Chapter Text
Clem woke up to the sound of the rain drumming on the roof. It was dark, even though the curtains weren't drawn, and he could see fat raindrops running down the window glass. The air of his bedroom was stale, cold and humid at the same time, and he shivered before realising that he had fallen asleep fully dressed, and hadn’t even covered himself with a blanket. He reached for it and grimaced as the movement caused a bout of pounding in his head, which probably tried to hint that he had had too much yesterday... again. Well, technically it was today. Thankfully, he didn’t have much of a recollection of the events that led him to this moment, but he had a vague feeling that the world outside of his bedroom would remind him of it pretty soon. In order to postpone it, he decided to take a much-needed shower first, so he waited until the pounding subsided a little, and then carefully crawled off the bed, trying to figure out which parts of his body were the victims of his drunk clumsiness this time. Surprisingly enough, everything seemed alright - or maybe his head hurt so much it just muffled all other signals.
The shower didn’t help easing the headache, but at least it was successful in warming him up. He put on the first hoodie and jeans he found in his dresser, and added a pair of shoes; the memories of stepping on shattered glass a few months ago were still quite vivid, and he’d better not risk another lonely trip to the ER.
Taking a deep breath, Clem carefully opened the door, still not sure what to expect. The staircase wasn’t too bad, though it could do with a bit of cleaning. The kitchen, though... The empty bottles, takeaway boxes, and ashtrays full of cigarette butts became a familiar sight, but why the hell was the floor covered with a thin layer of water? He sat on the nearest barstool and tried to focus, but his brain didn’t quite want to cooperate. Absent-mindedly, he opened the nearest drawer and reached for the bottle of painkillers, his best friend these days, but it betrayed him by being totally empty. Okay, coffee would do too; first coffee, then recollecting.
Making himself a cup of decent coffee was a seemingly impossible task. Clem really should’ve gotten rid of this infernal coffee machine months ago, as soon as the person operating it had left him. For some reason he hadn’t - maybe deep down hoping that said person would change their mind, maybe because he had spent so many hours online, choosing the best one as his present for their first Christmas together - and now he felt as if it was mocking him, shining its chrome surfaces in the middle of his trashed kitchen.
"Go to hell," Clem mumbled, and turned away from it to turn on the kettle and find a can of instant coffee.
Ten minutes later, with a cup in his hands, Clem went to the back door and opened it. The downpour turned into a drizzle, and the whole garden was covered in puddles. The flowers were dark and limp, first bitten by the early frost and now drowning under the cold November rain. It was one of those days when summer seemed like a distant memory and Christmas was a promise that would never be fulfilled. Clem took a sip, wincing at the awful taste, and sighed. He didn’t want to step into the wet and decaying garden, but coming back into the house, equally empty and lifeless, was even worse. He chuckled bitterly, thinking how fitting this situation was to describe his life; the past he didn’t want to remember, and the future he didn’t want to live through. The loneliness started creeping in, and when he felt the familiar sting in his eyes, he bit his lower lip, though he didn’t know why he bothered to keep up his presence, since there was no-one around anyway.
Just as Clem started to contemplate if a good old fashioned crying-out-loud session would help him, someone rang the doorbell.
***
The door opened, and he was met with the familiar sight of Marcus’ smile.
"How did it go?" he asked eagerly, radiating confidence, as if he was sure that it went well. Clem briefly thought that he didn’t deserve anyone to be this confident in him. Instead of replying, he just hugged Marcus, hiding his face in the crook of Marcus’ neck, inhaling his scent, so familiar and calming. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, and Marcus wouldn’t think that he was a failure, even though Clem felt exactly like it. And to think he was so excited about it in the morning. What an idiot.
"Hey, hey," Marcus whispered. His hands immediately started gently caressing Clem’s back in a soothing manner. "This bad?"
Instead of answering, Clem just nodded. He felt a kiss planted on his temple and hugged Marcus a bit tighter, almost clinging to him.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Clem shook his head. No, definitely not.
"What do you want to do then?"
For a moment, Clem thought about ordering some delicious food and watching the TV series they were bingeing at the moment, but if he was honest with himself, there was only one thing that could actually make him forget about that disastrous meeting, at least for a little while. So he turned his head and kissed Marcus’ neck, the sensitive spot he now knew all too well, and at the same time pressed even closer to him.
"Really?" he could hear a smile in Marcus’ voice.
Clem hummed affirmatively as his lips continued their path. Marcus didn’t react straight away, apart from slightly tilting his head, and Clem thought that maybe he wouldn’t indulge him, but then Marcus’ hands drifted lower, now resting on his ass. It was a good place to start, so he kept kissing his boyfriend’s neck until Marcus gently pulled him by his hair to stop it.
"Are you sure?" he asked again, and it would be annoying if it wasn’t so sweet, so Clem smiled at him - his first smile since he had gone to the office in the morning - and said, "Yes, I am."
The kiss that followed was more tender than passionate, but when Clem tried to escalate it, Marcus let him. Even though their relationship wasn’t that new anymore, it still amazed Clem how Marcus, usually stubborn and very keen on controlling everything, could become so compliant in his hands, and Clem would have to lie to say that it wasn’t hot.
By the time they made it to their bedroom, Clem started to get desperate, and the looks Marcus sent him while he was undressing didn't exactly help. He sat against the headboard, and Marcus immediately settled onto his lap, pressing impossibly close, his hands in Clem’s hair already, slightly pulling his strands. When Marcus broke the kiss to ask breathlessly, "What do you want?" Clem didn’t have to think twice.
"Make me forget about everything."
"Watch me," Marcus winked, leaving his lap. Clem made a disappointed noise that immediately turned into a loud moan as soon as Marcus swallowed him down. He had to admit that Marcus’ distraction strategy was working very well, as his brain finally switched off, not having any capacity to process anything else apart from all the sensations he received from this very enthusiastic blowjob. He wanted to say something nice, to praise Marcus, but he could only moan and gasp. His only complaint was that it was over way too soon, but it was his fault. He knew he shouldn’t have looked - and once he did, the image sent him over the edge in an instant.
Clem didn’t even manage to reconnect fully when Marcus got back on his lap, took Clem’s hand, pressed it against his dick, and gasped.
"Please, I’m so close," he whined, and Clem wouldn’t be able to deny him even if he wanted. So he didn’t, and it didn’t take him long to make Marcus spill on his stomach. He then sagged against Clem, like a puppet with its strings cut, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat, and it probably should’ve been gross, but Clem was pretty sure he never felt so lucky to have Marcus in his life. He wanted to say something, but all the words weren’t enough. Maybe his songs would be.
"We need to shower," Marcus mumbled, interrupting Clem’s musings.
"Yeah."
So they did, and then came back to their bed, and Marcus was lying almost on top of him, and his hair was still damp and smelled of his shampoo, and Clem let his guard down.
"They didn’t like new songs. None of them," he said quietly, surprising even himself with the emotionlessness of his voice.
"What?" Marcus lifted his head so fast that it startled Clem a little.
He shrugged. "Yeah."
"Why?" Marcus asked, confusion written all over his face.
"The style doesn’t fit whatever they want to go for with the next album."
"But it’s your album."
Marcus was now sitting across from him, his lower half hidden under a duvet, and Clem thought that they were both severely underdressed to have this conversation. He sighed; it was too late to do anything about it anyway.
"So?"
"Clem, you can’t just let them do it," Marcus said with an unexpected passion in his voice. "If you think that your songs are good, you need to fight for them."
Suddenly, the duvet became the most interesting part of the room, and Clem started to fiddle with it. After a minute of silence, it became apparent that Marcus wouldn’t add anything, so Clem closed his eyes and blurted out, "What if they actually aren’t?"
He felt a warm hand covering his own.
"Love, look at me. I know I haven’t heard them yet, but I trust your judgement. If you say that they are good, then they are."
Clem didn’t reply, averting his eyes back to his hands. The silence started to grow, stretching out until it filled the whole bedroom.
"So?" Marcus prodded.
"So what?"
"Are they good?"
Clem hesitated for a moment, but then nodded.
"Then you need to stand your ground. It’s your album, it’s your music."
If only everything was so easy, but it really wasn’t. At this point, Clem deeply regretted that he had started this conversation. They could’ve ordered dinner and cuddled on the couch watching something, but instead he had to tell Marcus something he’d prefer to keep to himself. Ah, fuck it. Marcus would've known about it sooner or later anyway.
"I think you don’t really understand how things work," he said, and inwardly winced. It sounded accusatory, and this was completely unnecessary. To Marcus’ credit, he let it slide.
"Explain it to me then?" he asked patiently.
There was no need to prolong it more than needed, and Clem took a deep breath as if he was about to jump into a cold lake.
"It’s easy for you to say that I need to fight for them, but I can’t, okay?"
Marcus’ brows furrowed, but he didn’t say anything, and Clem continued, "I have a contract for two more albums, and I'm not allowed to just release whatever the fuck I want. My label gets to decide what I’m going to sing."
"And what if you refuse? If you break the contract?"
"I’ll have to pay a shitload of money. I’ll lose all the copyrights too. Royalties. Everything."
"What?" Marcus took his hand away, and Clem instantly missed its grounding warmth, but he didn’t dare to reach out again, not when he looked so angry.
"This is ridiculous," Marcus scoffed, and even though Clem knew he deserved it - and even more - he still tried to defend himself.
"That’s just how things work when you’re an unknown artist getting signed to a big label."
"That’s really not. Fuck, did you even get a lawyer to look this contract over?"
Clem didn’t answer. He knew he should’ve had.
"I want to see it," Marcus demanded.
"So what? There’s nothing that could be done now anyway." Why had he started this conversation? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Clem wanted to go to the nearest wall and bang his head against it. Maybe that would help.
"But at least we’ll know what we are facing."
"We? Since when did it become your problem?" Clem said before he could stop himself. But really, it was his own mistake, his own carelessness, and the last thing he needed was to get Marcus involved.
Apparently, Marcus had a different opinion on this matter, as his voice went up, as always when he was really pissed off. "What?"
"Yes, I was young and stupid, okay? I thought it was alright, and I liked their ideas, and I didn’t think that some years later I would meet a guy and write a fuckton of ballads that wouldn’t fit my fucking image," Clem rambled while rolling off the bed and dressing up. He put on his t-shirt inside out and groaned before taking it off again and continuing, "I’ll write new songs, something about summer, and casual sex, and fucking pool parties or whatever the hell they want. No big deal."
He didn’t dare to look at Marcus, too scared of whatever he may have read on his face.
"It is a big deal, Clem," he heard Marcus’ calm voice.
"No, it’s not. Can you just… forget about it? It's not your problem; the tour will go on regardless of how bad my next album is," Clem said, walking out of the room without waiting for any arguments Marcus could come up with.
It was his mistake, and he should go through this alone.
***
Clem hurried up to open the door, thankful to whoever was behind it for providing a distraction.
"Lunch delivery," Romain smiled, a few paper bags in one hand and a holder with two coffee cups in the other. He took one look at Clem and added, "Though I would guess that for you it will be breakfast."
He spread his arms, and instead of replying, Clem just hugged him tightly, feeling the lump in his throat slowly disappearing. After a few moments, he took a step back and wiped his eyes. "Hi."
Without waiting for an invitation, Romain just walked past him and whistled once he entered the kitchen.
"So the videos didn’t lie."
Clem was expecting a lecture about his recent lifestyle, but instead Romain put the bags on one barstool and the cups on the other. Being familiar with Clem’s house, he quickly found a garbage bag and cleaned the counter while Clem just stood there, at a loss for what to say. After cleaning up, Romain opened the bags and placed more and more food boxes on the counter; then he gestured for Clem to sit down next to him.
Clem was sure he wouldn’t be able to stomach even one bite, but once they started eating, he realised how hungry he actually was. He tried not to gobble it up, feeling the scrutiny of Romain’s gaze on him.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"I don’t remember, to be honest," Clem replied, not seeing any point in lying. "No scolding, please."
Romain nodded and started to talk about his kids instead. Clem hadn’t seen them in a while, and it was nice to hear about all their latest shenanigans and achievements.
Once they finished eating, Romain took out a package of painkillers from his pocket. Clem looked at him, surprised, and Romain chuckled, "I’m not that old. I still remember how shitty the morning after a big party can be."
After Clem took a pill, he finally decided to ask. "So, why are you here?"
"You know why. I’m worried about you; we all are."
Clem sighed. "Did someone send you? Someone from the label?"
"No, but I know that they are worried too."
"Why, they finally got what they wanted. Have you seen all the press I’m getting?" Clem aimed for nonchalance, but his voice betrayed him, cracking at the end of the sentence. He didn’t dare looking at Romain and was fiddling with the strings of his hoodie instead.
"I did, and that’s why I’m here. Listen, I know that breaking up is tough, especially when you hadn’t seen it coming, but it's been going on for a while now, and I’m sorry, but you’re not getting better."
"How did you notice?" Clem asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but then his conscience acted up, and he added, "sorry."
"Clem, I’ve known you since you were born," Romain said patiently, "and I’m sorry, but this isn’t you."
Clem just shrugged in lieu of a response, still not meeting Romain’s gaze.
"I want to help you get better, but I don’t know how. Maybe you can help me too. Have you thought about what you want to do next?"
"No," Clem answered, even before Romain finished his question.
"Alright, then how about the things you don't want to do?"
"I don't want to-" Clem started, but then stopped, unsure. He finally looked at Romain, who was watching him expectantly, nothing but kindness on his face, so after a moment of hesitation, Clem continued, "to feel like shit. I'm tired."
"That's a good start."
"I don't want to pretend that nothing happened," Clem stopped, feeling as if he was standing on the edge of the abyss. This was dangerous. He didn’t want to go there. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop once he started. He should’ve stopped the moment Romain asked and sent him away before another round of desperation came, but it was too late. So he closed his eyes and continued, "I don't want to write another album. I don’t want to go on another tour. I don't want to miss him so fucking much, every fucking minute."
His voice was getting louder and louder. He couldn’t control it anyway.
"I don't want to feel like nothing good will ever happen in my life. I know it will. I know I'll meet someone else, but I also know that it won't be the same, and I hate it. I want what I had. I want it back."
"Clem, it's okay, it's okay." Romain quickly stood and hugged him, and Clem pressed his face against Romain’s hoodie.
"You said that he's a good guy. That I should give him a chance. I did, and look what happened." He sounded accusatory, but he didn’t really care; he just needed to find someone to blame for his heartbreak.
"You think he's not a good guy?"
"No. He's the worst. He left me."
"I’m sorry. Maybe I was wrong about him."
Instead of replying, Clem just nodded. They stood like this for the longest time, with Romain rubbing circles on Clem’s back until his breath returned to normal, and his tears finally stopped.
"I need to wash my face," he mumbled, leaving Romain’s embrace. "I’m sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for. Go, and I’ll make you tea in the meantime, alright?"
Fifteen minutes later, Clem was finishing his cup of tea and the chocolate he had been given, when Romain asked, "Are you feeling better?"
"Maybe a bit," he said, going silent for a moment, listening to himself. Surprisingly, he didn't feel like he was going to fall apart into billions of small pieces. "Yes, I think I am."
"I can help you with cleaning, if you want. Or I can call a cleaning service."
"No, I want to do it myself," Clem said, unexpectedly even for himself. But Romain was right; he needed to get his life back, and cleaning the house could be the first step.
After Romain left - but not before inviting him to join their family dinner on Sunday - Clem changed into the rattiest clothes he had, and got to work. While his hands were doing it automatically, picking up the trash, cleaning all the surfaces, loading more and more clothes into the washing machine, his mind was busy thinking about Romain's question. What did he want? What did he want that was actually achievable? No matter from which point of view he tried to look at it, the answer was the same. He really should've done it long ago. But he didn't, and he regretted it, so maybe if he did it now, he would at least get rid of this feeling of regret that settled deep in his bones, so deep that it had already become a part of him.
It was late evening when he finished the cleaning. He opened the back door, took a deep breath, inhaling the cold November air, and pressed the green icon on his phone’s screen next to Romain's name.
"I want to leave the label."
***
It’s not like his realisation was that sudden. They had been living together for a while now, and every day Clem thought about it more and more. At first, he hesitated to say it even to himself, because he knew that this would change everything, but the moment he finally admitted that he wanted that, he felt happy and free as never before. Of course, the sensible thing would be to think over this decision properly and to talk to a lawyer. But Clem decided that this could wait, and telling Marcus about it couldn’t. He barely managed to wait for the day when Marcus was busy in the office, and cancelled all his plans. He cleaned the house, ordered food in a fancy restaurant, and cut down the most beautiful roses he could find in his garden. He set the table and dressed up a bit - nothing too fancy, just a pair of neat trousers and Marcus’ favourite shirt. He lit up the candles, making sure that they wouldn’t set anything on fire. He found the last bottle of the wine they had brought from their holiday in France, when they had visited his family. He even checked their nightstand for supplies, because tonight he would surely be fucked, and the familiar rush went through him at this thought.
When Marcus came home, he was visibly tired, but his eyes lit up when he saw Clem all dressed up. He peeked out to look at the kitchen and noticed the table decorated with roses and candles.
"What’s the occasion?" Marcus asked, and then his eyes went wide, "Oh shit, don’t tell me I forgot about an anniversary."
Clem giggled, "You didn’t. I’m just in the mood." He then kissed Marcus, who immediately pressed him close and deepened the kiss. There was an unexpected urgency in it, and when Clem pulled back, he asked breathlessly, "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah," Marcus exhaled, then kissed Clem’s temple. "Just a shitty day at work. I’m glad I’m home."
"Let’s pour you a glass of wine then, and maybe after dinner I’ll be able to improve your mood a bit."
"You’re improving it already. But I won’t say no," Marcus smiled before going to the bathroom to wash his hands.
They were halfway through dinner when Clem finally couldn’t wait anymore, so he blurted out, without even waiting for Marcus to finish his story, "I'm going to leave the label."
Marcus' smile faded, but Clem attributed it to the shock of receiving such fantastic news.
"What?" Marcus dumbly asked, staring at him as if he had grown another head.
"I'm going to leave. I'm tired of people telling me what to do, what to sing, and who to love". Clem could hear how unsteady his voice was, but he didn’t care.
"Clem, it's… it's a big decision," Marcus said carefully. "What about your songs? What about the forfeit?"
"I'll write new ones. And I'll sell the house," Clem replied. He felt a ping of disappointment; he hoped that Marcus would be happy too, and they would celebrate that, but Marcus’ reaction was underwhelming, to say the least.
"But you love your house! And the garden!" Marcus said, his voice starting to sound downright desperate.
Clem just waved it off. "It doesn't matter."
"Clem, love, you have only one album left, and then your contract will end anyway." Marcus was pleading, clearly trying to appeal to Clem’s logical side. It was annoying, Clem expected to hear that argument from his management and not from the man he loved.
"Yes, and how long will it take? Two years, three?" he scoffed. "I don't want to wait anymore."
"This is insane." Marcus hid his face in his hands, almost curving into a ball, and Clem realised that he had never seen him in a state like this. When things went not the way he liked, Marcus usually just gritted his teeth and got on with it. How did their conversation take this turn? Why did Marcus react like that? Clem wanted to go and hug him, calm him down, and whisper that everything was going to be alright. He was standing up when he was struck by the thought that maybe he was mistaken all along, and Marcus didn’t want him to leave the label at all? He sat back. Or maybe Marcus didn’t want Clem without his success and wealth, he thought, and immediately felt ashamed for even considering it.
They both went silent for a long time, the only sound in the kitchen being Marcus’ uneven breathing.
"I thought you'd be happy," Clem finally said, his voice flat.
"What?" Marcus jerkily lowered his hands from his face. "Why?"
"Because I’m doing this for you."
Whatever reaction Clem expected, it wasn’t the way Marcus flinched, as if he was burnt by these words.
"I don’t want you to do this for me," Marcus whispered, "I never asked for that." Then his voice suddenly got louder. "What if you regret it later? How can you be so sure about it?"
The notion that Marcus may not be sure about their future together made Clem nauseous.
"Aren’t you?"
"I'm… Clem, God, it's your whole life. Your career. Everything you've worked so hard for. I can't. I can't accept that." Marcus poured himself more wine, but spilled some of it on the white tablecloth. He took his glass and drank all of it in one go, but Clem was fascinated by the red stain that was growing bigger and bigger, ruining the perfect whiteness of the fabric. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?
"What do you mean, you can't?" Clem mumbled. He didn’t know why he was asking, as he didn’t want to hear the answer anyway.
"If you're doing it for me, I just… I can't. I’m sorry."
Marcus stood up, looked around, one hand in his hair, and then opened and closed his mouth. Clem noted that Marcus’ hands were still trembling. He felt like a helpless spectator, who was watching a scene from a movie unfolding right in front of his eyes, and even though he knew that he should do something, anything, to make it stop, he just kept sitting in his chair, while Marcus went back to the hall.
"Where are you going?" Clem asked, finally standing up and following him.
"I’m leaving. They were right, I should’ve done that a long time ago. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry." Marcus was blabbering, not even looking at Clem, fixedly staring down while fiddling with his shoelaces.
Clem felt sick. How did it come to this? Only an hour ago he was the happiest he had ever been, and now everything around him was falling apart. If only he could pause it to take a breath and catch up with everything that was going on. If only he could rewind it and try again.
"Are you-" the words got stuck in his throat, and he had to start over. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"I-" Marcus stuttered, then stood up and nodded, looking everywhere but at Clem. "I’m sorry."
He opened the door, took two steps forward, and closed it quietly, but to Clem’s ears it was the loudest sound he ever heard.