Watermark
Title: Watermark
Fandom(s): 30 Seconds to Mars
Pairing(s): None (Tim-centric w/ mention of Shannon)
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): None, that I can think of. Correct me if I'm wrong.
Word Count: 1.202 Prompt: There's a lesson to be learned, somewhere inside all of this mess.
Disclaimer: I do not own these people. And I don't know if this happened. It's just for fun.
Authors Note: I tried to break him. I really did. I think I failed though. Or only softened him up a bit.... My bad.
Tim sat on the stale couch, brain numb, loosely gripping a cigarette between his fingers. The white brick walls of the dressing room were not soothing, more monotonous and craze inducing. His eyes drifted to the crack with yellowing water mark near the top of the white brick wall. How long had it been there? How did it start? Was it a leaky toilet or an old pipe?
Who the fuck cared? Did anyone care?
A head popped in the door. One of the venue reps with a head set and hand radio buzzing on his hip. “There’s no smoking indoors. You need to put that out or go outside.” He looked at Tim expectantly with a tinge of impatience. Tim put out the tip on the sole of his shoe and frowned at the man. He left off to do other things. It was like he was in preschool again, being watched by people responsible for running his life.
It was the same thing outside the venues too. The band manager continuously telling him to stay out of signings because he wasn’t part of the band, not that he had been asking. If he heard that one more time he was going to kick the guy in the teeth. But then Jared was doing it too, but with the fans. Telling him to try and keep a distance. He technically shouldn’t be signing their CDs, because he wasn’t part of the band. That always felt like a kick in the guts.
Then on the bus he was always in someone’s space unless he was in his in his bunk. Then when he was in his bunk he was being antisocial. It was a no win situation with Tomo saying he called the Xbox for a game then trying to cook in the kitchen with Jared griping at him about killing animals as he cooked eggs. He thought he was being nice by not cooking beef on the bus when all he wanted was a fucking steak two inches thick. Or McDonalds. Either would do.
And then for Shannon to do what he did, it all snowballs into a pile of hurt. Little things chipping away night after day after night. Tim decided to mentally yell a fuck you at the venue manager and relit his cig. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke out slow watching it drift higher. The door busted open and the guys came back into the dressing room joking about the interviewer’s question. They did that a lot. It was like every time there was a whole new bunch of inside jokes for him not to be privy to again. They did it to fuck with him he was sure. He was already set for the night’s show. They were going on in twenty minutes. There had been a clock in the white room ticking and annoying him and reminding him that he had been alone yet again for twenty seven minutes and forty two seconds.
Shannon was avoiding him again. He could see him out of the corner of his eye. What a childish asshole. He zoned out thinking of the night before. The whispered admittedly hot propositions followed by the quickie in the venue’s maintenance closet. Then nothing again. He didn’t understand why he expected different results time after time.
Tomo kicked his foot, “Hey we gotta go.” Tim nodded and looked at his smoldering cigarette. He could finish it on the way to the stage. “You okay man?” Tim nodded and smiled. At least Tomo noticed when something was off. He was always good for that.
The venue manager peaked in again telling them they needed to go. Tim followed they guys out. The manager glared at him for the lit smoke. Tim rolled his eyes and put it out on his tongue quickly. “Happy?”
“Yes.” He could have choked the man with his headset.
Tim dropped it into his pack and pocketed it. He grabbed his bass from a tech and prepared to step on with the rest of the group. He glanced over at Shannon playing with his sticks as Jared ran out first. God he looked good.
He missed his entrance by five seconds, which was fine because who the fuck noticed, but Jared still sent a glare at him. ‘Timing was everything’ was drilled into him a million times during the pre-tour practice sessions. So yeah of course Jared would do that. His chest tightened anyways.
The set was going well, audience cheering and singing the chorus; several cameras seemed focused on him. He started playing the Kill as planned. He turned away from the crowd, and towards Shannon, watching him play. He was sweating already and Tim had a flash of Shannon’s taste on his tongue. He remembered the salty skin and nails gripping his back. Muffled grunts echoed in his head.
He turned around quickly, ripping his gaze away. The bass dropped out of the monitors. Frick. He started plucking at the strings uselessly trying to coax sound out of his baby. Nothing. The tech was all over the amp hook ups, nothing. Jared started glancing over mouthing, ‘What the fuck’ Tomo looking up ‘check your hookup’. Tim felt the jack at the bottom and reinserted the loose cord. Damn, it was his fault.
He looked up and Jared had gone back to singing and leading the crowd. But his shoulder set told Tim he was pissed. Tim shook his head and picked up the spot in the song and continued. He stayed pretty still for the rest of the show, playing on automatic.
It was just like the last tour. Just like he said he wouldn’t do again. Restricted in how he was going to live, what he was going to play, stuck being Shannon’s secret fuck buddy again. He finished the set and handed his bass off to the tech and bolted. He made his way out of the venue and reached into his pack again. Grabbing the one from before, trying to re-light it.
He said he wasn’t going to do this again. Be the invisible bass player and be fucked over at every turn when there was a minor mistake. He used to have his own band. Play his own music. Not be a hired expendable. Stuck in the same loop again. He chucked his cigarette to the ground; it was burned to the filter anyway, useless now.
He grabbed a new one out of the pack and started it up. He wasn’t making headway and still tip-toeing around. Still not comfortable. Still paranoid of making mistakes and kicking him for it after. Still an outsider.
There was a lesson to be learned, somewhere inside all this mess.
The metal door swung open and shut next to him. He noted the smirk and knew what Shannon wanted. He wanted to hold off, yell ‘Fuck you for making me feel this way.’ To tell Shannon it hurt every time immediately and days afterward. Tim dropped his barely used cigarette, crushing it on the pavement with his heel and followed the knowing smirk to some hidden destination. This was going to be a mistake in the morning, a regretted stain to add to the list.
Who the fuck cared?
Fandom(s): 30 Seconds to Mars
Pairing(s): None (Tim-centric w/ mention of Shannon)
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): None, that I can think of. Correct me if I'm wrong.
Word Count: 1.202 Prompt: There's a lesson to be learned, somewhere inside all of this mess.
Disclaimer: I do not own these people. And I don't know if this happened. It's just for fun.
Authors Note: I tried to break him. I really did. I think I failed though. Or only softened him up a bit.... My bad.
Tim sat on the stale couch, brain numb, loosely gripping a cigarette between his fingers. The white brick walls of the dressing room were not soothing, more monotonous and craze inducing. His eyes drifted to the crack with yellowing water mark near the top of the white brick wall. How long had it been there? How did it start? Was it a leaky toilet or an old pipe?
Who the fuck cared? Did anyone care?
A head popped in the door. One of the venue reps with a head set and hand radio buzzing on his hip. “There’s no smoking indoors. You need to put that out or go outside.” He looked at Tim expectantly with a tinge of impatience. Tim put out the tip on the sole of his shoe and frowned at the man. He left off to do other things. It was like he was in preschool again, being watched by people responsible for running his life.
It was the same thing outside the venues too. The band manager continuously telling him to stay out of signings because he wasn’t part of the band, not that he had been asking. If he heard that one more time he was going to kick the guy in the teeth. But then Jared was doing it too, but with the fans. Telling him to try and keep a distance. He technically shouldn’t be signing their CDs, because he wasn’t part of the band. That always felt like a kick in the guts.
Then on the bus he was always in someone’s space unless he was in his in his bunk. Then when he was in his bunk he was being antisocial. It was a no win situation with Tomo saying he called the Xbox for a game then trying to cook in the kitchen with Jared griping at him about killing animals as he cooked eggs. He thought he was being nice by not cooking beef on the bus when all he wanted was a fucking steak two inches thick. Or McDonalds. Either would do.
And then for Shannon to do what he did, it all snowballs into a pile of hurt. Little things chipping away night after day after night. Tim decided to mentally yell a fuck you at the venue manager and relit his cig. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke out slow watching it drift higher. The door busted open and the guys came back into the dressing room joking about the interviewer’s question. They did that a lot. It was like every time there was a whole new bunch of inside jokes for him not to be privy to again. They did it to fuck with him he was sure. He was already set for the night’s show. They were going on in twenty minutes. There had been a clock in the white room ticking and annoying him and reminding him that he had been alone yet again for twenty seven minutes and forty two seconds.
Shannon was avoiding him again. He could see him out of the corner of his eye. What a childish asshole. He zoned out thinking of the night before. The whispered admittedly hot propositions followed by the quickie in the venue’s maintenance closet. Then nothing again. He didn’t understand why he expected different results time after time.
Tomo kicked his foot, “Hey we gotta go.” Tim nodded and looked at his smoldering cigarette. He could finish it on the way to the stage. “You okay man?” Tim nodded and smiled. At least Tomo noticed when something was off. He was always good for that.
The venue manager peaked in again telling them they needed to go. Tim followed they guys out. The manager glared at him for the lit smoke. Tim rolled his eyes and put it out on his tongue quickly. “Happy?”
“Yes.” He could have choked the man with his headset.
Tim dropped it into his pack and pocketed it. He grabbed his bass from a tech and prepared to step on with the rest of the group. He glanced over at Shannon playing with his sticks as Jared ran out first. God he looked good.
He missed his entrance by five seconds, which was fine because who the fuck noticed, but Jared still sent a glare at him. ‘Timing was everything’ was drilled into him a million times during the pre-tour practice sessions. So yeah of course Jared would do that. His chest tightened anyways.
The set was going well, audience cheering and singing the chorus; several cameras seemed focused on him. He started playing the Kill as planned. He turned away from the crowd, and towards Shannon, watching him play. He was sweating already and Tim had a flash of Shannon’s taste on his tongue. He remembered the salty skin and nails gripping his back. Muffled grunts echoed in his head.
He turned around quickly, ripping his gaze away. The bass dropped out of the monitors. Frick. He started plucking at the strings uselessly trying to coax sound out of his baby. Nothing. The tech was all over the amp hook ups, nothing. Jared started glancing over mouthing, ‘What the fuck’ Tomo looking up ‘check your hookup’. Tim felt the jack at the bottom and reinserted the loose cord. Damn, it was his fault.
He looked up and Jared had gone back to singing and leading the crowd. But his shoulder set told Tim he was pissed. Tim shook his head and picked up the spot in the song and continued. He stayed pretty still for the rest of the show, playing on automatic.
It was just like the last tour. Just like he said he wouldn’t do again. Restricted in how he was going to live, what he was going to play, stuck being Shannon’s secret fuck buddy again. He finished the set and handed his bass off to the tech and bolted. He made his way out of the venue and reached into his pack again. Grabbing the one from before, trying to re-light it.
He said he wasn’t going to do this again. Be the invisible bass player and be fucked over at every turn when there was a minor mistake. He used to have his own band. Play his own music. Not be a hired expendable. Stuck in the same loop again. He chucked his cigarette to the ground; it was burned to the filter anyway, useless now.
He grabbed a new one out of the pack and started it up. He wasn’t making headway and still tip-toeing around. Still not comfortable. Still paranoid of making mistakes and kicking him for it after. Still an outsider.
There was a lesson to be learned, somewhere inside all this mess.
The metal door swung open and shut next to him. He noted the smirk and knew what Shannon wanted. He wanted to hold off, yell ‘Fuck you for making me feel this way.’ To tell Shannon it hurt every time immediately and days afterward. Tim dropped his barely used cigarette, crushing it on the pavement with his heel and followed the knowing smirk to some hidden destination. This was going to be a mistake in the morning, a regretted stain to add to the list.
Who the fuck cared?