Pastel Panic

PHIL'S POV

My head feels like its about to explode and my lungs feel like they're on fire because my breathing is rushed and ragged and oh my God I can't see properly.
What's going on?
I look in the mirror of the grubby backstage bathroom and I see a scared little boy, not some badass rock god that everyone bought tickets to see.
I'm shaking and trying to avoid panic, a wave of nausea washes over me and I look down into the porcelain sink that was white once upon a time, but now is a grubby beige and I fight the urge to cry and shout and vomit. I'm begging myself not to freak out. How can you feel so many things at once? I'm angry at myself for feeling this way, I'm scared shitless of going on stage, I'm upset that I can't be man enough to share what I'm going through with anyone. I'm-
"HEY PHIL!" There's three loud thumps on the bathroom door, and I can tell from the voice that it's our manager, Jim.
"Get your fucking arse out here! You're already twenty minutes late!"
I take a shaky breath, and then another, and then another, because I've done this before.
Not perform, but disguise a panic attack.
My eyes are bloodshot? No man I wasn't crying, I just smoked a joint.
I'm shaking? That's because I just did a shot on an empty stomach and I'm buzzed.
Rock and roll man.
Rock and fucking roll.
I don't want to be that guy. The typical "badass" guy in a band who pisses his life away with one night stands and drugs and alcohol. But I have to be, no one wants to see me. Yeah, I love my tattoos and piercings and the clothes I wear but my attitude... that's not me. All the fans know is my name, they don't know me.
I storm out of the bathroom and nearly knock over Jim. I want to say sorry. Why can't I just turn and say sorry? I want to, why can't I? Because I don't want to open my mouth yet, for fear screams come out instead of apologies. Its easier to pretend to be pissed; moody and mysterious is sexy, after all. I'm walking to the stage, dreading stepping out in front of the crowd.
Because even though I'm living my dream and doing what I love, I'm still that fucked up kid that has no friends, has weird interests, and has anxiety.

DAN'S POV

The venue was typical of music this style; cramped, dimly lit, and reeking of alcohol. I didn't really fit in here; most attendees were dressed in black, sporting piercings and dyed hair, and here I was wearing a pastel pink jumper and a flower crown, but I was here with my best friends and I was about to see my favourite band, why would I care? I had gotten the tickets for my 18th birthday last week, and it was all I could talk about.
"Dude, I can't believe we're about to see Pixel live!" squealed Chris.
"I know," agreed PJ "And we're right at the front!"
We were up against the barrier, touching distance from the stage, and I was beyond excited. The tiny venue was packed at the atmosphere was electric. The band were due to come on stage at any moment and everyone in the crowd was chattering excitedly among themselves.
Though I didn't admit it to Chris or PJ, I was seriously excited to see Phil.
Phil Lester; the front man of Pixel.
With his dark hair, tattoos, and lip ring; Phil was thought to be sex on legs by so many people... including me.
Suddenly, the lights went down and an ear splitting scream erupted from the crowd. Chris, PJ and I joined in with the yells, chanting Pixel along with the rest of the fans.
Out walked the drummer, saluting to the crowd before taking his seat behind his drum kit.
Then the guitarist bounded on stage and took his place to the right of where the drummer was now sat.
The bassist strutted out, earning a high pitched screech from the girl behind me. I guess she had a crush.
And then there he was.
He walked out on stage like I'd walk to the shop; casual, used to doing it a thousand times, unphased.
And he looked oh so sexy.
He was wearing ripped skinny jeans and a short sleeved red plaid shirt, which showed off his colourful tattoo sleeves.
He pushed his fringe out of his eyes before grabbing his mic and introducing the band.
"Hey Manchester, we're Pixel and this song's called Sticks and Stones."
His voice was like velvet; deep and raspy yet soft, and when he started singing I got lost in it. He gave every song everything he had and PJ, Chris and I had the time of our lives; singing at the top of our lungs, jumping in time to the beat of the songs and clapping along with the rest of the audience.
"Manchester," stated Phil after their final song "You've been absolutely fucking insane. Thank you so much for coming. We've been Pixel and we'll see you guys soon!"
What? No, it couldn't be over yet!
Chris poked me in the ribs. "See that guy over there?" He questioned, and I followed his gaze to the guy stood side stage.
I nodded.
"That's Jim."
I scoffed. "How do you know?" I asked, skeptically.
"Because his mum was my mum's best friend up until they moved about a year ago. I used to kind of know him. So, anyway, mum got a call off his mum, and mum mentioned that we were seeing Pixel tonight, and his mum was like "Oh Jim works for them now! I'm sure he'd be delighted to see Chris, he barely sees anyone he used to know, now". So I'm gonna go say hi, and maybe try to get him to weasel us backstage."
My head hurt from hearing the word "mum" so many times. I raised an eyebrow. "You really think that you can get us back stage? Go ahead. I'll wait here with Peej."
"You just watch and learn, young Howell, watch and learn."
So I quickly filled in PJ as to what was happening, and we both watched as Chris approached this "Jim" fellow. Chris went up beside him and tapped him on the shoulder, and as soon as Jim saw him his face lit up and he pulled Chris into a hug. PJ and I exchanged looks of disbelief, and then continued to observe Chris. We could see them talking, and Jim laughing, but we couldn't hear anything over the din of the venue. Then Chris turned and gestured to PJ and I, and Jim cracked a smile and waved at us both, before turning back to Chris and resuming their conversation. Another minute passed before Jim patted Chris' shoulder and disappeared back stage. As soon as he was out of sight, Chris turned and hurried back to us with the biggest smile on his face.
"You guys owe me big time..." he started.
"No way. No way. Chris you didn't. You did not get us backstage."
He started nodding frantically with excitement.
PJ's jaw dropped and I pulled Chris into a bone crushing hug whilst repeating "oh my god oh my god oh my god" because this was actually happening. I was about to meet my favourite band.