IN WHICH the heiress to grunge is swooned by the king of garage rock in a lifelong affair over the span of three decades, always fervidly dancing on the edge of crashing and burning...
[2000s JULIAN CASABLANCAS x GROUPIE!OC]
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Ryan sipped his coffee, feeling the warmth spread throughout him in the freezing living room, the heating had stopped working a week into tour. Long hours had been spent trying to reach endless club promoters, sending hundreds of demos to men who wouldn't remember his face. Things were particularly mellow. Julian seemed to be eternally anxious, scribbling lyrics in his notebook as Stella peered over his shoulder still in her pajama pants and local crew shirt. A choir of early voices bled into nothingness when they were together. Life had been blissful on tour and The Strokes were gaining traction overseas as much as they were at home. Still, it lingered. Success was just out of reach, and it haunted the band no matter how much fun they were having. There is always a certain time limit in the first year of an artist's spring debut which determines what will be of such a privilege.
The hype was real, but it was a buried hatchet swept in the undercurrent of work. Of lyrics. Of doubt. He shut his notebook, the words in his mind had become too loud to bear. The flap of leather clapped against the sheets of paper startling her from her reverie. "I don't want to be at home tonight." He murmured to her, chocolate hair falling over his shoulder as her cheek laid upon it. "Me either." Stella knew Courtney would be pissed when she got home, and it wasn't looking good for her. She knew her mother wouldn't ground her for a year, much less three, but the reality of not seeing Julian for a long time made her shiver. They had become inexplicably interlinked, weaving bits and pieces of themselves into one another. Physically and emotionally.
The tour had brought them closer than ever. However, there always seemed to be an imbalance. His frosty nature contradicted her glowing warmth. Julian moved through life with a careless grace, never sparing a backward glance for what might have been. Even if it was all an act, he kept himself unreadable, an enigma that resisted even the closest fight. Stella, with the earnestness of youth, wore her heart openly, searching for any crack in his armor. Her need to understand was as fierce as his refusal to be understood—a logical maiden of August trying to tame the tender bull of May, caught in an intricate dance.
"What do you say we go out tonight." Cite.
"Well, if I'm not grounded when I get home." Quite. The bull is distracted from its target.
"Stella, you're eighteen years old. Courtney can't ground you." Tercio de Banderillas.
"Seventeen." She corrected.
"Whatever, you're staying with me." La Faena. The bull has been stabbed.
***
Before the show that night, they performed their usual pre show rituals post soundcheck. Stella sat with Amanda, Nick's girlfriend, in the green room dressed in Chloé wondering what her best friend was doing that night as she made conversation with the blonde. Julian sedated himself, drink already in hand while Nick jokingly hummed to himself. Albert fixed his hair in the mirror while Nick and Fab – already dressed, as always – watched the TV. The crowd was already roaring. It seemed that recently, crowds had been much more eager to see them than they had before. The Strokes were on the verge of something exhilarating and everyone could tell. Despite the lack of promotion Ryan had been able to do, the venue was packed.
Stella laughed, reading out loud from a magazine, "The strokes have more sex appeal than any other band in the last twenty years." Amanda chuckled and chimed, "You can say that twice." Ryan walked in, looking concerned, his eyes instantly landing on her in her sheer lace top and miniskirt. Fur coat and boots to combine. "What is it, Ry?" his expression pale as a sheet of paper as security appeared behind him. A man in a suit, slightly towering, ominously watched as everyone came to a halt.
"Stella. You need to leave."
A blanket of confusion veiled her darkly painted eyes as she dropped the magazine and rose from the couch. The older man was followed by security, she asked herself if she'd done anything illegal other than carry a bag of white powder in her boot.
"What? What are you talking about Ryan?" Julian darted to the green room as soon as he heard the commotion going on outside, fly still unzipped. Stella noticed in the midst of her confusion and walked towards him to zip it in one swift motion, causing a slight smirk on his lips. But this wasn't the time, "What's going on?" Her soft voice broke the silence as the man stepped forward.
"Whats happening is that you are underage. There's no way you can stay here. I don't care who you're with." He seemed to be a manager of some sort. Ryan had a sheepish, almost defeated look on his face as he shrugged his shoulders almost conveying he tried. Julian was having none of this, he instantly piped up. "She's legal. What's the problem man?" this tone was uncommon, the façade of carelessness leaving his body for a second. His eyes hardened ever so slightly as his arm came down to wrap around her waist. Despite always telling himself this would never be serious, something about another man attempting to boss her around had gotten far under his skin.
"Barely. She's barely legal. No way she's staying. Let's go Miss Cobain. I know the type of girl you are." His face flickered with anger at the implication, his grip tightening on her hip. Ryan looked meekly between them, split between wanting to defend the girl he'd become friends with on tour and knowing that if they disobeyed the show would fall through. Thousands of dollars would fall through. And their reputation could possibly be damaged when the band was already being questioned about their energy during live performances. Julian disregarded all of this, "Hey, watch how you're talking to her. She's part of this crew and she stays." He dug his hand into her back pocket and showed him her backstage pass. "You see what this is? Yeah. The kid's on our local crew. She stays."
The manager is surprised at how mouthy Julian is but by this point they should be accustomed. Even though his stoic and cold nature made him seem nonchalant, there was no question that when Stella was mentioned he would make himself loud and clear. He turned to Ryan, "figure it out."
***
Post show, he rushed offstage at the Mercury Longue and into her arms. The backstage ambiance exploding into a postmodern Gatsby reverie with his very own Daisy on his hip. Soon enough they trickled into the crowd to party with everyone else. Everything seemed to glimmer in gold with the ripple effect of whatever was in their system. Courtney was a thing of the past, all Stella could focus on was dancing. And they did. Life was good anyway. The demo seemed to be doing well, they were freshly signed, their names were in the papers. Success seemed inevitable and grandiose. In this moment, beneath the lights and with white residue bordering her nostril, she realized she cared too much. This was the way of living. There were no inhibitions, no worries, just this very moment. Ryan interrupted her train of that, drunkenly shouting and smiling, shoving Julian who had his arm around her on the floor.
Her brows furrowed, unable to hear him amidst the new Madonna track. "What?!" Ryan completely ignored her squeak instead jumping up and down. She watched as a smile erupted on each and every one of their faces. He ran off like Paul Revere ready to warn the rest of the boys. Julian laughed loudly due to the ecstasy in his bloodstream but also the news he'd just received. He kissed her hard, to the point she stumbled, and shouted, "We're going to england! They want us!". With a delighted giggle he picked her up and spun her around, feeling like the king of the world.
