Were All Together Again Were Here Were Here Lyrics
Joining a boyband gave Tyler everything he ever dreamed of. A close-knit group of friends, the chance to model a beautiful masculinity, and a song implant that lets him sing even amend than he did before transitioning. But deep on tour, Tyler realizes he wants more from one of his bandmates, yearns for a love that would never fit the paradigm that has been carefully crafted for him. His director wants him to be the heartthrob: available, wholesome, and pure. And since his managing director gave Tyler his vocalization, he can always accept it away again.
Jeff opens the app on his phone while we warm up. While nosotros run through scales and diction exercises and harmonies. While nosotros breathe in—2, three—out—ii, three. While four voices unite to become one, each a ring in a rainbow of sound. While Jeff adjusts the timbre of my vocalism.
It didn't ever audio similar this. That's part of why I auditioned for Back 2 Back—for the song implant. A chance to sing like I used to earlier my vocal chords thickened. I wanted my range back, wanted the soaring feeling of a note held against the swell of harmony.
I clear my throat.
"Sounds good, boys." Jeff pockets his phone. "Have a cracking show." He waves over his shoulder and heads upwards to the sound booth.
As much every bit I love beingness in a ring, I love being in a boyband even more than. You're not supposed to. Boyband members are male, just no one considers them masculine—not when their audience is comprised of teenage girls. Sky foreclose girls' tastes be given any weight. When I was i, my favorite band was a group of baby-faced cis boys whom my classmates misgendered just and then they could call me a lesbian for liking them. Figures, they were my trans masculinity goals and now here I am:
Beside a piano, backstage at Madison Foursquare Garden, arms around 3 other guys every bit we huddle up before the bear witness. I breathe in the spice of deodorant, freshly washed cotton, sweat, and hint of java. Feel the oestrus of their damp armpits against my shoulder blades. The beat of their hearts.
"All correct, lovers, let'due south get." Zeke waggles his eyebrows, eliciting laughter as we pile our hands on one another'southward, twine our fingers. Sing ourselves off.
"We're all together again, nosotros're hither, we're here. We're all together again, we're hither, we're here!" Our joined hands bounce up and down to the rhythm equally we sing the old campfire vocal in a circle no one else tin can penetrate. "Who knows when we'll be all together again? Singing all together again! We're here, we're here!"
We whoop and cheer. Adrenaline punches through my body as nosotros race to take our positions below the stage. The opening notes of "Keep Running" rumble through the stage above, though they play clearly in our monitors. I close my eyes, letting them vibrate through my trunk.
"Tyler."
A stagehand holds out a microphone with a strip of blue tape wrapped around the handle. Mine is always blue. Jasper's green. Aiden'due south yellow. And Zeke'southward red.
I take the offered mic, nod my cheers, and glance sideways at Jasper. He winks at me. Smirks. My heart flutters like a teenaged daughter's. Information technology's the aforementioned center I've e'er had and it still flutters for musicians like Jasper. The edgy ones.
He exudes masculine energy through eyeliner, tight black jeans, and boom polish. I straighten my own jean jacket, a light bluish denim over a thick white tee shirt. Khaki joggers. Clean white sneakers. I simply wore them for the first time ii shows ago. Still have the blisters to evidence it.
"All right, B2B." The stagehand's vox is in our ears. "You're upwardly in 5, four, three, two—"
I don't hear her say "i." I'm already in the music. A loaded bullet in a sparking sleeping room. When the trigger is pulled, we shoot upwards into an arena of audio. The electricity of the band—of a live-wire guitar and surging drums. The wall of cheering and screaming, words indistinguishable merely the sentiment the same:
This music is a role of me. It hurts when I don't listen and even more when I do. I'm hither because this concert hall is my church building. This tune is my body and these lyrics are my claret.
I experience the ache in my chest and know I feel the same.
Then, I'chiliad raising my mic and our voices bring together the chorus of dissonance and we're off. Euphoria settles under my pare, conveying me between songs. We don't officially dance—we're too cool for that—merely nosotros're and so close. We're mocking trip the light fantastic: jumping to the beat, bouncing around the massive phase. Zeke runs past with the melody on his lips and a can of Giddy String in his hand.
When it'south empty, he chucks information technology aside and slaps my ass, cackling. I'one thousand not mad and the fans love it when he screws around. Even the label encourages it. I pick up the bridge, startled simply laughing. My vocalisation doesn't break or cleft. With Jeff's command, it doesn't stammer—it lifts without effort. I close my eyes, concord my complimentary hand upward and, for a second, I'd swear I'thousand singing 4 notes at the same time, harmonizing with myself, conducting audio like a lightning rod.
I wonder, with the implant, if I could.
Merely so I see the others endmost in, hear their voices joining mine. Aiden flips his long brownish hair out of his eyes while he picks at his acoustic, notes like the patter of raindrops on hot pavement.
Jasper walks towards me like he'southward in West Side Story, crouched downward, snapping his fingers, singing to me—only me. He grabs my mic and our voices blend impossibly into ane.
"When I kiss you / it's like ooh-wee-ooh."
"I can't describe / your ahh-la-la-la."
"Some dark when / the moon is loftier"
"Nosotros'll ay-ay-ay-ay / 'til it's calorie-free."
"When I kiss yous, infant." And then Jasper is looking at me the style he's looked at a hundred girls and his mitt is in my hair, sliding downward my neck, and my face up is burning, and the next thing I know I first to for-real kiss him. On stage. While Zeke sings, "ooh-wee-ooh," and Aiden strums his guitar, and the crowd is so loud, I tin't even hear my ear monitors.
Slowly, the sound mellows, the lights drop, and spotlights illuminate our final vocal. No one looks at me differently. Zeke ruffles my hair like I'm his child brother. Aiden leans over his guitar to sing backup into my mic. Jasper takes my hand for our bows.
Everything is okay. I don't know why I thought it wouldn't be. Zeke calls us "lovers" all the fourth dimension, Aiden'southward cried on stage before, and Jasper flirts with anyone with a pulse. I can kiss him. It doesn't hateful anything to the fans. Only to me.
"You wanted to meet me?" I'thousand yet rubbing a towel through my sweaty pilus, when I duck into the makeshift office the venue's provided for Jeff. "I got your text."
"Hey, Tyler. Accept a seat." He gestures to an upholstered chair on the contrary side of his desk-bound. Information technology's fatty, polished wood that belongs in a penthouse office, not a room with a paper sign taped on the front end. Only his workspace needs are outlined in our bout passenger alongside ours. I tin can't arraign him for wanting to experience comfortable.
Jeff is as bad-mannered as you'd look an executive-type who chases twenty-somethings effectually music venues, all twenty-four hour period, to exist. Similar an out-of-touch dad who's also busy to exist dwelling for your birthday, simply yet pays for the party. And he is sort of like our dad—none of us has been home for more a few days at a time, in years. Non since nosotros auditioned. Not since Jeff called united states of america all into a conference room, still strangers, and said, "I want to bring dorsum the boyband."
I sit down and slouch, crossing my legs casually, the way I've seen Jasper do. It looks improve on him, I decide, and shuffle until I'm sitting up straight. Jeff lays his telephone face upward on the desk-bound, among two stacks of papers and a computer monitor that could've come up from outer space, in comparing to the heavy desk.
"What's up?" I enquire.
He taps lazily at his phone. He does that enough that nosotros're never surprised or offended when he's working and talking to us at the aforementioned time. But this feels different. Like it'south for show. Similar he wants me to watch what he's doing.
"I want to review some interview protocols with you. Nothing large, only a couple notes from the label."
"Okay." I lean forward until I tin meet the app on his telephone. The one he uses to arrange our vocal implants.
"Well-nigh what happened on phase tonight."
"Okay?"
He rubs his mitt over his evening stubble. "We desire you to carefully consider how you lot answer questions about the incident."
"Incident?"
"The kiss."
"Oh, that." I laugh. If I deed like it didn't mean annihilation, it won't. "The fans loved it."
"They did. That they did." He disappears into his phone again, switching to a news app that streams video of the "incident" and photo on which someone has scribbled pink hearts with a stylus. I effort to grab the website, simply Jeff scrolls quickly before turning off his phone and looking right at me. "But is that actually the prototype you want to cultivate?"
Is that a trick question? "Yeah?"
"Permit me re-phrase." Jeff flattens his palms confronting one another and points his fingertips at me. "That's not the prototype the label is hoping you'll cultivate."
"Zeke literally spanked me, on stage." I'm smiling but Jeff isn't. For the first fourth dimension, I'thou nervous.
"He's a goofy guy," Jeff says. "Information technology was a joke."
My grin goes stale. "Am I not funny?"
"You are, of form. You're all good-humored guys. That's why the fans dearest you. You're piece of cake going, approachable, you make them express joy."
"But?"
"Simply yous're the one they always come back to, Tyler. The one they want singing 'When I Kiss Yous' to them. Whose last proper name they write on their binders. Who's plastered on their chamber walls. You're the face up of Dorsum 2 Back. You're . . ."
I know the word he'southward looking for. "Wholesome."
"Exactly!" Jeff most leaps out of his leather chair. "When I envisioned the ring, I didn't know who would comprise it, what your personalities would be, what you would look or sound like. Only I knew I needed you. And I chose you over a grand potential heart throbs because y'all're smart and business savvy. And I trust that you can acquit out my vision for the band. Yous can do that, right?"
I nod, pulling my knees up onto the chair.
"That's skilful." He smooths his necktie. "If anyone asks about the incident, how nigh proverb that information technology was Jasper'due south idea. He'south got that bad boy thing going on." Jeff tries to mimic Jasper's smirk, only it looks creepy when he does it. "Anyway, I'll let yous get to the omnibus, celebrate with the guys. I think we empathise each other." He holds out his hand to me.
I'm on autopilot when I accept it.
"Good man." He pats me on the back and ushers me out, shutting the door behind me.
I stand up in the cold hallway, staring at the painted cinderblock walls. I tin can still feel the imprint of Jeff'due south mitt on the back of my right shoulder. His assurance. And even so, I feel then unsure.
It's nigh 4:00 a.one thousand. when I give up trying to sleep and wander into the dorsum room on the bus. A reading lamp shines in the corner where Jasper sits sideways on the couch, wearing sweats and a clean black shirt. His sleeves rolled upward, notebook in hand, pencil between teeth.
"Deplorable, I—"
"Information technology's okay." Jasper tucks the pencil into his beanie. "Stay."
I walk over to the other end of the burrow and slide onto the warm leather, pulling the lesser of his blanket up over my knees. "What're you working on?"
He shrugs. "Had some lyrics in my head that I couldn't go out. Cypher special."
I've never seen Jasper write earlier—that's Aiden'south matter. He'll sit down right there, too, curled up in a blanket and hoodie and spend hours writing and re-writing, pick his guitar up off the flooring, play a few chords, hum, set it down, and so write again. Zeke and I can play video games right abreast him—zilch. None of united states fifty-fifty effort to get his attention while he's in the zone.
"What about you?" His question startles me more than it should.
"Couldn't sleep."
But Jasper stares at me, his left eyebrow slowly rising.
"What? I couldn't!" I whisper, eyes darting towards the door.
I can't tell him I was thinking about the blitz of kissing him in front end of all those people. The rut of the lights, of his trunk, his mouth. I've never done that before—kissed a human in public since I've been i, too. It was just equally terrifying as I thought it would be. And I want to do information technology over again.
"Okay, Ty, um . . ." Jasper leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know that kiss wasn't a joke." He dares to meet my eyes, but I tin't. I look abroad before all the claret in my body can rush to my face; it already is. "I'm guessing that's why you're nonetheless awake."
I stand, looking at my feet. "Call up I'yard going to caput dorsum to—"
Jasper takes my hand. Stops me. "I know it's awkward to talk about."
"It'south not bad-mannered." I look him dead in the eye and call up what Jeff said—how I'm supposed to talk well-nigh "the incident." "Because it was a joke. Sorry for making you uncomfortable."
He laughs. Laughs. I scroll my fingers into fists, even though he'due south yet holding on, pulling me towards him. How fucking dare he do this when I'm trying.
"Yous didn't make me uncomfortable, Tyler. You're one of my best friends—yous're like my brother." He pauses and I spotter him retrieve through the implications. "Whom I'd brand out with, apparently. That's weird. Sorry."
I requite in and laugh with him. My ears cool, or they're so hot they've gone numb. "Glad I'chiliad non the simply weirdo." I sit down back downwards. Closer.
"Oh, I'k definitely weird, too. And I think Aiden might exist weird? But it's rude to inquire, so I'm totally reading into his lyrics."
We laugh again. My heart's still beating fast, so I identify a hand over it and take a deep breath.
"It'southward okay to be weird." Jasper takes both my hands in his. We can't exist this close once again. I'm going to want to buss him and nosotros're not on stage.
That's the unwritten contract we have with each other and our fans. We're freer when we perform. We can do things there we'd never do at an appearance or say on an interview. To some extent, information technology'south an act. We all know it. We can but dance if we're mocking dancing, only touch and kiss if we're mocking affection.
Jasper squeezes my hands. "But you can't—"
"I know." It hurts more than I thought it would, when he starts to say what Jeff already did. "Nosotros can't . . ." Buss each other on phase. ". . . do weird stuff during our concerts."
"Well . . ."
"Well?" That wasn't the response I expected.
"Tyler." He sighs, so leans frontward and kisses me for the 2nd time. Lips chapped, smelling like pino trees and hops. He kisses me a third time—I'1000 counting, because I know nosotros merely have so many. My female parent used to say the garage door only had so many ups and downs, because my cousins and I would play with the remote and she didn't want u.s.a. to break it. Same with the car windows. The calculator only had and so many startups and shutdowns. And Jasper and I only have so many kisses.
He catches my bottom lip between his teeth when he pulls away, biting. I gasp and grab on to his shirt.
"You can't exercise weird stuff on stage. Considering you're the boy next door," he says. "The heartthrob. Always single, always straight, always—"
"Wholesome," I say to Jasper like I did to Jeff. "I get it. Zeke can catch my ass considering he's a joker and you can kiss guys because you're the rule-breaker." I scoff. "Yous'd call up being trans would disqualify me—information technology's non a surreptitious." I get asked virtually it during interviews all the time. "As long as I'm romantically available to our fan base, that's what matters." I pull my hand free of his and stand. "It's non like any of them are going to fuck me, anyway, so it doesn't matter what's actually in my pants as long as the possibility exists."
Jasper looks from his empty mitt to me. "Never underestimate the ability of a respectable weirdo."
I don't kiss Jasper, tonight, when we sing the vocal—I don't even stand almost him. My mark is moved to the other side of the stage, near Aiden. It'southward that fashion for the whole show—I discover words pushing themselves out of me as if I'm not fifty-fifty singing them, but rather they're playing from within me, my torso an elaborate music box. And my voice sounds different, tonight. Slightly fuller, deeper. It's thick in my pharynx. It feels good, like hefting a weight easily over my caput. Like I ever imagined my voice would sound.
Nothing else feels right, though. Aiden hands his guitar to a stagehand, for the terminal vocal, puts his arm around my shoulder, and draws the others towards us for a carol. The screaming stops. My ears ring with silence.
I wait at Jasper, heighten the microphone to my lips and, when I sing, it's to him—for him. "I want you lot as you are / don't ever modify for me / when I give you my dearest / I requite it unconditionally."
A wave of applause crashes over united states as we finish. Aiden takes my hand, raises it over our heads. We bow. I stare out into the shining completeness. Surrender myself to the racket. Find my frequency. Dissolve into pure sound.
Aiden pulls me off stage with him. The change in scenery jars me as if awake from a dream. The cool dark tunnels backstage. A glace water bottle thrust into my hand, a towel draped over my shoulder. The band pats my back as nosotros laissez passer; Aiden puts his arm around my shoulder, guiding me into a room with "Press" taped to the door.
I forgot. We agreed to do a backstage exclusive with Netflix. Beyond the room, Jasper pops open up a beer and up-ends information technology. I sentinel the gilded liquid tilt back, bubbling rise, the level drop every bit information technology disappears between his lips. The angle of his neck, exposed Adam'south apple, stubble.
"Why don't yous accept a seat over there, Tyler." Jeff'due south pointing with his stylus to an empty seat betwixt Zeke and Aiden, not fifty-fifty looking at me. Looking at his phone.
"Sit with us, Ty!" I brace myself as Zeke slams into me. He hoists me over his shoulders like a firewoman.
I burst into laughter. "Zeke!" I pretend to struggle, simply non enough so he'll drop me. "Okay, okay, I'll sit with you." I expect directly into one of the cameras and milk shake my head. Jeff gives me a thumbs-upward.
I piece of work to maintain my smile subsequently that. I wasn't acting. I genuinely similar goofing effectually with Zeke. At present it feels simulated.
He plops me down on the sofa sideways, my feet landing on Aiden's lap, my caput on the leather, beside Jasper. He looks down at me. Doesn't touch me. Doesn't run his fingers through my hair or bend down and buss me.
Zeke nudges me to sit upward while he slides in between me and Jas. The interviewer is a girl named Thalia, not much older than us—if at all—with a olfactory organ band and thick wavy, blackness bangs. Her cute cheeks dimple when she smiles. She looks nervous. A fan? A professional who'south also a fan. She'due south trying not to look at me, but our eyes see several times.
I politely watch while she reads her introduction. We're going to play a game, patently. Another, older adult female hands us each a can, while Thalia says, "This is 'Truth or Potable'!"
"Is this—" alcoholic, Aiden begins to ask. He's definitely not supposed to drink on camera. Never mind Jasper chugged a canteen before this.
"Oh gosh, no!" Thalia laughs. "It'southward seltzer."
"Cool," Aiden says.
Thalia tucks her hair behind her ears and straightens upwardly, question cards in hand. "Well then, are you fix, boys? I take some tough questions lined up, only I'll get-go you off easy."
None of them are really tough. Near of these we've been asked a million times, simply we're good at pretending they're interesting.
"What's your virtually embarrassing moment on stage?"
Truth.
"Best fan encounter?"
Truth.
"Worst fan encounter?"
Drink. We never shit-talk our fans.
"Fair, fair." Thalia drinks. "Any girlfriends?"
Beverage. The answer is no, we don't take fourth dimension, simply we've learned fans savor the mystery.
"Boyfriends?" Thalia holds my gaze for as well long.
I interruption the contact and am virtually to drink when I realize the others are all answering the question. Of class they are. There's no room for mystery. Our fans have to believe nosotros're available to them. Like Jeff said. Like Jasper said.
"What about that kiss, Tyler?"
I perk upwardly at my proper name, having been dutifully watching Aiden explain how straight men tin exist sensitive and limited their feelings—shit I agree with but which grinds me downwardly in the context. He knows I'm gay. Just because I never say the word, doesn't mean I oasis't shared tardily-nighttime stories of past hookups and childhood crushes. That he and the others haven't ribbed me for chatting with cute stagehands during audio check and bus boys at twenty-four-60 minutes diners.
"Tyler?"
I desire to beverage. Why tin't I potable. That's why the selection exists, then I don't accept to reply this fucking question. They're all looking at me. Jasper, pleadingly. Jeff, every bit if he can will the words from my mouth. He'southward a second away from mouthing the answer like a helicopter mom at her child'south spelling bee.
I'grand supposed to say information technology was Jasper'southward idea. Information technology was Jasper's idea and I'm an innocent party, ladies. When I kiss you, you lot volition be a girl and I will be straight and wholesome.
"What about it?" I'm 3 seconds away from puking my heart into my lap.
Thalia looks at the woman who handed us the cans. Her supervisor, maybe. Someone who'll tell her how far she can push this. The woman nods.
"Can nosotros get some details? The fans are in quite a tizzy. Some are even—practise y'all know the word, 'shipping'?"
I shake my head.
"Like—" She explains with her hands, face flustered. "—advocating that there'south a relationship between you and Jasper. 'Jasler' is all over the internet, ever since the New York show."
Out of the corner of my eye, I meet Jasper accept a long slow drag of his seltzer and my mouth has never felt dryer. I hate this. I hate lying. I detest Jeff for telling me to and I detest Jas for playing along.
I agree my can with both hands, to tranquility their shaking. Look past the camera at Jeff. Say, "I don't know anything nearly 'Jasler' but things can get a little weird on stage, sometimes, and the truth is, I kissed Jasper becau—" I don't finish my judgement. Non because I'm at a loss for words just considering I can't.
I clear my pharynx and try again, just cypher comes out. I hear Jasper roofing for me. Playing my reply off. Zeke laughing and Aiden talking about what the song ways to him and I cannot speak. At all.
I bring the tin to my lips, let its contents slide downwards my throat. The room isn't the right color. I feel similar I'm sinking. Underwater. Dizzy.
"Whoa there, Tyler, need another drink?"
I nod and take hold of the tin can tossed at me.
"Nice reflexes," Thalia says.
Seltzer sprays when I crevice the tin open and I don't grin. I drinkable. I beverage for every remaining question and during the silences betwixt them. When it'southward over, I spring to my feet, cross the room, and push into the hallway. Adrenaline drives me downwardly the winding hall until I notice the red door marked "Dressing Room – B2B," slam the door and lean against it.
I scream. A practiced hard scream that rips through my pharynx similar fire. But it's a silent scream.
I do information technology again. Experience it scraping my insides. It hurts. I desire information technology to injure. Desire to scream and so loudly it echoes down the concrete halls. But I can't. I can't make a sound. Jeff turned off my vocalisation. He took it.
"Tyler?" I hear Jasper'due south muted voice as he pounds on the thick door. "Ty, it'southward me. Open up."
He tin can't hear my "No" or my sobs equally I slide to the flooring.
"Is he in there?"
"I remember so, just he's non answering."
"Tyler?" More knocking. Jeff'southward voice. "Tyler, I'm coming in." He cracks the door.
I don't motility. Don't wait at him when he peeks through the crevice, only I know he's there. His cologne smells like crisp white vino. He slips betwixt the door and its frame and so says to the guys outside, "Nosotros'll only be a minute, boys," and closes it.
"Tyler," Jeff says with an air of I don't know what to practice with you. He massages the creases in his forehead while he plays with his phone. "I idea we were on the same folio?"
I don't endeavour to answer.
He squats down to my level, the legs of his accommodate rising with the bend of his knees, to betrayal gray argyle socks. "The characterization's giving you a few days to decompress. Regardless of what you lot might think, we care about your well-being. Allow me know when you're gear up to talk."
What he means is, permit me know when you're ready to behave the style we want y'all to and I'll give you lot back your voice.
"Fuck you," I mouth. It'southward enough. He knows.
Jeff locks his phone and slides information technology into his suit pocket, stands and adjusts his cuffs. "Go up." He looks downwards at me but doesn't move. "Come on, the buses demand to leave, soon, and y'all've already fabricated enough of a scene tonight."
More knocking and muffled voices from the other side of the door.
"Nosotros're here for you, Ty."
"Whatsoever information technology is, it's okay."
I don't desire them to run across me similar this. Not the guys or the band or the crew or fucking catering. The i thing everyone likes about me—that I like about myself—is gone. Stolen. No, I gave it abroad when I let the label stick an implant in my pharynx. How could I have been so fucking stupid as to retrieve I endemic my vocalism?
"Tyler." Jeff is even so here. "You can walk out of here on your ain or—"
That's all information technology takes to go me to my anxiety. I fling the door open to see the guys hovering beside the door. Jasper chewing on the ragged neckband of his shirt, Aiden on his necklaces, Zeke on his fingernails. They all terminate. Straighten upward.
"Ty." Jasper reaches out, just I knock his paw away earlier he tin make contact. As if I need a reason for the label to hold my voice earnest any longer.
I don't mean to look at him, but I can't help information technology. His forehead is wrinkled, lips parted, a held breath betwixt them. I speak a silent, "I'm lamentable," but it's too tardily. I walk beside Jeff all the way back to the motorcoach, and then I don't have to look at him. He stops short of the front door and I hop on, followed by Jas, Aiden, and Zeke.
When the door closes and nosotros're alone, Zeke grabs my sleeve and finds my optics with his. They're dark blue and searching, their usual spark softened. "Do you want to talk about what happened back at that place? You lot sort of . . . fled."
"If you'd rather we give you some space . . ." Aiden looks at the others, making sure they don't overcrowd me. Thing is, I want them with me. Information technology means and then much that we confide in one another and care most each other in the aforementioned world where frat bros once chosen us 'Butt 2 Butt.' Where I've otherwise lost my religion in men.
But how tin I tell them when I can't speak. How tin can I make them understand when they didn't seem to care I kissed Jasper and didn't support me during the interview or observe when I couldn't speak.
I break away, leaving the three of them in the front lounge, while I hide in my bunk. Their voices rise over the hum of the road, equally the bus pulls out of the parking lot. Aiden'southward soothing tones, Zeke's suddenly serious. I can't make out their words but listen for the patter of their shoes every bit they pass. Two get into the back, to unwind. The third stops.
I close my eyes when the curtain draws back an inch.
"Hey." It'southward Jasper.
I don't look at him.
"I know y'all're awake, Tyler." He rubs my shoulder and my anger rises to his touch like a magnet. "Ty."
I press my confront into my pillow. One I took from the house I haven't been dorsum to in years. That used to live on my bed merely now lives on a passenger vehicle. I didn't know I only had so many sleeps in that bed, and then many nights as a regular guy with a family and a habitation.
"Talk to me, Ty."
"I tin can't!" I shout information technology right in his face, experience the scratch in my throat. The dry air on my lips.
Jasper blinks similar I've spit on him.
I slide out of my bunk, claiming near of the narrow hallway. He teeters back, and I proceed even though he can't hear me. "I can't talk to you lot because Jeff turned my fucking vocalisation off, okay?" I slice my hand across my throat.
"You lot can't talk," he says.
"No," I say, then milk shake my head, which is so hot, and this coach is and so small and stuffy. I throw my head back and scream. Tears well in my eyes, spilling over when I look at him. They grab in my eyelashes and mistiness Jas's thick brows and brownish eyes until I glimmer them complimentary.
"Ty, I'm here for you." He pulls me into a tight hug. "Are you sick? Did information technology happen during the interview?"
I start scanning the bunks for a pen and paper. I demand something to write with and Jasper's black leather notebook stands out against the ivory sheets. I driblet down to his bunk and option the notebook up. Jasper sits beside me on the messy pile of blankets and pillows. Nosotros lean back against the outer wall, our feet hanging over the brusque edge and resting on the floor. This feels safer, like we're exterior of time and space.
"Expect." Jasper slaps his hand on the leather-bound embrace. His fingers curl, face twitches and tenses. This is his periodical. I didn't even remember. It'south—it might be private. I shouldn't. "You know what, screw it." Jas hands me a pen and gestures for me to go ahead.
Without stopping to read, I flip through pages of cursive and sketches and scratched-out lyrics, glimpsing my name amongst others, until I find a blank page.
<<Jeff has an app on his telephone,>> I write.
"Yeah."
<<He uses it to tune our voices—their ranges and timbre.>>
"Yes?"
<<He can plough them off. Our voices.>>
Jasper scoffs. "No."
<<Aye.>> I underline the word three times.
"No." He's pleading when he says it this time.
I circle the word Yes until the paper rips.
Jasper looks away. "He can't—they can't. Can they?" He wraps a hand around his neck, looking to me for confirmation.
"I'1000 non making this upwards," I say, then write the same words.
"I believe yous, I just can't believe it," he adds. "This is because yous kissed me."
<<Jeff told me to say it was your idea—he chosen it an "incident"—but I didn't think . . .>> I squeeze the pen in my fist. Jasper wraps his hand around mine. The tension feels so good, I want to feel information technology everywhere. Want him wrapped effectually my whole body. To quench the fire. Trounce me to cinders.
I drib the journal and pen betwixt us and printing my mouth against Jasper's.
I osculation him considering Jeff doesn't want me to.
I buss him because he'south scared, now, too.
I kiss him because the label could confiscate my vox forever and I'll lose not only my vocalisation merely him and the others. What else volition they take from me? What else did I sign abroad when I signed over my life as the heartthrob? How many of the few remaining moments belong to me?
I kiss Jasper because I am not wholesome. I'one thousand a fucking weirdo. A queer—that'southward the discussion everyone's terrified to use. Information technology doesn't matter if I was built-in a girl, as long as I alloy in, now. I'chiliad a man, at present.
I pull my rima oris off Jasper's long plenty to tell him how badly I've wanted him and for how long. How I want him, unconditionally, and desire to exist him. I can say anything I want, now that no one can hear me. He listens, anyway, holding and kissing me until we're and then close to breaking all the rules.
"You shouldn't practice this," I say, pressed into the corner of Jasper's impossibly small bunk. At that place's no room for us to lie adjacent, only him on height of me. His easily in my hair and up my shirt, pressed against my scalp and my back. He has and so much to lose notwithstanding.
I dig my finger into his chest and hold his optics, and then he knows. When he unfastens my fly, he knows. When he slides his hand down my pants, he knows, and when his proper noun vibrates silently through my throat, he goddamn well knows—nosotros are not supposed to be doing this. He could lose his vocalism, for this. I could lose mine forever. It hurts like someone is scooping out my breast, but not doing this would hurt more.
We collapse. My pants half downwards, Jasper'southward shirt half upward. The door to the dorsum lounge clicks open up and I hear Aiden's and Zeke's feet pad along the rug. The metallic swish of their defunction sliding. Whispers and hushful laughter.
"Are you going to tell them?" Jasper traces my jaw with his finger.
Looking into his optics, all I can think is, god I am so gay, but I say, "I don't know." And I don't know if Jas understood me, and so I pull his phone out of his back pocket and open his texts to me and blazon, <<I don't desire to accept everything away from them, like it has been from me. I don't desire them to have to choose.>> The electronic low-cal illuminates our soft cave. "Like you exercise," I say to myself.
I won't tell Jasper, but I'm terrified he'll forget nearly this. That Jeff volition give me my voice back and we'll go along on going, like ever. Singing the words they write for us. Hitting the marks.
"I can talk to them with you lot, if yous desire," Jasper says. "So yous don't take to become through that alone."
<<Why should you lot get through information technology?>> I type.
"Ty." He sounds incredulous. "What do y'all retrieve this is, a solo act? We're a team. Pull your pants back—ow, fuck!" He bangs his head on the low ceiling of his bunk and rubs it while straightening his shirt. I picket him duck nether the curtain and stand up in the hall, while I tug my pants on and fasten them. Run a manus through my hair. Pull myself together long enough to button the curtain aside and join them.
Aiden's sipping a craft beer he can merely buy in his hometown. Zeke'due south property his Nintendo DSx. They let their hands fall by their sides, give me their attention. I bite my lip and glance at Jasper. If he wants to share this burden, now's his chance.
"The label can turn off our voices," Jasper says, point bare.
They stare at u.s..
"What does that mean," Aiden asks, "'turn off' our voices?"
"Information technology means the vocal implant the label fitted united states of america with can be more than tuned. They tin literally close usa upwardly if nosotros don't play along with their images of united states of america." Jasper and Aiden both look at his beer. "You're not supposed to drink in public, are you?"
"No," he whispers. "Not me or Ty."
He's right. We weren't handed rulebooks and it's non in our contracts. These are the rules we've learned by working with Jeff. Past the tour riders suggested for each of u.s., the wardrobes nosotros're given, the interview questions nosotros're asked.
"What exercise you call up would happen if Zeke went dorsum on his meds? If he was able to focus for more than v seconds. Sit still. Fucking think. If I decided I wanted to learn guitar—yous call back Jeff would let me play acoustic?"
"I'd never fifty-fifty considered playing or writing before Jeff suggested it," Aiden says. "I do similar it, but . . ." He looks at Zeke. "You lot should be able to become back on your meds, if yous want. Yous don't always take to exist on. And Ty should exist able to kiss guys, if that's who he is. I hateful, we all know that's who you are." A little laugh escapes him.
Jasper smiles and raises his mitt. "Hullo, um, my name'south Jasper. I don't really like the color black every bit much as you'd recall. Sometimes I write lyrics that I'll never show anyone—"
"What?" Aiden playfully smacks his arm. "You tin evidence me! I want to—"
"—and I'm bisexual."
"I'm straight," Zeke says, raising his hand. "I've asked Jeff about going dorsum on my meds multiple times and no one ever asked me if I wanted to write songs!" His look of criminal offence sends united states of america into full on, face up-hurting laughter.
I poke my finger into my chest and shout, "I'm gay! And I have a large fucking shell on Jasper!" No one tin can hear me, simply they all laugh, anyway—with me, not at me. Our arms are around i another again, all of us.
Aiden raises his hand. "I-I'm . . ." A deep crease settles into his forehead. "I don't even think I'grand a 'boy' all the time. I'm afraid to tell Jeff. Nosotros're a boyband. That's the bones requirement. I don't want to exist kicked out."
"It'southward okay, homo—or non-homo." Zeke rubs Aiden's shoulder. "Neither do I."
I shake my head and say, "Me neither."
"Fuck 'em," Jasper says. "If they kick us all out, we tin be our ain ring."
"Non if they take our voices, similar they did Ty's," Zeke says.
They all stare at me, the reminder of how fragile our band is. The moment when we were our total selves, gone. Our voices at stake.
"Hey, Ty." Jeff's head and torso appear where he leans into the motorbus. This isn't his space, just he inserts himself, anyway.
I don't respond, obviously. I can't speak and don't give Jeff the satisfaction of watching me try. I don't even remove my headphones, though I practice hit interruption.
"Shayna from wardrobe asked me to bring that over." He nods at a garment bag hanging from a chiffonier knob. "You do desire to perform, right?"
The question catches me so off baby-sit—the yearning to sing, once more—that I say, "Yes," and then dig my nails into my palm when I recall I vowed not to "speak." I nod, trying non to look besides eager. Only I can't assist it. I fucking miss it. I miss the lights, the energy, the crowd, the guys. I miss the feeling of sound ripping through me like a bullet.
Jeff pats my dorsum. "Good boy."
I literally seize with teeth my tongue.
"I'll exit you to information technology." He nods at the garment bag. "Phone call's in fifteen minutes. I'll run across you and the guys at your marks beneath the stage. Got it?"
I nod.
Jeff nods, then leaves.
I should sit it out. Protest. Evidence the characterization they don't own me, but they do. And I desire to perform so badly—need to. I shut my optics and accept several deep breaths. Forget this is Jeff'southward doing. Call up why I'thousand here: for the music, for the guys, for the fans. For me.
We soar as the platforms nosotros stand on rise. Built-in from the ground into the spotlight. I hold my mic to my lips and unleash the melody: "Don't stand up still / gotta proceed running." I experience the sound in my pharynx. Hear my voice harmonizing with the others'. But something is incorrect.
"How y'all doing this night?" Jasper asks the crowd, holding his mic out to pick up the swell of their response. A wave of screams. "I don't know, guys, I don't think they're awake however." He winks at me.
I bring my mic upwards and say, "They sound a chip sleepy to me, Jas," just no audio comes out. My heart ticks like a bomb waiting to explode in my chest. Confusion seizes my face.
Jasper'due south grinning falters. He tilts his head. Says, "I asked how y'all are doing, tonight." Except he doesn't watch the audition for their response, he watches me.
I put the mic to my lips again and say, "I think they're awake, now." And no one hears me. I snap my fingers into the mic.
Jeff didn't turn my voice on. He didn't fifty-fifty turn my mic on. And yet, when the chorus comes effectually, I hold upwards my mic and move my lips and my voice rings out over the speakers like it'south coming from my throat. It'southward non. I'm a warm body. A marionette. Jeff might as well stick his arm upwards my donkey and puppet my jaw with his hand.
The lights dim to soft blues and purples. The iv of usa walk to the front of the stage, Aiden with his guitar. Jasper raises his mic to his lips and says, "Nosotros're going to practice something special for y'all guys. Get off-book. Sing a footling song a cappella, for y'all, that we only always sing for each other. You won't find it on the set listing." The crowd cheers just Jasper holds his finger to his lips, quieting them. "You know the one I mean—Zeke?"
"Yup," he answers. "And you guys are in for a treat."
"Aiden?" Jasper says, next.
When Aiden says, "I'g gear up," I realize what Jasper's doing.
He's forcing Jeff's hand.
My heart picks up speed as I search for the audio booth through the glare of lights. Is Jeff up in that location? Is his finger hovering over the app, wondering whether to turn my vox back on or shut Jasper'south off? When he says my proper noun next, will Jeff permit me answer?
"What almost yous, Ty?" Jas looks right at me. "Yous ready?"
When I bring my mic to my lips and say, "Every bit ever," the words sound total and loud over the waiting silence. I switch my mic to my left paw and put my arm around Jasper and sing, "Nosotros're all together over again, we're hither, we're here."
Jasper puts his around Aiden. "We're all together again, we're hither, we're here."
Aiden, effectually Zeke. "Who knows when nosotros'll be all together again?"
Zeke around Aiden. "Singing all together once again? We're hither, we're here."
We look at one another. Smiling. And, this time, sing in unison, that we're all together, once again. Four voices, again. Brothers. Friends. Weirdos. We're here. And who knows how long Jeff will let united states go on like this. The label can cease the tour. Bar us from the studio. Maybe even keep us from singing all together, again. But we will continue to use our voices to back up ane another. As long as someone is listening. As long every bit we have each other. We're here, we're here.
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"Nosotros're Here, Nosotros're Here" copyright © 2020 by K. M. Szpara
Fine art copyright © 2020 by Goñi Montes
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Source: https://www.tor.com/2020/06/10/were-here-were-here-k-m-szpara/
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