Foreign Exchange // Punk Luke Hemmings

Admit

"So do you like....have bodyguards and stuff?" I asked quietly as Luke plucked at the strings of my guitar.

"Yeah. Our head of security, Dave, he's a pretty scary guy," he shrugged. "He's great though. Very serious about his job. The rest of the guys are great too."

"Does it ever get overwhelming?"

"How do you mean?" He cocked his head, looking up at me from his spot on the carpet as I sat on the couch.

"I don't know... I'm guessing most of your fans are teenage girls, and I'm sure that can get pretty loud and scary," I shrugged, biting my bottom lip a bit nervously.

He thought for a moment before sighing. He placed the guitar on its stand and came to sit on the other side of the couch with his legs crossed Indian-style, mirroring my own. It was several moments before he spoke, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

"Sometimes I wish I could be normal again. There's so much pressure to be perfect all the time that I often forget what my old life was like. To just be able to hang out with friends and not have to worry about when I'll end up in the tabloids next or what the next rumor about me will be. I can't hang around girls or they get accused of being my girlfriend, I can't go out and have fun without being accused of going out to get drunk, it's all just kinda shit sometimes.

"Don't get me wrong though, I do love our fans," he added, turning his eyes down to his hands. "They're amazing. They got us to where we are today and I love them for it. But sometimes I do want to just go to a bar and be able to have a drink with some of my friends. Or I want to go out with my family without having people follow us..."

I didn't speak, now aware of just how big Luke's band really was. Here was some highly-sought out guy sitting on my couch telling me how hard fame could be, and I hadn't even heard of his band before meeting him.

"What about touring? How hard is that?" I asked finally, almost dreading the answer.

He gave a small laugh, running a hand through his hair and turning to face me a bit more. "I love it, but I'm not gonna lie to you. It can really suck. Moving around constantly, hardly getting to see the places you visit because of time or other things can be kinda depressing. You get used to seeing only the insides of planes or your tour bus, and after you've played a set list so many times in a row, every show kinda starts to blur together. Backstage catering is one of the highlights of everyone's night, then you get to play in front of people you don't know but have one thing in common: your love for music. You love music, they love your music, and everyone gets to enjoy it. It almost becomes muscle memory."

"Really? It doesn't seem like this is all that fun to be honest..." I looked down, furrowing my eyebrows slightly.

"Oh no, no! Don't think it's not fun, because it is," he replied quickly, leaning forward and placing his hand lightly on my knee. "My band is the best thing that's ever happened to me. And that's only true because of our fans. It can just get kinda old sometimes, that's all," he smiled slightly.

I nodded slowly, noticing the proximity between us. His nose was about a foot from mine, his knee brushing against my own where his hand still lay. I couldn't explain quite why, but my heart started beating rapidly against my rib cage, each thump echoing thunderously in my ears. My breathing became more shallow, less and less air passing through my partially parted lips with each second.

"But always being on the road does make you appreciate being at home when you get the chance," he murmured, his eyes glittering as he leaned toward me slowly. Similar to the last time something like this happened, I couldn't move away. But part of me didn't even want to move away from him this time.