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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February 2001.
"I'm freezing my ass off!" her laugh rippled through the camcorder he held as they walked through the London streets. A sheet of white covered greying buildings, flurrying through the air like the city had been shrunk into a snow globe atop a fireplace. It was the dead of February and the snowflakes caught on her fur coat and her long hair, some on her lashes when the wind swept through the bricks. "Hey, where are we baby?" the smile audible in his voice as he zoomed into the specs of white stuck to her shivering body.
Stella had traded in warmth and comfort for style as she often did despite Julian's warnings. She was too enamored to care. In fact, she wasn't sure if she was shivering from the icy streets or from the butterflies that tormented her stomach. "It's too cold for your filmmaking, Jules. Too cold." His lens zoomed in on the red of her nose. "We have a Rudolph here," they laughed in unison as it reverberated off the muffled cityscape, crunching breaking their silence with every step they took, "Hey, turn that camera around you're all red nosed too!" Stella rushed over and grabbed the camera, shoving it in his face and laughing.
His beanie almost swallowed him whole into a bassinet of warmly knit material, partially from embarrassment and the chill that struck him straight to the bones. He smiled wryly from beneath his woolen scarf, pulling it down to kiss her on camera.
"We have to go before we miss soundcheck," he murmured against her lips, "Can we at least get some coffee first?" she murmured against his in the silly way she did when both were drunk. He chuckled softly and nodded, wrapping an arm around her as he scurried her to shelter beneath a café window with some heaters. As he ordered, she leaned into his side, fascinated with the rush of antlike people each with their own lives, dreams, and hopes rushing to somewhere else in this grand, old city.
"I've never seen anything like this," she took a sip from his coffee as they stood beneath the heating lamp, closing her eyes and basking in the faux sun that beamed upon her frosty face, "I mean. I've been to London before, but I never thought much of it. Now that I'm here alone, with you, it's different." Julian was attempting to save his voice for the show after coming down with a bad cold during the past week they'd spent exploring the new country.
Stella had been playing nurse, monitoring him closely. He chuckled softly and nodded, "You talk way too much. Too much." Stella scoffed, the cold seeping through the heater and the fur trim of her coat and matching hat. It made her look like a soviet, which Nikolai had long teased her for. "I talk just enough. I care about things. You don't care about anything." She grinned; it was partially true.
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Backstage seemed like a liminal space, only chatter and creaks and roars filled the narrow hallways with the warm lighting. They were back to the carpet and paper-thin walls. "I've heard it's stronger here," she cut up three skiing lanes just by the makeup bags, Amanda and another groupie they'd met just recently hovering behind her, "Stuff that gets the Gallaghers going before shows. Isn't Liam just dreamy...I swear Julian couldn't be mad if I ended up with him on this trip."
Her head dipped into the valley and down the slopes until she came back up with a runny nose, shaking her head and scrunching her nose. "Woo!" She laughed, "I'm ready to find Liam and Noel now." The further she got from home, the more she wanted to party. There were no prying eyes in London, no Courtney to ground her. Sequences of undressing at the Ritz in Julian's hotel room and partying at the finest clubs came to mind. The shell was ripping at the seams and with it had begun some heavy usage. It started with some pick me ups, a bump here and there, maybe a line at a party. The drinks didn't seem enough, and she hated the hangover. Coke kept her going like a machine. Wired and chippy, ready to dance.
Their lifestyle as a collective was also getting quicker. Every night there was a party, a club, an event. From a gig to a pub, a party then a club and maybe another pub til they got kicked out. Faces began to blur past her into nothingness. She liked the thrill of never stopping, of causing a ruckus. The same feeling he got when cathartically smashing his guitar against the stage floor. The control and the loss of it. The moments of airtime before a final, fatal crash. It was obsessive and it was ridiculously fun. Julian was more than happy to thrust her in the middle of this scene, always on his arm like a patch on a jacket. Things had grown hotter and heavier between the pair, sexual tension seemed to follow wherever they were. Maybe her hormones were finally kicking the snare drum of her body, making her lose control over everything.
No matter what it was, hedonism had proven to be the perfect religion for them to practice.
A/N
1k reads is insane!! thank you for all the support mwah
