As they grab chopsticks and carry everything into the dining room, they’ve let the serious conversation drop. But shortly after they start eating, Skyler picks it up again.
“Um, about the gay icon thing.” Skyler nabs a Szechaun shrimp with his chopsticks. “It was already on my mind before I read the article. Not exactly being an icon. But how my coming out is going to affect whatever I do next. The plan was to take a little bit of time to myself and then get in the studio and hammer out my next album. But suddenly the pressure is too much, and I don’t know if I can do it.”
Trevor nods in understanding. Skyler’s released three albums so far, each vastly outselling the previous one. The expectations were sky high even before he came out.
“I know I’m getting into my own head about it. But it’s like, are all my songs supposed to sound super gay now? And what does that even mean?”
Trevor starts to laugh, but he turns serious again at Skyler’s tortured expression.
“It’s dumb, I know,” Skyler says.
“I didn’t say that,” he argues.
“But it is. I’m just not sure what people are expecting of me now.”
Trevor twirls some lo mein around his chopsticks. “I think you’re right that you’re getting in your head too much. Or letting other people get in your head.” Trevor’s certainly fallen into that trap himself in the past. But Skyler’s a better person than him, so he tells him, “You should keep making the music you want to make. And people will love it like they always do.”
Skyler gives him a cheeky grin. “Likeyoulove it?”
He grabs a fortune cookie off the table and throws it at him. “Come on. Of course I love your damn music. Don’t let it go to your head, it’s big enough.”
“You don’t really think that, do you?” Skyler asks softly.
He shakes his head.
Skyler smiles, then picks up the cookie from the floor, peels open the wrapper, and cracks it in two so he can pull out the fortune strip. “You will receive everything you’ve ever needed,” he reads.
“In bed,” they both add at the same time.
They laugh, but then their eyes lock and they fall silent as the atmosphere in the room changes. Trevor doesn’t know for certain what Skyler’s thinking about, buthe’ssuddenly thinking about all the things the two of them have done in bed together, both sweet and filthy, and it’s making it hard to hold Skyler’s eye contact. So he breaks it, letting his eyes fall to his food.
Skyler places one half of the fortune cookie on the edge of Trevor’s plate before munching on the other half. Then he says, “Since I started my solo career, I’ve never had writer’s block like this before. I don’t like it.”
“You just need some inspiration. It’ll come to you when it’s meant to,” Trevor tells him. He knows that’s basically an empty platitude though, and he wishes there was something he could do to help, because he hates to think of Skyler struggling.
“I know, I know,” Skyler says. “We both know writing’s not something you can force. But it always seemed like I had an endless amount of music in mebefore. Even when I’m busy on tour, I’m constantly jotting down ideas and recording bits of melodies. But now that I actually need to come up with new material, I can’t. Coming out was supposed to make me feel freer, and instead it’s made me feel more stuck. Even meditating isn’t helping.”
“Wait, you meditate?”
That isn’t something Trevor can imagine Skyler James—a constantly moving ball of energy—doing.
“You want to see my meditation room?” Skyler quips.
Trevor laughs, butoh. He’s not joking. “You seriously have a meditation room?”
“It’s for meditation and yoga. I’m really into yoga. I started doing it years ago. It uh, helps me to calm down.” Skyler looks a bit awkward after he says this, peeling the tempura breading off a chicken finger.
And Trevor understands.
Skyler needed a way to keep himself calm after Trevor was no longer there to help. Guilt hits him again at the reminder that he couldn’t be there for him. To be his anchor. But he’s proud of Skyler for learning a way to overcome his fidgeting on his own. If there’s anyone strong enough to overcome anything, it’s Skyler.
“So yeah,” Skyler continues, running a finger over the low neck of his tank top, drawing Trevor’s attention to his skin. “I do yoga every day. I prefer to do it at home, in my own space, but even when I’m on tour or whatever, I bring a mat with me. I like how it combines both movement and being still. And then I fell into meditation too. Sometimes, if I have time, the very first thing I’ll do in the morning is go sit in the room and meditate.”
“For how long?”
“Sometimes five minutes, sometimes an hour. Though I rarely have that much time.”
“You can sit still for that long?” Trevor asks him gently. He’s not trying to be a smartass. He’s genuinely fascinated by this new revelation about the man he used to know everything about.
