Just Go With It
∞ I ∞
It was late, cold and dark. Mainly because that's what London was like at six in the evening, in the middle of November, and lashing it down with rain outside.
You know what also doesn't help? Working in a souvenir shop, off Trafalgar Square on Whitehall, when there are virtually no tourists, which doesn't even have a sodding door on the front. Nope, not one closable door. It's a wide-open space with a grate you open up in the morning and close up at night.
I might also have the only shop job in the entire city where staying in your hat, coat, scarf and gloves on the shop floor was actually mandatory. If the manager, a lovely Northern Woman called Alyssa, even got a whiff of one of us not keeping "proper warm", it was Lecture Time with a side of the Eye Of Shame. It was awful, and I always made sure I was wrapped up when it was my turn to get my backside frozen off for slightly-over-minimum wage.
I might also have the only shop job in the entire city where staying in your hat, coat, scarf and gloves on the shop floor was actually mandatory. If the manager, a lovely Northern Woman called Alyssa, even got a whiff of one of us not keeping "proper warm", it was Lecture Time with a side of the Eye Of Shame. It was awful, and I always made sure I was wrapped up when it was my turn to get my backside frozen off for slightly-over-minimum wage.
Today, I was on The Late Shift alone, trussed up in my thick, long, black coat, a pair of super-warm half-finger gloves with mitten tops, and my trusty Winnie The Pooh scarf that I lived in throughout every single winter. I had my long, thick bright red hair down – bright pillarbox red, because auburn (yes, auburn! Shush with the "ginger" rubbish!) just wasn't exactly Gothy Enough for me – and wearing it that way to keep my ears and face more insulated from the chill, so I didn't also have to wear earmuffs or hats – especially hats. Hats hated me. Whatever I'd ever done to hats, they were getting their revenge back in spades. Plus, it also meant that being a bit gladhappy with the eyeliner and some good mascara was all I needed to keep looking Gothy, instead of something more expressive or complicated. Because when the weather was like this, using that much purple and black eyeshadow was a complete waste of money... not to mention time!
At least eyeliner and mascara came in waterproof editions.
A fairly good friend-colleague of mine called Nikki had been slated to be my co-worker for the evening, but she had gone home early because of an emergency regarding one of her young kids being ill. Her usually level-headed partner had sounded close to absolutely frantic over the phone when I'd answered it, and she had immediately told me the reason for her call – something she'd never bothered to do before. I was also well-aware what "a high temperature and rash" was probably going to mean, so I virtually shoved Nikki out the hole-shaped "door" without a second thought and was left there alone.
After that, I'd then sat behind the freezing counter for about three seconds in a little bit of concerned shock, before hightailing it into the heart of the shop, where one square ceiling had been changed into a square of air-con, had now been turned into the best heater, for the duration of the winter. I currently had it on a setting that had it blowing hot air like there was no tomorrow – because, quite frankly, if you didn't do that and remain huddled under it for most of the day, there wouldn't be any more tomorrows.
Fortunately, there was a bookstand right next to it, to keep you entertained whilst warming up. If the CCTV cameras had any business giving a crap, I was checking the quality of the stock, thank you very much – and not at all reading the absolutely hilarious book about 101 Random Things You Never Knew About London, while I got myself warmed back up again.
Like... Did you know the first escalators were first installed in selfridges in 1912? And they'd needed assistants at either the end aA to be handing out shots of whisky to "get over it", lest they fainted fro o
I was up to page thirty-five. I opened it up eagerly and moved on to page thirty-six.
A distant roll of thunder made me look up soon after, while my stomach dropped down to my feet. I hated thunderstorms. I would rather stay in the staff room toilet than have to go out there, if one started up tonight. Regardless of the plans I had with Selaeyna, my best friend and roommate, after work tonight.
Strangely, it was also fortunate that the noise had caught my attention, because a second later a very bedraggled young man came almost bursting in, sopping wet, wearing a dripping black military coat with solid black biker boots, and pushing a dripping mop of shoulder-length black hair out of his face. Dark brown eyes searched around and very deftly landed on me.
"Oh, I'm sorry, do you work here?" he called out, almost hesitantly and very politely. He didn't even seem at all perturbed by – moderated(ish) – Gothy face makeup, which was somewhat bewildering. Most people did, whether it was from feeling disturbed or impressed. But this guy was acting like it wasn't even there; enough to make me think I'd better double-check on it later on.
"Yep," I answered with fake cheer. I mournfully put the book down, having made it to page thirty-nine. "I absolutely do. What can I help you with?"
"Your umbrellas, please?" He indicated the stand of posh umbrellas that were rather overpriced, but were actually made by an exceedingly excellent well-known brand of reliably weather-proof ones. "I need five of them."
"OK, that's fine," I replied, nonplussed. "You just pick out whatever you want, and I'll put them through the till for you."
I went to the till counter and tried not to second-guess what the man might be doing with five overpriced umbrellas. The weather was definitely not that bad.
But then, one loud bugger of thunder rolled again, sounding like a very angry Thor who maybe, probably, had found his ("he's adopted") baby brother Loki had attempted to destroy yet another planet in the galactical universe out of petty sibling rivalry and sulkiness.
.... Or maybe the weather reallywas that bad.
"Do you want a bag for them?" I offered, forcing myself to concentrate on this planet, and focusing on getting myself back into the till system, using clumsy and stiff fingers that still couldn't move properly from being cold, despite the mittens and nice heater I'd just been under for at least ten minutes. I'm
"Oh, yes, please."
The man came up to the counter with his selection, all in plain black that was even more starkly rich than usual against his paler than pale skintone, and placed them down carefully. He then looked up at me, and – just for a moment – my brain flatlined. The man was stunningly gorgeous, and his eyes were very dark brown, ringed with eyeliner, and his jaw and cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass, and all framed by slick and wet jet-black hair. Hesitatingly, gave me an attempt at a smile, which just made him look endearing as well as even more incredibly gorgeous. It had been a long time since I'd fancied a man, but boy, this one was something else, entirely.
He seemed to have a nervous energy about him, unable to be still, looking outside every now and then, so I decided to try talking to him. He probably needed his mind taken away from the storm, which seemed to be just about on top of us, now.
"I'm sorry you're going to have to go back out in that," I said conversationally, putting his selection through the handheld barcode scanner. "Do you have to go far?"
"I think everywhere's 'quite far' when it's raining like this," the man replied ruefully. "And it would have to be today, too."
"Oh, no, were you doing something special?" I offered my sympathy, because I was basically in the same predicament.
"Yeh." He gave a mirthless laugh, like what he was thinking about was pure irony. "I'm supposed to be meeting with, uh... friends." He said it strangely, making it sound like he either didn't want to tell me, or was making something up because he actually didn't know what the answer was and was just guessing. "We... We're going out."
"Oh, nice. Anything special?"
The man shrugged. "Just a small gig in Soho."
"Ah. My friend is dragging me to one of those, too," I shared nonchalantly, still going with trying to get him to feel a little calmer through conversation. I hated seeing people out of sorts in any way; I was too much of an empath now, having been through more than enough myself to hate thinking other people were going through something bad or difficult as well. Then I added wryly, "Though I'm really not looking forward to it now, knowing I'm going to have to go out in that mess. I don't think anything can be worth going through all that to see."
"Ha.yeh, I get it. I'm not really going to be in any fit state to myself after being out in such a deluge."
"Well I hope it's worth it for you, at least," I offered, whilst starting to bag up the umbrellas. "I suppose you're at least a fan of whatever you're going to see?"
I received a wry and amused smirk, along with a raised eyebrow. "Isn't that how it's supposed to work?"
"Well, if you are, you're one up on me." I laughed with a mild huff at the teasing. "Because I actually haven't much of a clue about the band my friend's dragging me out into this to listen to."
"Are you not into what she's taking you to hear, then?" the man asked with interest, leaning his forearms and elbows on the counter and tilting his head. He seemed in a better mood now I was talking to him about this. It changed his demeanor and character immediately, and this charming, charismatic aura was starting to emanate from him. His eyes flitted to mine every so often, black lashes opening up to show those very dark brown eyes, glancing at me with intense interest and curiosity that I definitely wasn't used to.
"I don't really know much about them to know if I am or not," I shrugged, forcing myself to ignore that extra whoosh of butterflies. "They're some band she won tickets to see, in one of those things they call intimate and acoustic, but I just know it means cramped and loud. I'm sure it's quite nice for fans to have these celebrity people practically in your lap, but it's not really my cup of tea."
"Well, I've managed to get into a few of these little semi–private gigs." The man leaned further forward and smiled a little wryly. I had to try my very best to ignore the way this beautiful creature was leaning his weight onto arms that were pressing on the counter top, moving in closer and talking to me like he was sharing some intimate secret. "They've all been quite nice, even if you're all a little bit jammed in together, and, yep, it's definitely a lot more cosy than going to a stadium. But they do tend to be quite upscale, if you were thinking you're going to be stuffed into some dark and dingy basement with overpowered amplifiers, so I'm sure you'll be fine."
"God, I hope you're right," I groaned. I was so not taken in by the soft, lower tone he used to tell me that. "After a day like today, I really don't have the patience to go out to a small venue, listen to loud music, and fight for the late Tube home, and all while the weather's attempting to have me drowned."
"You're an impressively good friend then," my new companion grinned, clearly amused by what I'd do for Selaeyna. "Kudos for being so dedicated to your friends like that, putting them first without caring about yourself. Can't say I've come across it very often."
"Meh," I shrugged, immediately downplaying the minor compliment. "She collects favorite famous people and tends to drag me to see them, whether it's in a film, a signing or other personal appearance, or some music venue for a concert. She tends to have good taste, so most of the time I find that I enjoy myself, even if it's sometimes a bit mortifying if it's an in-person meet-and-greet situation. Sometimes, she has no shame when talking to them, and that's because she's a performer herself, so she tends to see it as more of a kinship rather like a famous-person-and-fan situation."
"She sounds fun," he grinned more at me. I laughed.
"Oh, that she is. She is highly entertaining."
The man's deep eyes were right on me, and I wanted to both drown in them as well as hide under the counter. Swooning didn't become me, and I tended to avoid it at all costs.
"You got far to go to this thing of yours?" the man asked casually.
"Not really, but in this weather it's going to feel like about six miles. I've got to make it from here into the warrens behind Shaftesbury Avenue, where some of the little venues are, around where Old Compton Street is. I'm meeting my friend there."
"Wow. I'd say that makes you an admirably dedicated friend, then."
"I'm hardly going to let her down because of the weather. That's just daft," I retorted with a snort. "Anyway, I'm originally from Wales. This is nothing."
"Welsh with no accent?" The man raised both eyebrows with surprise. I rolled my eyes and shook my head with mild exasperation.
"I trained in Dramatic Arts and Musical Theatre. I can manage just about any accent you want, but a traditional middle-class London accent works best with most people, or having a North or East London accent in various places as well. However, when you go to Performing Arts, and especially drama school, they do tend to imbue you with a "traditional" or "neutral" type of accent, instead of using any native regional one. I haven't been able to help it for many years, so, basically, this is my accent now."
"Well, well, so you're a performer?" That big grin came back again, even wider. "You done anything I've seen or know about?"
"I went to drama school, but I've never worked professionally," I told him evenly, stamping down the ball of nausea rising in my throat to talk about the subject. I let out a breath and tried to "reset" myself. "I've just been doing this for the past few years. At least it's a stable job with a steady paycheque."
"Ah. Awkward topic. I see."
The quiet, solemn tone and sage nod wasn't what I was expecting, especially by the standards he'd already set for his personality. I blinked at him, feeling wrongfooted by someone being able to read it and tell so clearly when I was playing it off with nonchalance.
There was silence now, but it was still calm and open to more conversation.
"It's OK," I said after a moment to collect myself. "But, uh, do you want to pay for your umbrellas now?"
"Oh, shit... Yeh." The man absentmindedly patted down his coat quickly to locate a wallet, then picked out a card. He then froze as still as a statue for at least five seconds staring at it, before taking a deep breath in and out and looking back at me expectantly. I knew the feeling well, if he was doing that because was concerned about how much money was going to be in his account, and whether it was going to be enough to cover what he had to buy.
During his statue moment, I'd taken the opportunity to hit a button on the till to send the details to the card machine, so it was ready to go. After he'd come back to himself, he quickly touched the card to my reader, making it beep and spit out paper.
Whilst I took the receipts from the till and the card payment machine, I noticed the man was blowing on his hands and stamping his feet a little. It was no wonder, the counter was almost right by the entrance, and customers were right in the trajectory of whatever weather was outside, whereas behind the counter, we did have a little shelter – and not to mention a tiny fan heater going hell for leather and squealing itself hoarse on a shelf beneath the till, for the entire duration the shop was open. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to be prevented from turning you into an ice sculpture whilst you were stuck behind it.
"You know, if you're cold, that big air con thing up there in the ceiling is also a really nice heater right now." I pointed upwards at it, then handed the receipts over. "That's why I was standing right there when you came in."
"Ahhh, that definitely explains the extremely crestfallen look you gave me for about two seconds before being nice to me."
"Stand under it – you'll understand a hell of a lot better," I quipped with a grin.
The man raised an eyebrow and kept his eyes on me whilst he walked backwards towards it, as if challenging my assessment of how good it was. Dear lord, it was hard not flinching under such intense and charismatic scrutiny. Score one for doing most of my studies in acting and Performing Arts. Usually, that life choice never worked out in my favour, but after spending years training in dramatic arts and ad-lib, it wasn't too hard to keep a neutral mask on, when – again – I just wanted to melt right into the floor.
When the man got to the powerful downwards trajectory of the heater, he blew out a long breath, and humorously raised his hands, palms up, to the ceiling to warm them, as he would have with an open fire.
"I take it back – this thing is perfect," he grinned at me. "I really wish I didn't have to leave now – cos, wow, this is like paradise."
I laughed heartily at his joy, stomping down on my disappointment at having to lose my new "friend" into the ether and void soon enough. Once out that door, I wasn't going to see him again, which both was and wasn't a bad thing. There was only so much hotness I could cope with on a plutonic level, and I'd already exceeded it with the few friends that I already had.
After a few moments, the man reluctantly gave up the heater.
"You can have it back now," he announced, with a smirk and a wink. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to get going."
I snorted to hide my disappointment. "Good luck with you, going back out into that nightmare."
"Don't worry, I already feel quite sorry for myself." He winked again and sauntered back to the counter to pick up the waiting bag, then took one of the umbrellas out of it. He started walking backwards whilst tugging it out of its sleeve and shaking it out.
A moment later, his eyes flicked back up to meet mine and he smiled widely. "Well, it's been nice to meet you...?"
He trailed off with a strange lilt to the last word, then I realised he was waiting for me to give him my name. "Oh. Uh, Rebecca. Becky."
The man quite suddenly came striding back to the counter and held out his hand to me. "I'm Adam. Nice to meet you."
I took off one of my gloves and shook his hand, trying to not melt into the floor during the short handshake and that feeling of his mostly-warmed palm against mine.
Then he just turned and left, and I begrudgingly went back to page thirty-nine of my book under that perfect heater, where I was trying very hard...ish... not to ruminate obsessively over the very strange, outlandishly discombobulating, encounter I'd just experienced.
∞ II ∞
An hour and a half later, I was standing in a queue with Selaeyna, waiting to be let into the VIP area of whatever posh old pub building we were at. Thankfully, the torrential rain had worn itself out, but it had left cold temperatures, soaking wet roads, and outdoor eating furniture outside the restaurants and pubs too drenched to use, and a clean, clear aura in the air
I had spruced myself up the best I could before I'd left the shop. I'd had the outfit I wanted to wear there and ready to change into, while makeup had been a quick job at the till counter with a face compact mirror, because, naturally, there wasn't a usable one for makeup in the tiny, single staff toilet. I'd also made myself two cups of very strongcoffee to keep me going after a very long day in the cold, and power my walk through Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, then beyond Shaftesbury Avenue into the Soho Warrens.
I'd found Selaeyna at our meeting point, looking gorgeous, with perfect makeup adorning her Mediterranean skin and bringing out her huge brown eyes. Long, brunette hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, perfectly layered and perfectly straight, her belted coat easily showing off her well-earned dance-toned, slim figure, as did the black skinny jeans that showed the contours of her equally dance-toned legs. The collective total created a uniquely beautiful woman, who was even more beautiful on the inside.
Unfortunately, as always, that also had the unintended effect of making me feel like an invisible pile of wet sawdust in comparison, whenever I was anywhere near her. But I never told her that, because she would be dismayed, possibly even gutted, that she made me feel that way, and I couldn't have her bearing the brunt of my burdens like that.
Almost as if to prove the point that she was just as beautiful on the inside, she was waiting for me with a cardboard tray of two coffees; both of them for me. The girl was my lifelong best friend and knew me far too well by now.
We passed the time talking up a storm, like we always did, whilst I guzzled down my two four-shot Grande Caramel Macchiatos. I told Selaeyna about my temporary new "friend" at the shop this evening, and I immediately got a dressing down for not asking for his number to go with his name.
"Seriously, how could you do that?" Salaena smacked me on the arm with the back of her hand, just to drive that point home. "You just let him leave?"
"There's not even a door on the front of the shop, Laeyna," I deadpanned. "I can hardly keep anyone hostage when there's a great big hole in the wall for them to just walk out of."
My friend huffed. "It still wouldn't have killed you to ask for his number, given he so readily coughed up his name."
"Well, since I've never done it before, I was hardly going to chance it when you were waiting for me to come with you to your special gig," I retorted smartly.
I got hit with a seriously unimpressed glare.
"You are a menace," my friend told me pointedly. She tried to look angry, but all she did was end up looking cute. She was brilliant at acting when it came to being on a stage or in front of a camera shoved in her face, but absolutely rubbish at any kind of pretending when it came to me. "Next time somebody does that with you, I want you to have their number and half their biography, d'ya hear me?"
"Next time?" I laughed. "It's taken all of my twenty-three years to get to this time!"
"When we get home, I'm getting you to sign a contract in blood that you're going to be doing it."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head with another laugh. "Yes, dear."
It didn't take long to get through the queue once the venue opened its VIP lane. A whole bunch of us were escorted up two sets of narrow stairs in the centuries-old building, and herded into some random room that was pretty small, considering this was for some kind of concert or gig. It reminded me of a full length drawing room of a Regency townhouse in some Jane Austen film.
We had all been told to help ourselves to glasses of Champagne, which I then noticed were set out on a table as we filed in, snatching two and reluctantly giving one to Selaeyna, instead of making her get her own and keeping the spare for myself. I was already guzzling mine before we even found somewhere to sit.
There were a few traditional-posh-pub tables and chairs that had mostly been pushed up along the periphery of the room, up against the walls of three sides. The fourth, long, wall opposite was almost furniture-free, but did have a drum kit and four guitars on stands, with a small stool close to each one of them, and I didn't fail to notice there was not a single microphone, amplifier, or speaker monitor in sight.
There was no pre-arranged seating, much to my surprise, so the two of us found a couple of stools next to the doorway we came in from, that were a bit more secluded than the rest of them. Others were seated on chairs and even the tables. There was no din, conversation was muted, creating only a gentle hum, which suited my poor, aching head just fine.
With coats off and people settling in for the hour-long "private session" – as it has been named – I saw people weren't really as dressed up as I feared they might have been, making me feel a lot better about my own choice of ensemble. Hedging my bets, I'd aimed for simple-yet-elegant, wearing a black, ankle-length asymmetrical-hem skirt, a long, long-sleeved mesh top over a black camisole tunic, and black buckled boots with six-inch heels and three-inch platformed soles, so I could at least be a bit taller than my usual five-foot-two.
Make-up was touching up what was there and adding dark crimson lipstick.
I still felt like a pig with lipstick compared to my friend, though, looking stunning in the aforementioned black high-waisted skinny jeans, a deep-red and long sleeved off-shoulder Bardot top. Added to this were a pair of high heeled ankle boots, elevating her model-esque five-foot-ten height even taller – making me even more relieved I'd opted for my tall boots.
The option was an immediately surprising and brave choice for my friend, who struggled with her self-confidence and body-image every day. A vast amount of childhood trauma, on both our accounts, made sure we were rarely at any kind of peace with ourselves in any way, particularly with our bodies. There was another friend, unfortunately absent tonight due to work, who had also been through the same things as we had. Emily had arguably come out of things better than we had, and was at least outwardly functioning and more successful at general life things than we were, but struggled a lot, still.
In a way, Selaeyna had taken it the worst. She almost never went out and only interacted with anyone when she absolutely had to – even down to her fellow cast members in the musical she was appearing in, on Shaftesbury Avenue. To see Selaeyna so un-selfconscious and relaxed about it tonightwas nothing short of awe inspiring.
It was all unequivocally down to the band she was here to see today, with me mainly as moral support rather than a fellow fan. As I'd told Adam, I knew next to nothing about their music. But what I did know about them was that they were a quintet of very inspiring, genuine, caring young men who ensured everyone who was a fan of theirs felt appreciated, seen, respected, and safe.
Selaeyna had told me quite a bit about this band and their ways, but having it confirmed was... bewilderingly strange. She had explained that a relationship of mutual respect had been cultivated, but that, in turn, had subsequently included a lot more interaction than the average band would give: Placard requests would be acknowledged, acquiesced, respected, or humoured. Fans would be drawn on stage to dance or sing, just for the fun of it. The lead singer was a single-handed security nightmare, because he would either dive into the crowd, or swan in there during and after shows, for hugs and selfies – with the rest of the band following him in, whenever he went after they had finished the show.
What stood out intensely tonight, as everyone sat and waited quietly and respectfully, was that there was no excitement, no bubbling frenzy in the air. There was a calmness, one laced with delight or joy, but none of the hyperactivity I'd come to expect of fans when going to concerts or gigs.
I could see it here, how that world they had created translated into real-world effects, with this gathering being seen as more like going to see a friend perform, rather than your favourite band or idols. So, no extra stress or headaches for me, then, which was really great.
My ruminations were quite suddenly cut short, when someone came to the door we were sitting by, and knocked three times on it to get everybody's attention, making me nearly jump out of my skin.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, and everyone in-between, I hope you're already having a nice time. We are now hoping you will now be ready for your evening's live performance. So, I'm now going to be handing over the floor to our live act for the night – The Breakers!"
There was a thunderous applause from the thirty or so people in the room, along with a couple of supportive whoops, and a moment later out of a different door, the band came in. Three held up their hands to wave, each with big grins, a fourth held up drumsticks and tapped them together in an X-shape. The last one...
Well.
He wore tight black leather pants, an unbuttoned black shirt that revealed the front of his entire bare, highly-defined torso, and had very dark brown eyes circled with eyeliner, along with damp, shoulder-length black hair, and solid black biker boots.
I almost felt myself pale into a ghostly grey (there wasn't a chance in hell I could get any paler white than my own skin tone), as my stomach dropped to the earth's core and my blood iced over in embarrassment. I grabbed Selaeyna's arm, and it was probably a bit too hard.
"Oh my god," I hissed under my breath, feeling light-headed and almost hysterical. Selaeyna jumped, then looked back at me blankly, the big grin on her face morphing into concern. "That's him! That's the random guy I served at the shop before coming here!"
"What..." She looked at me blankly until she focused on where I was trying to subtly nod my head towards. Then clarity reigned and her jaw dropped before she could talk, then eventually hissed back, "Oh my god! You mean you served The Hellhound?"
I winced a bit at Selaeyna's use of their frontman's performing moniker. It came from the deep and dark persona, dogged protection of fans, and the exceptionally hyper-energetic, hyper-entertaining manner of his onstage presence, dancing, and talking a lot, especially about the darker side of life. From what Selaeyna had told me about him, and from what I'd quite recently seen in the shop, it seemed to suit him.
"Well, in my defence, when he introduced himself, he just called himself Adam," I grumbled in my own defence. "He didn't exactly announce himself as Adam Ryder, aka The Hellhound of The Breakers."
Dear lord, it was no wonder he noticeably hesitated to use his card. He had obviously realised I genuinely had no idea who he was, and he didn't want to chance the possibility of "outing" himself and changing that by showing me his name.
He'd also become more animated and interested in talking to me after I told him I was coming here. From all of his questions and my answers, the sly git must have known that I was coming here to see him, hence the reassurance it was going to be a lot calmer and quieter than I'd expected. Before leaving, he'd then made the point of giving me his name, knowing he was going to end up seeing me again in a couple of hours.
I dared to look back up at the lot of them setting up, and it was at that moment I accidentally caught his eye. He stilled for a fraction of a second, but his face remained a shuttered performer's mask of neutral concentration as they got themselves, and their equipment, ready for their show.
"Oh, dear god," I groaned very quietly, pressing my face down into Salaeyna's shoulder, close to her ear so she would be the only one to hear me. "I think he's seen me."
"Considering we're right in his eyeline, it would be entirely shocking if he hadn't," she retorted mildly. "Only you, Becky Martin. Only you."
It turned out, as it tended to with Selaena, that the band was brilliant, somewhere between hard rock, heavy metal, and some Glam Rock thrown in, too, of all things. The Hellhound had one hell of a voice, could play guitar like a god designed him only to ever do just that. The man bantered and spoke with his audience like he was entertaining a bunch of his closest friends, and they responded in kind, creating this intimate level of conversation that included discussions, sass, jokes, and shared emotions – both good and bad.
That nervous energy he'd had before, in the shop, was coming out in his performance and movements in droves. However, this changed when he went into a song closer towards the end of the set. The Hellhound sat down on one of the stools with his guitar resting on his lap, and started playing a ballad alone, occasionally being underscored by brushes on the drumskins or symbols for effect.
It was so incredibly beautiful, my brain just melted. I may have even fallen a little bit in love with him during it. The song was so beautiful, and based on how the single-minded support and dedication of their fanbase had helped him, and them, overcome personal and tragic hardships. It was called Now You Belong To Me, which just about said it all. The reverence of their fans was turned right back at them, and I noticed there wasn't a dry eye in the house.
They held court for an hour and a half, which was a lot over their allocated time of just one hour. Even then, they only wrapped up because the same man that announced them was standing in the door again, sending hand signals at them that were getting more and more frantic as the extra half-hour ticked on by, which included miming a line across this throat, a twirling finger in the air, tapping his watch, and, finally, crossing his arms and flinging them back out again with his palms out, over and over again. He looked like he was about to blow an aneurysm by the time he did that, so The Hellhound rolled his eyes, shook his head and huffed loudly.
"All right. Look over there, guys, we're being given the metaphorical red light, and told we're out of time here." He indicated, arm stretched, palm outwards at the man in the doorway, who scowled at him with his arms crossed.
"We have to close up the establishment, Hellhound," he retorted, pointedly. "I'm sure you'd all appreciate the overnight lock-in, but that's not going to happen."
Hellhound grinned almost manically and laughed. "Ha! Oh god, don't give me ideas, Craig! I'd do it too, and you know it."
A teasing rise of applause, whoops, and shouts of "go on, Hellhound, make them do it!"
"Hound, you started them off again," Craig complained. Hellhound's grin stayed on as he looked at the floor and shook his head in amusement. It also almost like he was talking himself out of it, too.
"All right, come on guys, we've all got homes to go to, and we're clearly no longer welcome here, it seems. We're, um..." He huffed, his hands on his hips. "Yeh. Look, we've had a damned good night here, and you've all been brilliant, like you guys always are to us. On the way out, there are signed cards I nearly broke my wrist trying to do in time for this, and I had to do them so fast, after I got here late! There's a few unique trinket type souvenirs, too. I am seriously going to try and do another one of these again soon, OK? They're brilliant fun and I get to see you properly when we're performing, which is a huge bonus. So, for now, we bid you all a goodnight and safe journeys home, OK?"
There was quite thunderous applause, made louder by the smaller size of the room. Hellhound blew kisses and waved, then tilted his chin upwards at the rest of them to get them to leave with him. The other four left with him, waving and grinning, taking the guitars they still had slung over their shoulders with them, the drummer leaving with his drumsticks again.
The door closed. Then, they were gone.
∞ III ∞
The stillness and silence that followed for a few seconds, everyone processing the last hour and a half of their lives was actually over, then there seemed to be a collective sigh of breath out, followed by a slowly growing hum of people talking and discussing what they had just experienced.
"That was a hell of a lot better than I thought this was going to be," I said quietly to my friend. I was almost still in shock from the experience. "You're right, they're really good."
"High praise from a very cynical former stage performer," Selaeyna retorted dryly. She knew quite well I meant ten times that amount of praise, but she always found it exasperating I could barely ever admit to it.
We got off our stools and tried joining the queue that had been forming around us, to get out of the door the two of us were next to. Just as it was our turn to get to the doorway to leave, before we'd even put our coats on, both of us were intercepted by the man Hellhound had called Craig. The Event Co-Ordinator – according to the pass around his neck – seemingly appeared from nowhere, only to then usher us to one side as more people behind us left through the door I'd really wanted to go through, now it was finally Home Time for me. I was thoroughly exhausted and still had to fight with the tube to get home.
"Hello, there. Are you Rebecca?" The man looked at me expectantly. My innate fear response and anxiety kicked in, but I nodded slowly and warily, wondering how he knew what it was, and why on earth he needed me to verify it. "If you wouldn't mind, would you please follow me?"
"Have we done something wrong?" Salaeyna asked timidly, yet urgently, her eyes wide and immediately hyper-anxious. Well versed in her panic attacks after years of helping her overcome them, I grabbed her hand quickly and squeezed it. My friend clung onto it like a lifeline.
"Oh, absolutely not!" The man was quick to reassure her, offering a sincere smile. "There was just a special request for your presence in the greenroom area."
The what now?
And yes, I was well-aware as to what a greenroom was.
We were both guided into the centre of the room we had been attempting to leave, then over towards the door the band had entered from. I had a cold rush of realisation about what was happening, just as that door was opened and he indicated for us to go through. Then we were left in some different corridor and staring at a closed door.
Just a moment later, I heard a now-familiar voice behind me and wanted to sink into the floor.
"Hello Becky," he grinned. "I had a feeling I'd end up seeing you here, after our conversation."
I turned around and huffed a small, ironic laugh when I saw the man from the shop and the gig behind me, now without any shirt whatsoever, like he'd forgotten to get dressed again, rushing out here instead.
"Ah, yes. Mr. Adam-from-the-shop. I've got a big thank you for the heads up on that," I shot with a tight, self-conscious smile. I shrugged with open arms. "See, I told you I didn't have a clue what Selaeyna was dragging me to see."
Adam... The damned Hellhound!... barked a laugh at my words. "Oh, you certainly proved that. I told you it'd be fine, didn't I?"
"Yes. You did. It was."
"I, uh, made sure to tell the lads to keep it down a bit extra." He offered a rather shy, self-effacing smile with that information. As my eyebrows started climbing, he pushed forwards to smoothly transition onto another topic. "Ah, and so this must be the fun friend of yours you mentioned, then?"
Selaeyna went bright red and squeaked, so I introduced her.
"Selaeyna Scott, big fan," I introduced her, indicating her with my hand.
The grin on Adam's face widened dramatically and he looked almost gleeful. "Yeh? Really?"
His eyes locked on Selaeyna's face and he tilted his head to one side, endearingly waiting with almost baited breath for his confirmation. Selaeyna bit on her lip shyly, just about managing a self-conscious but enthusiastic nod. Adam's demeanour went from gleeful to outright excited.
"Brilliant!" he exclaimed, clearly delighted about the confirmation. He opened his arms out. "Can I get a hug?"
I'd been told by Selaeya before about his insanely insistent way of treating every single fan like an old friend, thoughtlessly and selflessly giving out hugs, kisses, selfies, clothing, instruments, trinkets, and anything else you might randomly think of, and revelling in it with as much joy as his fans did. In the Entertainment Industry, where most celebrities wanted some kind of a professional relationship, or at least boundaries, with their fans, Hellhound and his Breakers were the exact opposite and, according to her, they wanted to give them whatever they had ever wanted from their own favourite celebrities or idols. Boundaries didn't exist, mutual respect was paramount, and love to be shared all round. Extraordinarily valiant ideals, but I had absolutely doubted the supposed truth or sincerity behind it could be so imbued.
As much as she loved these five people, I had always sincerely disbelieved it was all as innocuously straightforward as she made it seem, or she believed it to be.
Seeing it in person tonight, however, only made me realise just how right she had been.
To my absolute shock, at Adam's request, Selaeyna immediately dropped her things and moved forward to him, and all but threw herself at him. They immediately wrapped each other up, like long-lost friends meeting up at the airport; something which rather blew my mind, because that was something I had never seen my friend do with anyone.
Selaeyna Scott didn't even hug her own family after enduring trauma she shouldn't have. Watching her immediately make a beeline for him, and giving her own hug with as much fervor as Adam gave his own, told me everything I needed to know about what kind of people these guys were. They must have all undoubtedly, assuredly and unequivocally been exceptionally honourable and safe people, based on how much trust my friend had in the man she was with. She didn't even flinch or wriggle away as he kept his arm slung around her shoulders, and peppered her cheerfully with questions about the show, then about her favourite album and songs.
Within minutes, the two of them were talking animatedly, his hands and fingers tangling in hers up by her shoulder, and her arm slung around his waist, looking even more like lifelong best friends than even she and I did. Selaeyna was also occasionally being given hard, loud, smacking kisses on her cheek when saying highly approved things, making her scrunch her face and nose adorably and squeak some completely fake protests at being given them. The comfortable affection he unquestioningly gave was bewildering, just as much as Selaeyna unquestioningly accepting and returning it was.
"So, MsRebecca I-Don't-Think-This'll-Be-Worth-It," he then piped up, looking directly at me. I started at the unexpected address, given they'd been chatting together about stuff I had no idea about, for at least five solid minutes, with me just listening in with fascination. "Tell me now – was it worth it?"
"Well... I'll just say it's a good thing you didn't drown trying to make your way over here after leaving the shop," I reluctantly replied vaguely, with a mild smirk, deliberately avoiding answering the question. "There would have been a lot of disappointed people."
"Don't listen to Lady Sardonic over there," Selaeyna grinned, ratting me out. "She loved it."
"Oh, is that right?" He turned to her, and she nodded. Then, he snapped his eyes back to me and smirked. "Are we a fan now, then?"
To my surprise, I noticed a small level of expectancy in his demeanour, his widened eyes boring into me earnestly, like he was waiting on edge for my answer. A global superstar, looking at me like he was hoping I wouldn't break his heart, whilst trying to cover it up with arrogant teasing... wasn't something I had been expecting.
"OK... It was... good," I acquiesced, without giving away too much. I hated giving away anything about myself to people, let alone anyone I barely knew. "I guess I might call myself a fan, but then I also haven't listened to any of the albums."
"Translation, yes, she's a fan," Selaeyna again told him to rat me out with a huge grin on her face. "This girl only speaks in fluent sarcasm, underwhelming sardonic replies, and otherwise brutal honesty."
Adam kept his eyes on me and smirked. "I'm starting to notice."
"How long are you all in London now?" Selaeyna asked him. He turned his attention back to her and smiled a beautiful smile.
"We're staying for a while," he let her know. "It's about time we were home for a bit. It's fun to be away and in new places, but really, who doesn't prefer to be at home?"
"Well, with a house like yours, I'm not surprised," Selaeyna giggled. Yes, giggled...! "It's so utterly gorgeous, I'm frankly shocked you can ever leave it – or even need to."
"Well, since the mortgage doesn't exactly pay itself, babes, one has to drag themselves into the dredges of the salt mines, or sell this ass," was the retorting whip-sharp quip that came back out.
"And what a beautiful ass it is," Selaeyna grinned back, and I very nearly outwardly facepalmed my friend's brazen play-flirting, except I was still in quite some shock at how my friend was currently play-flirting – and with a guy she'd technically never even met until just now, and whilst she was basically all wrapped up in him, more than comfortable as she was ever going to get even with someone did really know well, let alone a virtual stranger.
"Aww, thanks babes." It earned another big, smacking kiss on the cheek from Adam, making her squeak again. "You're a sweetheart."
"Oh, I know," she smoothly chirped shamelessly. "Someone has to be, when your best friend's a grumpy Goth!"
I couldn't even deny the charges, so I nodded sagely, and as solemnly as possible added, "That's so very absolutely true."
Adam's grin widened further as his eyes turned to me. "Oh, is that so?"
"Utterly inevitable," I responded, nodding my head equally gravely.
He looked between Selaeyna and me, his eyes and smile softening. "Sounds like a good team."
Selaeyna then met my eyes with her own soft smile. "Yeh. Definitely the best. She got me through a lot, you know? Then she listened to me chew her ear off all about you lot for the last three years or so."
One again, Adam's eyes slid from attentively looking at Selaeyna over to me. "And yet you still didn't recognise me?"
The incredulous amusement coming off him in waves made it hard to be mad at the teasing. The remark could have come across as arrogant or condescending; yet, he so clearly found such absolute delight in the hilarity of the idea, it just made himrather more adorable, instead.
"I've never seen you before," I retorted pointedly, with a shrug. "I haven't seen pictures, videos, or anything else to do with The Breakers. Not even the music. Selaeyna tells me what she knows – and I don't need to do all the homework if she's done it already."
"So, you really had no idea it was me, when I was at that shop?"
I stared back, my turn to be incredulous. "Seriously, on what level was that not obvious?"
I was more than slightly bewildered when I got a shy smile in return.
"Just checking," he murmured, much to my surprise.
"Oh, Hound, can I ask you something?" Selaeyna softly requested shyly, using his shortened moniker. Since having been properly introduced to him for the first time as his "civilian" self, this was still surreally bewildering to hear everyone call him solely by his stage name.
"Yeh, babes, of course," Adam answered with his own solemn gentleness, immediately turning his head to her and giving her his full and rapt attention right away. It was the very same gentleness he immediately gave me, after he stumbled upon the fact I was upset when speaking about not working in productions. "What is it?"
"Do you think it would be OK to say hello to the others?"
"Sick of me already, eh?" he teased.
"Of course not, never!" Selaeya smiled widely and squished him silly about his waist. Adam immediately gave out a loud groan and another gentle laugh at the anaconda-level of attack. "I just wanted to meet all of them, too. Plus, I think you really want to talk to my friend. Don't you?"
She smirked teasingly, holding him with a pointed stare whilst he looked momentarily uncomfortable.
"I'm ignoring that second part," Adam pointedly retorted. "But you go on in there and tell them Hellhound said it was OK to come in, because you're adorable and a big fan."
The man kissed Selaena on her cheek again, let her go, and pushed her off towards the makeshift greenroom door. Then, it was just the two of us in the corridor – until I heard a slightly overloud Selaeyna shriek and became immediately panicked and concerned.
"Oh, don't worry," Adam quickly said, after seeing my scared expression. "The guys probably either gave her a really big group hug, or a multitude of simultaneous group cheek kisses. It's one of their favourite ways to rile up the fans."
I threw him a wary stare, pinning him to his words. Reassuringly, he didn't flinch. He simply steadily maintained eye contact and nodded. do
"Honestly, I promise," he added, hands raised in mock-surrender and starting to look uncomfortable, or maybe self-conscious, at being second-guessed with as much scrutiny as I was giving him.
"All right," I accepted, letting my guard back down again. "You definitely know I will do anything for my friends – especially that one."
Adam nodded solemnly and lowered his hands. "That I do. But I promise you, I will do anything for our fans. Every single one of them."
"Good," I stated immediately. I said it with such sincere and open honesty, it took me aback. "Selaeya's talked my ear off about some of the things you, all of you, have ended up doing for them, protecting or saving them, during concerts and whatnots, so I believe you."
From the next room, a disembodied voice shouted out for Adam, preventing him from responding to me.
"Hey, Hound-Dog, you need to come in here, this girl is absolutely adorable!"
"I know, I met her first!" he yelled back.
I watched as Adam dropped his head and moved to lean his back against the hallway wall, bringing me back to the realisation that we were, in fact, still in the corridor.
This was the first time we'd been alone together, since I'd known who he really was.
Just me and The Hellhound.
Alone.