “What if I fail?”
“Bam...”his voice was hoarse from his tears and screams, and Bam shook his head before he could say anything else.
“No, hear me out, I hate who I am when I’m sober, when I drink I’m funnier and more daring and the fact that I don’t read books or watch the news doesn’t matter, when I’m in a bar I know who I am, I know what I want and I’m not afraid to take it.” Ville knew that feeling all too well, he felt a part of his heart crumble in fear for his friend. “But sober?” Bam continued, “I’m just the idiot. I can’t talk poetry with you, I can’t... I can’t pretend that we’re the same or that I’m good enough for you. I’m a fucking millionaire but that doesn’t make me any less of an idiot.” Ville frowned up at him, this was the boy who lied to get backstage and see his hero, this was the boy that blushed whenever Ville would kiss his cheek, this was the boy Bam spent his whole life hiding from the world, and it broke Ville’s heart. “And you’re so smart and so fucking charming and clever and strong; and you like girls you can intellectualise with and not just coz they’re pretty, or willing. So why the fuck would you wanna be friends with me?” Bam's voice was shaky and his eyes glistened with unshed tears, all his insecurities out for Ville to see, laid bare before the only man he was willing to show it too.
“Bam...” Ville whispered again, as Bam leant forward to rest his forehead on Ville’s chest; he could feel the fabric over his heart soaking up unseen tears.
“I can’t make it sober like you.” Bam released his arms and Ville wrapped them around the muscular figure; staring up at the ceiling as he ran his fingers gently through the hairs at the nape of his neck. He wanted to tell him he was strong enough, to tell him he’d be there for him but he also knew Bam wouldn’t listen, like he wouldn’t have two and a half years ago. So instead he let Bam curl up like a child in the foetal position across his chest, Ville’s limbs entwined with Bam's like a part of him, as vital as a heart or a lung.
And later, when Bam's body stilled and he fell asleep, Ville rolled him on his side and traced dried tear tracks across his sleeping face. His heart breaking for this man who used to be his best friend, and some quite, insidious voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was just falling deeper, and it didn’t look like he’d ever see a way out again.
~*~
Bam woke with a headache and tired eyes he could feel the sweat that had built up over the humid night settle along the cracks in his jeans and make his t-shirt cling to him. He sunk further into the soft pillow under his head and let his eyes slowly take in the room around him. It was glowing with the light from the rising sun and with the cold clarity of morning he remembered his breakdown. He wasn’t sure how it went from thinking Ville was drinking again, the fear and anger that had raced through him at the discovery, to breaking down and sobbing himself to sleep as his dark fears hovered in the night above them.
With a soft sigh he turned his head to the balcony, already knowing somehow that Ville would be there. He let the sight of the sheer curtains swaying in the early morning breeze sooth his frayed edges as he watched Ville standing in the doorway. The morning was already heating up; he could feel it from the shadows of the bed.
He watched transfixed as the sheets of fabric swayed as though dancing, moulding themselves to Ville's contours as he stood in the doorway; if Bam was a poet he’d say it was like sin and sex and the depression which clung to his delicate frame.
But Bam wasn’t a poet, he was a skater and a photographer and his vision broke the world up into snapshots, memorising how the rising sun glowed through the white cloth creating a halo around the gold and black silhouette of the singer; his fingers trailing along the cloth as he swayed to music only he would ever hear.
Ville was his own intangible shadow and all the more beautiful for being so unreachable.
A loud crash of sound ripped through the silence of the morning, Bam swore as he clawed for his phone in his twisted uncomfortable jeans. Ville turned slightly and watched him, Bam couldn’t make out his face through the curtains, it was all shadows and curves, no features clear through the sheer white.
“Dude, where the fuck are you?” he blinked dumbly at Franz’s voice. Before his eyes widened as he remembered.
“Shit, sorry. I’ll be there... whenever.” He threw the phone on the bed next to him and covered his eyes with his forearm, groaning as he stretched his back.
When he stood up Ville was watching him closely. Bam licked his lips awkwardly, he ran his hands over his face, scrubbing at his dry eyes and ran fingers absently through his hair to try and neaten it.
“I um...” Ville nodded and Bam found himself mirroring him.
“See you round.” Bam grabbed his phone from the bed and his wallet and keys from the small table. His hand rested on the doorknob and he found himself stilling. He was late for a meeting, he was wasting money just standing there but he couldn’t make himself turn the knob.
“I’m coming back.” That didn’t sound right. “I still consider you my friend Ville, are we?” he didn’t really want to turn around, but he knew Ville well enough to know that he said the most with his face, not his words.
“Yeah Bam, we’re still friends.” Bam traced his features for a second, seeing the shadows under Ville’s eyes, the pale skin and tired eyes. But there was a flare there, a smile around the mouth despite the lack of actual smile. Bam grinned, one quick grin before he was running down the corridor, the door slamming shut behind him.
Chapter Four
A/N please leave a comment! it'll get me through my last days of the uni year!
Author - Riastarstruck
Rating - R
Warnings - Angst, UST
Summary - The story of the boys dealing with their demons during the making of Screamworks, how they find their way back to each other, and the REAL meaning behind Bam's portrait tattoo of Ville
Disclaimer - I own nothing and no one, sadly. i would be a good god... perhaps a little cruel...
Authors Note - please comment, what ever you think, i want to hear.
Chaoter One, Chapter Two
NEW! Chapter Three
"...and the girls were like 'what do you want us to wear?' and we were like 'As little as possible...' the guys where...." Time is fleeting; it becomes liquid with the rolls and rhythm of life. Single moments of time are highlighted as quarter seconds in the great scheme, heartbeat quick moments which stand out for reasons you can't fathom.
For some reason, even knowing this, it still came as surprise when one evening after almost a week of driving Ville home in awkward heavy silence, broken only by the music which permanently filled the car and the brief flashes of stories Bam couldn't hold back to fill the dead space between them, Ville broke in mid sentance about doing the video for the 69 Eyes, Bam didn't even remember what he'd been saying, he'd told aspects of the story so many times already and no doubt would again.
"How come you never use girls like that in our videos?" Bam was torn between joy at hearing that voice for him alone and dread at the question he had asked, the last thing he wanted to discuss was his artistic decisions when it came to Ville -he didn't even think about it in the safety of his own mind. He made a corner too quickly as he tried to formulate an honest answer.
“It just wouldn’t have worked man,” he thought of all those hours spent searching for the perfect model in Prague, hundreds and hundreds of beautiful girls dismissed in the blind pursuit of perfection, a girl who could stand opposite Ville and still be beautiful, not reduced to a shadow. “People don’t watch your videos for hot chicks, they watch them for you.” He realised belatedly that that sounded a bit gay; he shrugged it off as the truth and hoped Ville didn’t ask him to elaborate. Ville simply raised an eyebrow and blew out a long stream of smoke in what might have been a sigh. As he shifted back in his seat and looked out at the city streets which rushed past. He spoke again, his voice a low murmur above the purr of the engine.
“Why didn’t you ever use Missy in our videos?” Bam thought of his wife, of pretty, suburban looking Missy with her open and honest face, her shiny lip gloss and her manicured eyebrows. He couldn’t imagine her in a film clip next to Ville, with his pale translucent skin, his piercing stare and that cool, angular scandinavian reserve. Putting them in a film clip together would be like putting a child next to a god, a Barbie next to an old school portrait. It was just wrong somehow.
“It just wouldn’t have worked.” Ville didn’t push, Ville never pushed.
Like each night previous Bam followed Ville back to his room, where they sat with the tv on and pretend they were comfortable with each other. He tried to pretend it didn't come as a relief when Ryan called to say they'd landed and were heading out for drinks.
*~*
Bam had left hours ago, a stilted awkward goodbye at the door and a murmured something about drinks with the guys and an offer to drive him to the studio in the morning. Ville had nodded throwing out a greeting to the rest just to fill the silence. As the hours passed the faint scent Bam had left behind, a mix of sweat and expensive Cologne, had faded too. when the phone rang sometime around midnight he'd answered without thought. There was laughter on the other end of the line, mixed in with the noise of a crowd and the garbled sounds of a hundred voices speaking at once. A bar, his mind supplied like a slap, sharp and clear he could imagine it; the smell, the sound the blur of light and motion and warmth at his side. He breathed deep as if he could smell it but all that came to him was the scent of cigarettes and his own loneliness.
He still went to bars, confident in his own restraint, at least he was when he was surrounded by people, but lately anything besides the album was too much effort for so little gain.
"Viiille! Man I love you Willa, you’re like my fucking idol man, like Billy. Dude duya remember..." Ville settled back into his seat, Bam never reminisced with him anymore never talked about the old days; like he couldn't be bothered remembering when he wasn't drunk. He missed Bam’s endless chatter with an intensity which startled him. Bam rambled on and Ville let it lull him feeling his brain slow from the tornado of thoughts which consumed him, finding comfort in the familiar peaks and valleys of Bams excited ramblings. "...and then Jussi was... fuck Jussi should be here, he's kick-arse at that shit." Ville's stomach clenched. It used to be Ville who was kick-arse at stuff when Bam was drunk. "...Willa will you sing for me? You never sing for me anymore. Fuck I love your music, I love you Willa, like I love your music coz you are it and it’s you and your so sad all the time but I love you..." Ville let the phone slip shut, letting it fall with a dull clack to the table at his side, amongst the cigarette packets, ashtray and scraps of paper, he breathed in the heavy warm night air letting the thick heat settle in his lungs like it settled along his skin. Bam only loved him when he was drunk, it sounded like some lame love song some whiney girl would sing.
He let the bitchy thought settle; letting it fill his mind for a moment, he would have once been able to turn and share his thoughts with someone, most likely Bam, but now he could only share it with the empty impersonal room, and the white walls didn't care.
Despite that, there was something to be said for solitude, solitude never replaced you with someone else, solitude never broke in and ruined the quite order of your life, reminding you of everything you'd left behind. He ran a hand across his face, rubbing at his dry eyes and scratchy beard. He sat there in the dim glow of an LA night; fingers stroking his beard absently, only moving his trance from the evening sky at the sound of his phone ringing again. Bam flashed across the screen and Ville let his head roll back, counting his breaths until the ringing stopped.
He stood up slowly, feeling his joints click and his muscles protest as he made his way across the room. He had to blink away from the bright glare when he flicked the bathroom light on before he reached blindly for his razor and cream. When he raised the blade to his cheek he heard his phone ring again in the other room, he faltered, meeting his own gaze in the mirror before beginning his task with sharp determined strokes. With each revel of a new tender strip of flesh he felt like a weight was lifting, like he was cutting away the layers of dead skin to reveal something within, something clean and unblemished -something with bitterness and sadness warring within it. He stared for a time at his face, at once different and familiar, he was so pale in the glaring bathroom light, the vanity mirror unforgiving and cruel as he judged himself.
He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it loose from the messy bun he wore at the nape of his neck, his hair fell in messy untidy clumps around him, ugly brown waves which hung in his face and got in his eyes. With a final sigh he flicked off the light and moved blindly towards the bed in the middle of the room. He sat for a time on the edge, watching the sky through a crack in the sheer curtains making his breathing slow and steady as the thoughts tumbled around in his head.
~*~
Bam picked him up the next morning like promised, he grunted a hello and didn’t remove his sunglasses, Ville watched him curiously, some part of him fascinated with hangovers now that he didn’t experience them anymore. He remembered what they were like, the ache that wouldn’t fade, the bright lights, loud noises, and the taste of doing something monumentally stupid in the back of your throat.
He felt a vindictive thrill when he turned the radio up in the car, watching as Bam flinched away from him but didn't tell him off like he would most people. Bam never told Ville off.
When they pulled up next to the studio Ville was opening his door before Bam had even shut off the engine.
“Go home and sleep Bam.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just shut the door with a resounding thud and made his way to the studio, not looking back. As he closed the security door on the ground level he watched Bam's car speed off down the street with a screech of tires and a shimmer of shiny paint work. He wondered if he should feel guilty for being relieved Bam left without a fight, he was too tired and too preoccupied to deal with Bam today. He never used to be, he used to make time to be around Bam, his joy for life and exuberance in everything became infectious. With a soft sigh he turned and made his way up the stairs, refusing to acknowledge that he missed that fire.
Despite his cool dismissal that morning when Ville glanced up sometime in the late afternoon Bam was standing at his post in the studio, lights from the mixing board flickered across his features and Ville couldn’t decide on his expression. He motioned to the producer that he wanted to re-do that section again, receiving a sharp nod he closed his eyes and breathed in nodding slowly to the intro before forcing the words out in a melody he already knew by heart, the words were written on the sheets in front of him but he didn’t need to look, he knew them like he knew his own heartbeat, like he knew the rattling hollowness of his breaths.
When he opened his eyes again he received another curt nod, but his focus was for Bam alone, his eyes were closed and his body loose. Like in a dream the words from last night came back to him Because you are it and it’s you... the wisdom of drunks, no pointless linguistic acrobats, no fluttering around the point, stark reality in slurred words, Ville had to appreciate that.
They exchanged brief stilted conversations on the way back to the hotel much later in the day. jarring broken sentences which hung pointlessly in the space between them before falling away into terse silence. The trip seemed to take forever and Ville felt himself holding back harsh words everytime Bam fidgitted at traffic lights, the tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel sounding like drum beats with no rhythm. When they were parked at the hotel Ville found an invitation blurted out his mouth before he could stop it, and even as he waited for the nod he knew would come he felt a spark of longing burn through him, longing for all they used to be, the ease and comfort, the familiarity that transended simple friendship.
Bam followed him, a silent presence both reassuring and infuriating, he breathed a sigh when he breezed past him to the bathroom. Ville settled down, going through his notebooks and successfully ignoring Bam's presence in his room.
“The fuck is this Ville?” Ville glanced up from the book in his hands to see Bam standing in the bathroom door, his small frame filling the space. Ville let his gaze travel to Bam's gesturing hand
“It’s a bottle Bam.” Maybe it was the strange tension that had been growing between then for the past two years, maybe Ville was just exhausted with having to explain his every move, but some part of him wanted nothing more than to push Bam on this, force some kind of confrontation.
“I know it’s a fucking bottle, why is it in your bathroom?” Ville knew where this was going, and some deep part of him raged that his once close friend would jump to conclusions even as he asked him for an explanation.
“Because it’s not in the mini bar?” Ville had never been frightened of Bam before, he knows people who have been, who are intimidated by his recklessness and his quick temper and even quicker fists, but Ville has never felt real fear in his company.
“Quit fucking around Ville! Are you drinking again?” Until now.
“How the hell can you ask me that?” Bam fumed as he stepped into the room, his fists clenched, one around the small bottle and the other into a tight fist Ville had seen fly, but still some petty, selfish part of Ville was offended, so offended he jumped into the growing fight with everything he had, hungry for the violence, the opportunity to let loose this anger and tension that just kept growing no matter how many songs he wrote, no matter how many hours he spent lost in his music.
“I can ask you that because you refuse to leave the hotel room and there’s a pile of empty bottles in your bathroom!” it was logical, Ville knew that; and the truth seemed strange even to him, but he didn’t want to listen to reason.
“I didn’t drink them; I poured them down the sink.” He spoke calmly, trying to settle the situation down even as part of him screamed for him to shout and kick and throw punches. Bam didn’t look convinced in the least, and Ville felt a wall of control crumble. “You don’t believe me. You spend all your life drinking and not giving a shit about anything or anyone, and now you’re going to preach to me because you found some empty bottles?!” Ville’s voice rose and cracked with outrage.
“I’m not an alcoholic!” it felt like a slap in the face. Bam's cheeks were flushed and blotchy, he waved the empty bottle around like a club and Ville couldn’t help but absently admire how the light caught on the glass even as he felt his own fists clench at his sides.
“Aren’t you? Gee Bam if something goes wrong where can we find you? If something goes right, oh guess what? We can find you with a drink in your hand!” Ville hated how he couldn’t throw punches like Bam's friends and couldn’t kick someone even if they stood still. He always seemed to sound like a bitchy woman, pulling out his proverbial claws and hissing mean, spiteful things. “Don’t fucking lecture me Bam, when you have no idea what it’s like to resist! I haven’t had a drink in almost three years! Not like you check in though, not like you’d ask me, you’d just jump to fucking conclusions.” He clenched his teeth, they were moving away from the bottles, encroaching on the dangerous territory of hidden grievances and bitter disappointments; all the things Ville kept so hidden he didn’t even acknowledge them to himself usually.
“i want to believe you!” Bam hissed, somewhere between desperation and fury.
“Bullshit! You hate me like this, you can barely stand to be in the same room as me anymore.” Ville didn’t want to fight anymore, now it was becoming too real, too personal, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth in shaky, pathetic accusations.
“That’s not fucking true!” Bam protested, but Ville wasn’t listening anymore.
“You have to be off your face to stand talking to me! Then you have the fucking audacity to accuse me?” Bam seemed to realise that this fight was moving into uncharted territory, far out of the realms he was prepared to enter.
“Look, I’m sorry; but what am I meant to think?” he clung helplessly to the bottle as though it would stop him having to discuss the hundred small things that have been piling between them, the huge fucking crater that had formed between them recently being just the beginning, ten years of friendship brought about a lot of pet hates.
“You could fucking trust me! But no! I’m Ville fucking Valo, no self control, no fucking backbone! Well fuck you Bam if you don’t want to be here then fucking leave! Go on, fuck off! If you hate me so much then stop coming around here.” Ville lunged forward, not even knowing what he was hoping to achieve as he clawed and pushed Bam towards the door. His face was wet with angry tears and he clawed and batted at Bam knowing nothing except that he wanted Bam out, didn’t want him to see him like this -pathetic and emotional and ugly.
“Ville! Ville stop! Ville fucking calm down!” Bam immobilised his flailing arms holding them to his side as he walked Ville back towards the safety of his bed. “Ville, please I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, please...” as gently as he could he pushed the taller man down onto the bed.
“You hate me like this.” Ville sounded broken and he hated himself for it. His face was slick, he could feel the tears pooling around his eyes and sticking his hair to him as he writhed and bucked under the force of Bam's hold, eventually giving up and going limp; refusing to look at Bam above him.
“I hate me,” Bam finally whispered when Ville stilled. “I hate how you make me feel more like a failure then I’ve ever been.” Ville swallowed thickly and breathed a deep shuddering breath in and finally looking at the younger man. “I can’t help thinking that if you had to get clean, if you had to become sober, than do I? And I know I’m not as strong as you. What if I fail? And end up some stupid old celebrity who’s been to rehab more times than the tabloids can count?” Ville heard him breath in shakily and felt his body crumple further into the mattress as Bam told him things he shouldn’t be told. “What if I fail?”
“Bam...”his voice was hoarse from his tears and screams, and Bam shook his head before he could say anything else.
“No, hear me out, I hate who I am when I’m sober, when I drink I’m funnier and more daring and the fact that I don’t read books or watch the news doesn’t matter, when I’m in a bar I know who I am, I know what I want and I’m not afraid to take it.” Ville knew that feeling all too well, he felt a part of his heart crumble in fear for his friend. “But sober?” Bam continued, “I’m just the idiot. I can’t talk poetry with you, I can’t... I can’t pretend that we’re the same or that I’m good enough for you. I’m a fucking millionaire but that doesn’t make me any less of an idiot.” Ville frowned up at him, this was the boy who lied to get backstage and see his hero, this was the boy that blushed whenever Ville would kiss his cheek, this was the boy Bam spent his whole life hiding from the world, and it broke Ville’s heart. “And you’re so smart and so fucking charming and clever and strong; and you like girls you can intellectualise with and not just coz they’re pretty, or willing. So why the fuck would you wanna be friends with me?” Bam's voice was shaky and his eyes glistened with unshed tears, all his insecurities out for Ville to see, laid bare before the only man he was willing to show it too.
“Bam...” Ville whispered again, as Bam leant forward to rest his forehead on Ville’s chest; he could feel the fabric over his heart soaking up unseen tears.
“I can’t make it sober like you.” Bam released his arms and Ville wrapped them around the muscular figure; staring up at the ceiling as he ran his fingers gently through the hairs at the nape of his neck. He wanted to tell him he was strong enough, to tell him he’d be there for him but he also knew Bam wouldn’t listen, like he wouldn’t have two and a half years ago. So instead he let Bam curl up like a child in the foetal position across his chest, Ville’s limbs entwined with Bam's like a part of him, as vital as a heart or a lung.
And later, when Bam's body stilled and he fell asleep, Ville rolled him on his side and traced dried tear tracks across his sleeping face. His heart breaking for this man who used to be his best friend, and some quite, insidious voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was just falling deeper, and it didn’t look like he’d ever see a way out again.
~*~
Bam woke with a headache and tired eyes he could feel the sweat that had built up over the humid night settle along the cracks in his jeans and make his t-shirt cling to him. He sunk further into the soft pillow under his head and let his eyes slowly take in the room around him. It was glowing with the light from the rising sun and with the cold clarity of morning he remembered his breakdown. He wasn’t sure how it went from thinking Ville was drinking again, the fear and anger that had raced through him at the discovery, to breaking down and sobbing himself to sleep as his dark fears hovered in the night above them.
With a soft sigh he turned his head to the balcony, already knowing somehow that Ville would be there. He let the sight of the sheer curtains swaying in the early morning breeze sooth his frayed edges as he watched Ville standing in the doorway. The morning was already heating up; he could feel it from the shadows of the bed.
He watched transfixed as the sheets of fabric swayed as though dancing, moulding themselves to Ville's contours as he stood in the doorway; if Bam was a poet he’d say it was like sin and sex and the depression which clung to his delicate frame.
But Bam wasn’t a poet, he was a skater and a photographer and his vision broke the world up into snapshots, memorising how the rising sun glowed through the white cloth creating a halo around the gold and black silhouette of the singer; his fingers trailing along the cloth as he swayed to music only he would ever hear.
Ville was his own intangible shadow and all the more beautiful for being so unreachable.
A loud crash of sound ripped through the silence of the morning, Bam swore as he clawed for his phone in his twisted uncomfortable jeans. Ville turned slightly and watched him, Bam couldn’t make out his face through the curtains, it was all shadows and curves, no features clear through the sheer white.
“Dude, where the fuck are you?” he blinked dumbly at Franz’s voice. Before his eyes widened as he remembered.
“Shit, sorry. I’ll be there... whenever.” He threw the phone on the bed next to him and covered his eyes with his forearm, groaning as he stretched his back.
When he stood up Ville was watching him closely. Bam licked his lips awkwardly, he ran his hands over his face, scrubbing at his dry eyes and ran fingers absently through his hair to try and neaten it.
“I um...” Ville nodded and Bam found himself mirroring him.
“See you round.” Bam grabbed his phone from the bed and his wallet and keys from the small table. His hand rested on the doorknob and he found himself stilling. He was late for a meeting, he was wasting money just standing there but he couldn’t make himself turn the knob.
“I’m coming back.” That didn’t sound right. “I still consider you my friend Ville, are we?” he didn’t really want to turn around, but he knew Ville well enough to know that he said the most with his face, not his words.
“Yeah Bam, we’re still friends.” Bam traced his features for a second, seeing the shadows under Ville’s eyes, the pale skin and tired eyes. But there was a flare there, a smile around the mouth despite the lack of actual smile. Bam grinned, one quick grin before he was running down the corridor, the door slamming shut behind him.
Chapter Four
A/N please leave a comment! it'll get me through my last days of the uni year!