Out of Touch

6

Will doesn't exactly know where backstage is, so he weaves through crowds of fans staring at various doors. The venue's signage is laughably poor, and he's pretty sure there's more writing on the vandalised walls outside than there is in the hallways. He passes some staff who eye him cautiously and, despite his fame, it's clear that he shouldn't really be trying to find backstage.

At the end of the hall a door is cracked open, a ray of light cast over the carpet and laughter coming from within. Will instantly feels a bubble of anxiety in his chest. He can barely make out James' booming voice in comparison to the others, which gives him a fizz of self-assurance. His feet tiptoe towards the door, swallowing, his adams apple bobbing; the closer he gets the more he absolutely does not want to enter.

Nevertheless, he pushes the door open, greeted by a medium sized room, a large table in the centre of dark oak, warm lighting coming from 4 evenly spaced lamps on the walls. There's a large mirror on one wall with a small desk beneath, where James' face glitter is spilt over the surface. Bags are thrown into one corner with snacks and food in the other. Around the table is James' band, plus Orla (his tour manager). Orla is a comforting and reassuring face, Will realises, and he's happy that he and James share her management abilities. Will's eyes travel to spot James at the head of the table, staring at him, and he's suddenly aware that the room has become deadly silent since he's entered.

"Will, you came. Take a seat." James smiles, and yet Will isn't comforted by it. Everyone's staring at him and it's becoming increasingly pressured.

"Of course I came, lad," Will brushes off his nerves with artificial confidence, "you asked me too."

Will looks around, the only spare seat next to James. He shuffles over and perches, the soft cushion beneath him a welcome sensation. James pats him on the knee and he takes a deep, quick breath. He hopes James didn't notice.

He did. He's glancing down at his hand and Will's knee with curiosity.

"The show was good. Really good." Will coughs as he speaks, looking James up and down. The younger man grins, a wide, happy grin, and it makes everything feel better.

"I hope so. I wasn't expecting to see you."

"I wanted to see you sing again, you're amazing on the stage mate. Truly incredible."

James' cheeks flush a healthy pink, "Thanks..."

Will adjusts his cap, glancing around the group. They're whispering to each other. Will doesn't know what about.

"Will-" James speaks with a lowered tone, to which Will instinctively leans closer, "why did you leave?"

Will's breath hitches. He doesn't even fucking know, and he doesn't know what to tell the innocent man next to him. He sighs, "It was just a bit much, you know? The crowds, noise.." He grimaces as if to emphasise his point. James nods.

"I get it. It gets overwhelming. You left during Car Lights! I'm surprised at that, my fans think it's a banger."

"It is-" Will quickly interjects, "It is. I... I don't know."

James leaves it at that, and Will can't help but stare at his lower arms, exposed from his shirt sleeves being rolled up. It reminds him of when he took a selfie with Jim after his Paris performance. He had undone many buttons of his shirt revealing the sheer amount of hair coating his large body. Like a bear. Will doesn't mind.

"I'm surprised to see you, Will." Orla calls from the other side of the table, with a somewhat smug smile on her face.

"I just wanted to see him again!" Will shrieks, as if she's accused him of a horrid crime.