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“I’m not fucking asking.” Levi snapped and stomped out of the room.
Aspen and I exchanged a glance. It might be the first time we looked at each other like we used to.
He searched my face, lips parting like he would say something, but he closed them again. I hated this. I hated the space between us. I didn’t know how to walk any of it back without sacrificing parts of myself, so the space had to stay.
Aspen went to sleep with his brother again, and I climbed into bed with a profound emptiness in my chest. I’d had months of him in my room to give his brother space, and it had all been ripped away.
We had one show left, then I could take time and space and figure out how to get over this.
* * *
NYC had been home over the last few years, but it never felt like returning to Southie. It felt familiar but not home. My apartment was hardly used and in the same building as the one Kingsley and Aspen shared. One floor below them, and it felt too close. My skin felt like there was something crawling under it. I wanted to pull it off.
We had a sold-out show tomorrow night, and then we had at least a month off before they decided if they were adding more shows next year. I needed it. Part of me wanted to leave. Rent a house in California or Boston or maybe Europe. Anywhere so I didn’t have to face Aspen day after day, but the ache in my chest rejected the idea. I didn’t want to be away from him. Why did I want to subject myself to more torture?
Taylor: We are going to spend the day at the Met. Want to come?
We could only mean him and Aspen. They loved to play art collectors and critics. I usually tagged along and laughed, but I didn’t bother to learn it all. I was content to ignore modern and postmodern art. I wanted to sit with the impressionists and postimpressionists. I could stay all day and sink into the softness only art museums gave me. But this felt like Taylor meddling after my high confession.
Royal: Are you two playing roles?
Taylor: would you expect anything less from us?
Royal: Does Aspen know you invited me?
Taylor typed for a long time, but nothing came. I knew what it meant.
Royal: I’ll sit it out.
Taylor: please come. I don’t know what’s up with you two, but I’m tired of Aspen moping around like a sad puppy.
Royal: What is he wearing?
Taylor: art collector cosplay. Why?
Maybe this was the best time to face him since he wouldn’t be in a costume until tomorrow night. We were almost through with the tour. Could we go back to something normal while I figured out my shit?
Taylor: Just come. You two need to get back to normal.
Royal: Fine.
We met awkwardly in the parking garage. Aspen stood next to the car in an ankle-length coat, more like something out of pride and prejudice than his normal grungy streetwear. He had rips in the knees of his black jeans and a sweater over an old and faded My Chemical Romance tee, which made the coat even more out of place. I didn’t know what to think of him anymore. It almost felt like the guy I knew wasn’t real and had only been a mask this entire time. King was absent. I could only guess with his boyfriend. We got into the back of the SUV with Sebastian at the wheel. We were used to being seen around NYC, and since Aspen wasn’t in costume, none of us foresaw it as an issue.
We were so wrong.
As soon as we got out in front of the Met, we drew attention, people pointed, and the tourists gathered. We only had two bodyguards with us since it was all we usually needed when we were out for the day.
Things had changed.
They knew all of us, and it made me wonder if that was because of Aspen, and whether I’d have to deal with this level of fame when he wasn’t with me. But we made it inside, and I almost forgot until every gallery we went into was more packed than the last. It wasn’t as bad as the mob scenes I’d seen for other bands like Pretty Broken, but it was obvious these people weren’t waiting around to look at art. We couldn’t escape them.
“What is going on?” Taylor muttered under his breath as Sebastian made another fan back off of Aspen. He could barely move without being grabbed or groped.
“I think we’ve hit a level of fame we couldn’t comprehend.”
Taylor’s expression changed to thoughtful, head tilted while staring off into space, working it out. “Ohhhh. Shit.”
I’d seen it. I should have known it was a possibility, but I’d never considered it. Lead singers always had an issue, but mostly only super fans could name the rest of the band or recognize them on sight. I got asked for autographs and stopped, but it never impacted my life or made it impossible in the way others dealt with. Aspen got interrupted a lot, and it got annoying, but he never caused a mob.
