Boy Couch

Sentiment

Jeremiah was stunned by how many people stood in the audience. Their cheeks were chilled by the air, and yet, they could feel sweat sticking their hair to their neck. Leading up to this performance, they were preparing for their first live singing solo. They'd put on a brave face for everyone else, they brushed it off, acting like it was no big deal. They didn't get stage fright, singing the lead on one song was going to be just as easy as usual. That's what they told everyone. It was even what they told themself.

Baring their thoughts in the process of songwriting was hard enough, and they rarely wrote songs alone. Tiberius shared writing credits on nearly every song where Jeremiah had done any writing. Jeremiah did that intentionally, avoiding sincerity at every turn. Anything truly profound or heartfelt came from Tiberius, as far as anyone else was concerned. Jeremiah was too cool for stuff like that.

They were fully aware of the faulty logic, irony, and hypocrisy of it all. They were self-aware enough to recognize the counterproductivity of wanting to write personally relevant music while simultaneously wanting to hide all signs of weakness. There was a distinct cognitive dissonance between trying to care while seeming uncaring. Over time, they bled into one another. Emotions were not something Jeremiah was fluent in.

All of that confusion, that distress, they poured it into this, the only song Tiberius had no part in writing. "Sentiment" was far from deep. It wasn't some therapeutic outpouring of their heart and soul, and it definitely wasn't high poetry, and Jeremiah hated ballads and laments. On the surface, "Sentiment" had the same alternative indie vibe as the rest, but simply by pointing out their difficulty with sincerity, they'd revealed more of their soul than they were ever really used to.

The song, the lyrics, they were still aloof enough that no one knew their meaning but Jeremiah themself. So they convinced everyone that it was no big deal. No reason for them to be nervous to share when nothing too private is being shared. And now that they stood on the stage and began to play their opening riff, they were still wrestling with that old traumatized fear. The one that told them to shut down, show no emotion, tell no one you care lest they realize how weak you are. As they started to play, they kept their eyes on their fingers where they worked the strings. Their forehead creased in concentration. They saw the music in their head, scrolling closer and closer to the first lyric. Each measure passed like a countdown, and as they finally reached the lyrics, they squeezed their eyes shut and started to sing.

After the festival, everything ran smoothly. There were no more hotel room mishaps, Jeremiah was in a much better mood on the drive home, and the performances were being well received online. As the holiday season continued, Tiberius was busier with his family festivities, so they put band practice on hold.

Not long after the festival, their little town nestled in the Rocky Mountains was hit by a snow storm. It was nothing record breaking, but it was a lot of snow all at once. When the storm eased up, there were two feet of snow on the ground and the air was intensely cold. Jeremiah sighed as they looked out the window. The snow was still deep. The streets had been swept, but they were still coated in muddy, now solidified snow. Just about everything in town had been closed for two days, but the snow had died down, so Jeremiah resigned themself to the knowledge that they would have to go to work after all.

They put on their binder and t-shirt, layered long johns under their sturdiest jeans, zipped up their hoodie, and pulled on the warmest coat they could find. It was their uncle's, but he wasn't there anyway, so who was counting? They pulled a knit cap down over their ears and wrapped their scarf over their face, bracing themself for the bitter cold. They took their keys and stepped out into the overcast, frozen air. Immediately they could feel their eyelashes freezing.