2 kids

Rumours.

Alex.

Our names are being chanted from all directions. Names and.... nicknames, I realise. Nicknames I don't know where originated from, and nicknames I'm hearing for the first time. Nicknames that sound oddly personal.

Mae's grinning like she knows exactly how they started. If she hadn't started some of them herself. And she tries to respond to each chant with a wave of at least a smile.

It only assures me I really have to engage more on our socials, participate more eagerly in the mocking of my bandmates with our fans. We're delivering them plenty of content and inside jokes, but that's where I drew the line. Since our debut I've made the least amount of appearances on Twitter or overall in posts on any social media. Mae has scolded me for it multiple times, and it has always resulted in me promising her I would. The only promise I've never kept.

We push our way through our fans, waving and smiling and looking as happy as never. Faking that excitement to be almost mashed alive by some of them. I stop by some of them, signing some t-shirts, album copies, photos or blank pages. Avoiding exposed skin areas.

Once the screaming has calmed down and we're safely walking through the halls of this arena, we all exhale deeply at the same time. Ace's legendary arrogant grin so many young ladies have fallen for, disappears. Instead it's replaced with tired eyes and lips in a thin line.

"What's the charity for again?" River asks, as we make our last turn.

We're about to perform our only show of these ten days. Not a concert, not a promotion of anything, not a signed deal with anyone. Simply a good will to raise money for a charity event. When the invitation got to us, it was a matter of seconds before our manager was already writing an email confirming our attendance and thanking them for inviting us.

"To help with suicide prevention," Mae answers, closing the door to our dressing room behind her. It's spacious, with two couches, a mini fridge and table with delicious snacks and drinks.

River's only acknowledgment of her question is a quick nod. None of us had to think about even coming. We may come off as cold people who'd rather keep a far distance from anyone, but we've all been through the afterpain of someone taking their own life. There exists no preparation for it, no possible guide to help you cope with the overwhelming emotions.

So if performing for a good reason can raise even a little money to help some struggling kids and adults anywhere out there is the last thing we can do to help, then be it. It's the only way for us.

"I think I signed someone's breast," Ace blurts out. Our heads snap his way instantly, eyes wide.

"You think?" I ask.

He nods. "I think."

"How can you not be sure," River demands. "You either know if you drew your goddamn signature on someone's breast or not."

"There were too many people, pushing each other and me. And this girl, she wanted my signature on her collarbone, but –"

Mae's laughter echoes through the room, making us all realise the autistic in this room is perfect, and cutting Ace off. "She must be thrilled," she chokes out between her laughs.

"I don't think so," Ace says. "I started on her collarbone, but then someone pushed me, and I fear I slouched the signature downwards. Towards the boob. It possibly doesn't even look like my signature."

I join Mae in her hysterical laughing, and River only says, "I'll wait for the twitter post."

This is exactly why I avoid signing any skin areas. Not even the palm of the hand.