ㅤ/ㅤchapter o
ㅤㅤ¿ㅤNGSY!ㅤ·ㅤTHE BAND//
the only fault is that each of us follows his own star.
december 2016
HIS CURSOR HOVERS over the list of video clips, barely overlapping the words, ‘in full high definition!’ that seem to resurface every three titles or so. His palm is sweaty against the plastic of his computer mouse, fingers struggling to grip onto the flat, oval device. His knuckles are tight, white, bone against skin, but he simply cannot find the energy to click on the bold words.
It appears that all the sessions spent at the fitness gym with Porter were for nothing — he barely has the strength to tap his index finger on the flimsy object in his hand.
He finally lets out a breath, one that he hadn't released for a full minute.
Kaeden dislodges the offensive item from his hand, leaving dampness on the computer mouse and an assembled streak of salt and sweat where his palm last makes contact. The digital screen is suddenly too bright, the dark font colour too much of a contrast against the glare of the white background. The cursor jolts leftwards and lands on the tiny rectangular image, opening a window into the nightmare he's been having for the last two days.
A stage. Their stage. The preview of the video is coincidentally harsh: it's them slowly trickling off stage, beginning with Porter's leather jacket disappearing behind the curtains, then Isang's tall frame untangling himself from the drumset and tossing his sticks on the ground, following. The others, rooted, as if the wires plugged into their expensive instruments had anchored them in their spots, a heavy metal chain barring them from trailing their newest member.
It's odd to see it in a different light. Kaeden remembers the moment the music empties out, leaving only the guiding track playing in his in-ear headphones. The blur of pricey clothes running backstage when he finally glances back at the rest of his team, him squinting in the brightness and cursing myopia for his cluelessness. Now he sees a wealthy fan in the front row seats, gawking at the sight of the fallen band.
Against his better judgement he clicks on the link and basks in the shame of being the frontman.
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