Bahind These Eyes: Prologue
The forest green eyes of an unusually pale man stared blankly at the mottled white hotel ceiling. His head pounded with each thought that crossed his mind and his stomach rebelled against him as soon as he tried to move. One thought remained dominant in the Finn’s mind as he lay there on the lumpy bed, he really, really shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Groaning, Ville carefully rolled out of bed, pausing for a moment to quell the surge of bitter bile that rose in his throat before he began the painfully slow walk across the room to the bathroom.
“I’m never drinking again,” he muttered instantly regretting it as his ears rang and the jackhammer intent on smashing through his skull redoubled its attack.
He also knew it was a blatant lie. Of course he would drink again, probably just as much and probably that very night. Thankfully last night had been the bands last real concert. With their latest European tour wrapped up Ville had about two months off in which he was supposed to work on the new album. What the rest of the band didn’t know was that, for some god forsaken reason, Ville had basically hit the proverbial wall as far as his writing was concerned. The words just didn’t seem to flow like they used to. Sure, he’d have days where he could get half a song written but he’d get stuck on a line and that would be it, nothing for weeks afterwards. While it didn’t show, or at least the frontman hoped it didn’t show, his mind had been turned topsy-turvy in the past few months. He couldn’t write, couldn’t sleep, barley ate and couldn’t remember the last time a liquid that didn’t contain either caffeine or alcohol had passed his lips. He sang and drank until he passed out. That was it. What he needed, really needed, was a break; he thought splashing some water on his face and taking a long drink out of the faucet to clear the nasty taste out of his mouth before braving the room where his other band mates had surely congregated.
But where would he go? He didn’t want his parents to see him in this state and who else would take him in? What he needed, the singer decided, was someone who wouldn’t attack him for what he was doing to himself, someone who wouldn’t pressure him to write and someone who had enough energy to make up for Ville’s obvious lack of the same. Therefore, the only logical solution to Ville’s problem was to go visit Bam. Ville shivered at the thought. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, a hectic schedule was not the only reason that Ville had taken to the bottle so much more frequently than he had before. Sure, it was part of it, but Ville knew that there was definitely something else and, thought he was not exactly what it was he knew that whenever his thoughts lingered on his skater friend he had the strong desire to either throw things or drink until he passed out. Quite fond of most of his meager possessions, the green eyed man usually opted for the second choice which was, in part, responsible for just how seedy he felt at that exact point.
“Tours done,” Linde said as Ville snatched a mug of coffee away from the table and folded himself into the couch.
Ville responded with a non-committed grunt, his mind milling pointlessly on his many memories of Bam and him when they woke up in a similar situation as he was: Drinking copious amounts of coffee in the hopes of taming the hangover from hell before eventually giving up and deciding that it was a better, and less painful, option to just stay drunk.
“Everyone else is heading back home for the holidays,” Linde continued, ignoring Ville’s sour mood, “I know your not going to. So where are you going to stay?”
Again Ville grunted, staring into the inky darkness of his coffee and pondering the question himself, he knew where he wanted to be, but he didn’t know if he was strong enough to face it just yet. You see, it was four months ago, almost to the day, that Ville Valo realised that he was attracted to his best friend. He didn’t know why or how or when exactly it had happened but the singer had woken up one morning, taken one look across the room at Bam, still where he had passed out the night before (legs and backside on the couch with the rest of his body hanging off the cushions, his head resting on the dark carpet) and realised that he cared for the boy more that he would have ever thought possible. Since then Ville had avoided Bam, although it was the hardest thing he had done. Just being near him, the drunken flirting, the bed sharing and the horribly distracting closeness they shared had driven him to the point of insanity. Ville had no problem with the fact that Bam was a man, hell, he had probably dated more men that women over the years. No, what bothered him was that Bam was, as far as anyone knew 100%, unchangeably, indescribably straight. While Ville knew that Bam adored him, (the man had HIM’s… his… symbol tattooed on him for gods sake) he also knew that it was an innocent adoration and a love that didn’t go beyond the borders of friendship.
“Go stay with Bam,” Linde suggested, reading Ville’s mood instantly, his eyes always turned dark and glazed over when he was thinking about Bam, “you haven’t talked to him in months, I’m sure he misses you.”
“I don’t know,” Ville muttered, eyes still glued on his mug, “He’s probably already got things planned.”
“He’d drop anything if he knew you were coming,” Linde argued, “plus, Ape loves you, I’m sure she’d welcome you around the house.”
“I guess I could stop by,” Ville shrugged after a moments thought, Bam would probably be busy with the show, and if he didn’t get too drunk he might be safe…
“Good,” Linde laughed, holding up an envelope, “because Bam already sent you a ticket.”
Ville simply shook his head, not wanting, or even knowing what to say.
************************************************************************
Meanwhile, half way across the globe a brown haired skater lay wide awake on his pointlessly large bed. His head rested on tattooed arms, his mind aware of nothing but just how lonely he felt. For too many nights he had woken up to a cold and empty bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually shared it with anyone. Actually, he could remember, he just didn’t like to think about it too often. But what was worse? Not being able to sleep because you couldn’t stop thinking about your best friend or not being able to sleep because you couldn’t stop staring at your best friend? Especially when that best friend was also a guy. He wasn’t gay. No, he was Bam Fucking Margera, he couldn’t be gay. But if he wasn’t gay why couldn’t he get Ville out of his head?
Ever since a night of heavy drinking about six months ago which had ended with Bam and Ville cuddled together under one very thin sheet in one very cold hotel room Bam had known that there was no way he could talk himself out of loving the delightfully dark man. Hell, that very night he had tried for hours on end. As each hour passed the comfort and calm he felt while in the Finnish man’s arms got a little harder to deny until it was all he could think of. Since that night Bam, for the first time since he was eight, fell asleep cuddling up to a pillow, pretending that it was Ville and hating himself for every minute of it. And the dreams… those fucking annoying dreams that made him want to kick his own ass for being so pathetic. Dreams where he and Ville were together and happy, dreams that broke his heart every time he woke up to an empty e-mail box and an un-sounding phone.
He had done the best he could to act normal around the Finn, but for some reason it just got harder every time he saw Ville. Lately thought, he thought darkly, that hasn’t been a problem. Ville had been avoiding him. He could tell by the way it took him longer to pick up his phone when he called and how Ville never had any time to reply to his emails when the vocalist used to send him at least one a day. Bam had also discovered that having Ville around but having to hide his strange obsession was better than not having the man around at all. That’s why Bam had sent Ville the plane ticket and that is why he was now laying awake in bed, at three in the morning, hoping against hope that Ville would take him up on his offer, because he honestly didn’t know what he would do if he said no.
“I’m never drinking again,” he muttered instantly regretting it as his ears rang and the jackhammer intent on smashing through his skull redoubled its attack.
He also knew it was a blatant lie. Of course he would drink again, probably just as much and probably that very night. Thankfully last night had been the bands last real concert. With their latest European tour wrapped up Ville had about two months off in which he was supposed to work on the new album. What the rest of the band didn’t know was that, for some god forsaken reason, Ville had basically hit the proverbial wall as far as his writing was concerned. The words just didn’t seem to flow like they used to. Sure, he’d have days where he could get half a song written but he’d get stuck on a line and that would be it, nothing for weeks afterwards. While it didn’t show, or at least the frontman hoped it didn’t show, his mind had been turned topsy-turvy in the past few months. He couldn’t write, couldn’t sleep, barley ate and couldn’t remember the last time a liquid that didn’t contain either caffeine or alcohol had passed his lips. He sang and drank until he passed out. That was it. What he needed, really needed, was a break; he thought splashing some water on his face and taking a long drink out of the faucet to clear the nasty taste out of his mouth before braving the room where his other band mates had surely congregated.
But where would he go? He didn’t want his parents to see him in this state and who else would take him in? What he needed, the singer decided, was someone who wouldn’t attack him for what he was doing to himself, someone who wouldn’t pressure him to write and someone who had enough energy to make up for Ville’s obvious lack of the same. Therefore, the only logical solution to Ville’s problem was to go visit Bam. Ville shivered at the thought. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, a hectic schedule was not the only reason that Ville had taken to the bottle so much more frequently than he had before. Sure, it was part of it, but Ville knew that there was definitely something else and, thought he was not exactly what it was he knew that whenever his thoughts lingered on his skater friend he had the strong desire to either throw things or drink until he passed out. Quite fond of most of his meager possessions, the green eyed man usually opted for the second choice which was, in part, responsible for just how seedy he felt at that exact point.
“Tours done,” Linde said as Ville snatched a mug of coffee away from the table and folded himself into the couch.
Ville responded with a non-committed grunt, his mind milling pointlessly on his many memories of Bam and him when they woke up in a similar situation as he was: Drinking copious amounts of coffee in the hopes of taming the hangover from hell before eventually giving up and deciding that it was a better, and less painful, option to just stay drunk.
“Everyone else is heading back home for the holidays,” Linde continued, ignoring Ville’s sour mood, “I know your not going to. So where are you going to stay?”
Again Ville grunted, staring into the inky darkness of his coffee and pondering the question himself, he knew where he wanted to be, but he didn’t know if he was strong enough to face it just yet. You see, it was four months ago, almost to the day, that Ville Valo realised that he was attracted to his best friend. He didn’t know why or how or when exactly it had happened but the singer had woken up one morning, taken one look across the room at Bam, still where he had passed out the night before (legs and backside on the couch with the rest of his body hanging off the cushions, his head resting on the dark carpet) and realised that he cared for the boy more that he would have ever thought possible. Since then Ville had avoided Bam, although it was the hardest thing he had done. Just being near him, the drunken flirting, the bed sharing and the horribly distracting closeness they shared had driven him to the point of insanity. Ville had no problem with the fact that Bam was a man, hell, he had probably dated more men that women over the years. No, what bothered him was that Bam was, as far as anyone knew 100%, unchangeably, indescribably straight. While Ville knew that Bam adored him, (the man had HIM’s… his… symbol tattooed on him for gods sake) he also knew that it was an innocent adoration and a love that didn’t go beyond the borders of friendship.
“Go stay with Bam,” Linde suggested, reading Ville’s mood instantly, his eyes always turned dark and glazed over when he was thinking about Bam, “you haven’t talked to him in months, I’m sure he misses you.”
“I don’t know,” Ville muttered, eyes still glued on his mug, “He’s probably already got things planned.”
“He’d drop anything if he knew you were coming,” Linde argued, “plus, Ape loves you, I’m sure she’d welcome you around the house.”
“I guess I could stop by,” Ville shrugged after a moments thought, Bam would probably be busy with the show, and if he didn’t get too drunk he might be safe…
“Good,” Linde laughed, holding up an envelope, “because Bam already sent you a ticket.”
Ville simply shook his head, not wanting, or even knowing what to say.
************************************************************************
Meanwhile, half way across the globe a brown haired skater lay wide awake on his pointlessly large bed. His head rested on tattooed arms, his mind aware of nothing but just how lonely he felt. For too many nights he had woken up to a cold and empty bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually shared it with anyone. Actually, he could remember, he just didn’t like to think about it too often. But what was worse? Not being able to sleep because you couldn’t stop thinking about your best friend or not being able to sleep because you couldn’t stop staring at your best friend? Especially when that best friend was also a guy. He wasn’t gay. No, he was Bam Fucking Margera, he couldn’t be gay. But if he wasn’t gay why couldn’t he get Ville out of his head?
Ever since a night of heavy drinking about six months ago which had ended with Bam and Ville cuddled together under one very thin sheet in one very cold hotel room Bam had known that there was no way he could talk himself out of loving the delightfully dark man. Hell, that very night he had tried for hours on end. As each hour passed the comfort and calm he felt while in the Finnish man’s arms got a little harder to deny until it was all he could think of. Since that night Bam, for the first time since he was eight, fell asleep cuddling up to a pillow, pretending that it was Ville and hating himself for every minute of it. And the dreams… those fucking annoying dreams that made him want to kick his own ass for being so pathetic. Dreams where he and Ville were together and happy, dreams that broke his heart every time he woke up to an empty e-mail box and an un-sounding phone.
He had done the best he could to act normal around the Finn, but for some reason it just got harder every time he saw Ville. Lately thought, he thought darkly, that hasn’t been a problem. Ville had been avoiding him. He could tell by the way it took him longer to pick up his phone when he called and how Ville never had any time to reply to his emails when the vocalist used to send him at least one a day. Bam had also discovered that having Ville around but having to hide his strange obsession was better than not having the man around at all. That’s why Bam had sent Ville the plane ticket and that is why he was now laying awake in bed, at three in the morning, hoping against hope that Ville would take him up on his offer, because he honestly didn’t know what he would do if he said no.