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I step back out on stage. The bright lights are blinding and the screams are deafening, but I couldn't imagine doing anything else. I look over, and standing right with me, on this stage and on this journey, are my four closest friends. The music begins as the cheering gets louder. I start the song off, singing the first verse of our love ballad. I think it's my favourite, because of the secret story behind the song lyrics. I'm glad it's the encore song.
As the last few notes roll out of my mouth, I see him glance over at me. I want nothing more than to be next to him, just as it was when I was 16 and he was 18. The lights go down, leaving the dying fireworks and fire tricks to illuminate the scene for a last few seconds until all that can be seen are spots of light in the crowd. Soon, my band and I are leaving the stage from the various exits, where we'll meet backstage to come down from the rush of intensity a show provides.
From my spot in the group hug, I can just barely touch the edge of his right shoulder, and he tilts his head back so his blue eyes stare right into me. Almost done for the night, they seem to say. And then suddenly I'm the only one still standing in the same place. I follow the group through the maze of hallways to our dressing rooms. He's already waiting for me.
“H, you did incredible out there,” he says, giving me a silly smile.
“Thanks, but you know they loved your song tonight especially!” I respond, coming closer and grabbing his tiny hands. His face lights up, just as I'm sure mine does too. The size difference always makes me smile.
“Sure, love, sure. Why don't we discuss this in the comfort of our home- I mean bus? I'm tired of these mirrors staring back at me."
“You are my home, silly. No bus or big house can compare!” By now, we're only a few inches away.
“Alright, enough flattery, my head's big enough. Let's get on the bus, H.”
While the rest of the boys go into our fancy hotel, he and I stay on the bus in comfortable silence. I'm texting my sister, who is eager to know how our show went, and he's taking a quick nap on the large couch. Just as I've sent my text, a Twitter notification comes in. @geographystyles and 472 other people are tweeting about #HLovesL. I open it, curious as to who has the same initials as me and the brown-haired boy sitting across from me. There, on my screen, are various pictures and videos from my band's past and the video diaries we used to make. Except every single picture is focused on me and my bus companion. They know. This is bad. And good. But mostly bad. They can't know about us. Our management will flip. I scroll through some of the tweets, and I can't help laughing at some of the moments captured on a photograph or video. My sixteen and seventeen year old self is pretty horrendous, but we look so in love and- They aren't in a relationship, you deluded freaks. They wouldn't choose to be gay. It's just disgusting. And if they are, then they deserve all the hate they will get. Oh. I don't know what to think. My heart drops; I thought our fans would have our backs. I didn't think that, in this day and age, anyone would dare make comments like this, especially to us, although I guess I should have realized that there was bound to be someone. I click the horrible tweet, and see that it's gotten hundreds of retweets and favourites. Below it, people have defended us, but in between the supportive comments there are a substantial number of people agreeing with the original tweet, and some adding even more. I could never support gay idols. That's gross. And, They should never have gone into the music business if they weren't in fact straight. Who would want to listen to that kind of music??? Along with, Yeah, that's not normal. But I'm sure they aren't because they've had girlfriends and stuff. Fake ones. We've had fake girlfriends. And before I figure out how I should feel, tears have already begun to splatter down onto my phone screen and lap.
On the opposite couch, the boy stirs in his sleep. He looks so peaceful, and the tears streaming down my face are also for the older but smaller boy who could never deserve the hate. My phone, still in my tightly clenched hand, vibrates, alerting me of a reminder I had set. Meeting with management. That’s just perfect. Absolutely perfect. Standing, I quietly make my way to the bunks located in the back, leaving my boyfriend sleeping serenely, curled up.
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Lead by our bodyguard, we slip into the large boardroom, full of important people, at least 20, that I should probably know and fear. I almost start to ask the disheveled man I know so well where we should sit, but instead I take a seat near the head of the table and he sits next to me. This simple act hasn’t happened in months.
“So, I’m sure you all saw the Twitter trend last night,” the important man says at the head of the table. All the other important people nod their heads, concerned expressions passing over each face. My partner-in-crime next to me, though, does nothing but look at me expectantly. Screw management for ruining it. He never had to know. I let the important man explain.
“#HLovesL,” he reads from his gigantic smartphone. “Trended last night for 6 hours straight. I’m sure you can guess which famous British boy band members that trend was about.” Suddenly, I remember the man. Head of Public Relations here. This cannot be good. And out of the corner of my eye, I can see widened eyes on the gentle face next to me. Oops.
“Hi,” a young-looking brown-haired girl across the table declares. “I’m Eleanor! I’ve just recently joined the team. I’ll be working closely with you two pop stars!”
“As always,” the important man remarks with an intimidating grin. “Don’t mess it up! The fans can’t know anything. But you guys know that, don’t you?” His lips pull out even more, revealing more shiny white teeth. “I’ll let El take over from here.”
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“I know this isn’t what we want, H, but maybe it’s for the best. You know I’m scared of ruining the boys’ careers.” Of course. Now I have to face him. “At least she’s nice. And it can’t be for too long, we’re not talking in years about this fake relationship!”
“But she was hired. She’s going to be taking my boyfriend on dates, and we didn’t have any say in who got chosen. This sucks.” I know I’m pouting and being difficult, but I'm not faking my frustration; it really does suck.
“Listen, maybe for now we do this, and then push for more freedom when the fans calm down. The music industry just isn’t ready for a relationship like ours yet.”
“Ok. I get it, I really do. All I’m saying is that I’m going to miss you.”
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“Ladies and gentleman! Good evening! Tonight, I would like to invite some special friends of mine onto the stage. Come on up, guys!” We settle on the couch, squished in tight as the crowd quiets down. “Alright, now, we’re going to start with questions right away, alright?”
We all nod in response to the rhetoric question. “So this one is for you two,” he says, pointing at me and my closest friend on the end of the couch. “You two have some rumours circling about. Did you know that? Yeah, you did? Ok. So then, I have to ask! Are they true?” The audience stays silent, collectively holding their breaths.
“Um, well, I think we are definitely quite close, but no, I suppose those rumours aren’t true.” It hurts to force those lies out of my mouth, but I can see one of our PR agents just off stage, giving me the look.
“Listen to that! This crowd sounds pretty let down!” The crowd did indeed let out several noises of disappointment. “And if we’re talking about relationships, how’s Eleanor doing?”
“She’s great, yeah, always.”
“And you’re nearing five years now?” A response is received in the form of a nod.
“That’s nice to hear.”
Is it though?
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“It’s been good, boys,” says the mature one.
“Been a real journey, traveling and smashing it,” says the mysterious one.
“Always know where to find me, lads. Just a country over,” says the Irish one.
“I’m glad I spent these years with you. I’ll treasure the memories forever,” says my once closest friend.
“It’s been a pleasure; we’ve made some great friends. And more than friends,” I say. I can feel his eyes on me, the look I used to crave and soak in after we left the stage for the night. All I feel now is a wish for a brand-new past.
Instead, we do one last group hug. Now, though, I don’t even reach for the shoulder I used to touch. After a little while, we break apart and head in 5 separate directions, en route to each of our own places we call home. But I swear as we’re leaving, I can hear the first verse of that love ballad, and I can almost believe the secret story behind the song lyrics.