twenty four
I watched Luke get changed a few times, a stylist bringing a brush to the bridge of his nose. She covered him in his skin-tone powder, making him stay the same color as cameras were going to be on him for hours.
I have no idea what awards show we were at. Frankly, I didn't really care. All I did know, though, was that I needed a nap and Luke needed a few naps.
"So, you're not going to say anything dumb, right?" Alex asked as he paced around the dressing room.
Luke was staring at himself in the mirror, a blank expression on his face. "Yeah, nothing dumb."
"Talk about the tour, the next album, nothing else."
"What if they ask?"
"Avoid it, Luke, avoid it. We sent you to media training for this. You know this."
Luke looked at me through the mirror, quirking up an eyebrow and smirk. He has obviously heard all of this hundreds of times. "Maybe I want to talk about my problems, though."
"You give me problems," Alex sighed. He plopped down on the couch next to me, resting his arm on the back of the cushions. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and let out a sigh.
"Am I going out there with him?" I asked, looking over at the
Alex nodded. "Follow me on the carpet, you're a row behind Luke in the stadium." He brought a hand up to his nose, "I have a headache."
"Me too, want some vodka? They've got good shit in catering—."
"Luke, no. Don't touch that."
The blonde rolled his eyes and stood up, "Yes, Daddy." He tucked in the white button down more into his black skinny jeans, turning to look at himself from the side.
Alex ignored his earlier comment, "You look great, Luke, like a real adult." We both watched the star turn around in the mirror a few times. "It'd look better with those fitted slacks, but, I mean, whatever."
Luke rolled his eyes, "I wanna look hot, not like a 10th grade mathematics teacher."
"My 10th grade mathematics teacher was pretty hot," I pointed out.
"That's gross." Luke dug through his bag, spraying himself with cologne that was [probably] more expensive than me. It sure smelled like it. "I think I'm ready."
Alex stood up, I quickly followed his movements. "Alright, boys, let's get this done."
"Can I start a fist fight?" Luke asked as we began walking out of his given trailer and out into the hot sun.
"You would lose," Alex responded. He had no emotion to his voice and I figured that the duo have had this conversation often.
"You don't know that. I could probably break a nose or two." Luke was walking with a bounce in his step, almost skipping a few steps ahead of Alex and I.
He continued his half-dance-half-walk thing until we were able to hear the shouts of the stadium. News people screaming questions, fans screaming in general.
Luke's security guard met up with him and they entered together. Alex got him and I onto the carpet, the entire situation overwhelming. The carpet was about nine feet wide, photographers flashing behind a thin, black rope. There were breaks in the ropes where news media stood, ready to pull the stars over to interview them to death.
Luke was a professional at this, he knew where to stand, how to stand, and when to change. He had a calm, relaxed smile on his face, his blue eyes blinking constantly at the bright lights.
