Frustration -SERIES- [Part 2] Headphones & Reveries [boyxboy]

Chapter Twenty Three

I fell back into my usual pre-show routine surprisingly easily. I joked around with my friends, failed to keep track of my boyfriend, and even took ownership of Jackson's Polaroid again and snapped a bunch of photos for his next article. They were good ones too; Sally and Tarquin in tears of laughter as they poured over something or other on her phone; Philip carrying a giggling Freya around on his back; Daniel sitting on a couch with his guitar looking kind of soulful. I frowned over this last one for a minute; Chloe was also in the frame, gazing up at him and smiling. Feeling like she maybe deserved a little harmless revenge for having snuck around behind my back with Jackson, I took the picture and slipped it into Daniel's backpack.

Eventually the support act were finishing up onstage and it was coming to be time for Name Withheld to go on, and I could feel myself shaking with excitement. Like I was a regular fan and it was my first time seeing them. I knew Josh, Rachel, Jackson, Chloe, and Freya could see I felt like a little kid on Christmas and they were gently making fun of me, but I could also tell they were all pretty relieved to see me acting more like my old self and less like the angry, angsty poltergeist I'd been for the last few weeks.

Usually when we're waiting for the band to appear we just stand around by the side of the stage and Conor ends up surprising me by grabbing me for a pre-show kiss, but this time I sensed him coming and turned around, throwing myself at him and kissing him hard on the mouth. I knew he was surprised because he started laughing and hugged me and whispered, 'God, it's so good to have you back.'

The gig was incredible. Conor was incredible. Every shitty performance since we'd arrived on the east coast evaporated from existence in the face of the fizzling electricity he emitted on stage that night. The 20,000 strong crowd whipped up into a screaming frenzy louder and more excited than I'd ever heard them before.

'He's back,' Chloe muttered to me towards the end of the first song, nudging me gently.

There were half a dozen different after parties that the band had been invited to that night, for their last Manhattan show of the tour, but as Conor and the others trekked offstage and he collapsed against me, an exhausted, sweaty mess, I knew he wasn't going to be up for any of them.

'Did you have fun?' he asked, half delirious, as we piled into a town car by ourselves and made our way back to the hotel, letting the others to find their own way.

I nodded, smiling and leaning against him. 'Did you?'

'It was... Cathartic,' he sighed. The was a pause, and I knew he was ruminating over something, so I nudged him.

'Go on,' I told him. 'Spit it out.'

'It's just, those things you said to the others yesterday. About my ability to perform being dependant on you being in a good mood.'

I bit my lip, not sure how to respond. 'Mm?'

'That was hard to hear, but you were right. It's not fair that I can't pull my shit together just because you're having a bad day. That's way too much pressure to put on you and shouldn't be your responsibility at all.'

I sat up, still not really sure what to say, but determined to make a go of it anyway. 'Conor...' I started. 'I get that my mood is going to affect yours. Yours affects me. That makes sense, it's okay. But... Like, yeah. I could have said it in a more productive way, but it is your responsibility to put on a good show for your fans who've paid hundreds of dollars just to see you. I know you already know that. I don't really plan on ever being that shitty to you, or anyone else, ever again, so I don't really see this being much of a problem ever again, but maybe you could work on compartmentalising a little better. I know that's hard for you and you use your life and your feelings a lot in your music so I don't even know if it makes sense, but I do kind of need the freedom to have a shitty day without worrying that it will damage your career. You know?'