Nothing But Thieves Imagines (Mature Content)

Frustrated - Conor

MATURE SEXUAL CONTENT 18+ ONLY

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I could hear Conor singing in the other room from where I sat on the couch, my legs tucked up under me, reading a book.

It was a pleasant morning in our seaside flat. The wind was whispering through the curtains, the smell of coffee wafted across my nose, and the voice of that bloody angelic boy in the next room kept my heart full.

That is, until he screamed like a madman.

I started and looked up, puzzled, at the door to the study. From the other side I heard him curse loudly in frustration. I heard some rustling and banging of equipment. A silent moment passed, then the door swung open and he barreled into the room, his eyes landing on me with despair and rage written all over his face.

"Conor? You ok?" I ventured, lowering my book.

He shook his head, clearly agitated to the brink of combusting.

"I was nearly done with this live stream...show...fucking thing -- I don't even know, what do you call it? Whatever it is!"

He paused and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. I regarded him, still confused.

He pressed his lips together, then he pulled out his phone, looked into it, and started a video.

"I've just got five out of six songs done in a prerecorded video for a magazine," he said into the camera. "And then my phone decided that it didn't have enough storage so it stopped. The entire video."

His eyes went glassy as he stared into space.

"Always remember. Delete your Boris Johnson memes before you start a pre-recorded video. I'm gonna go and scream into a fucking pillow now."

His eyes flicked back to the phone and he smiled wanly. Then he ended the video, dropped the phone like a brick, and let himself fall helplessly onto the couch beside me. His face hit the cushion and he let out a muffled yell.

I put my book down, trying not to laugh, and reached out to rub his bare foot in comfort.

Slowly he lifted his face up to me. Then he dragged himself to a sitting position, his leg bouncing in agitation.

"I'm so fucking done with this live streaming shit. I just...I need to sing for actual people. I fucking hate singing into the internet!"

I looked at him with sympathy. The poor guy had been doing great for awhile, doing meditations, yoga, getting to know himself again.

As his girlfriend of only a few months, I'd been worried lockdown would put a strain on our relationship. But, so far, it had only made it stronger.

And now that the album release was approaching, his promo schedule was packed. The brave new world of online music was still difficult, and he had so much technical stuff to worry about now that he'd never had to before. It made him on edge and I could tell it had reached a boiling point.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry," I said, and gestured for him to slide over to me. He did, but his knee wouldn't stop jittering.

"Look at you, you're wound so tight!" I set a hand on his bouncing knee. "You need to relax, sweetheart."

"I can't relax, I have to start this whole live stream again," he said, shaking his head.

"No, you don't. They can fix the video for you, yeah? Someone can stitch it together or something?" I smoothed my hand over the peach-fuzzed skin where his shorts met his knee and looked at him sympathetically.