Camera Shy || Ben Barlow

Three

"I can't believe you let me yell at that poor little old lady," Zach huffed, falling onto a tattered couch 'backstage'- behind a white sheet- at Kerrang Studios. 

"We tried to tell you it was the boys." In all fairness to Zach, we'd been joking about the noises from the hotel being the boys. Until Matt fell through our ceiling. Wasn't really laughing about it too much, after that.

"You could have at least come to find me."

"We didn't know where you were," I said, but an angry member of the camera crew shushed me, his eyebrows scrunched up. It wasn't an attractive look on him. "We didn't know where yo-"

"Yeah you said that," Zach grumbled, cutting off my whisper.

The Kerrang interview wasn't nearly as extravagant as I'd thought it would be. They stood three of the boys (West and Dani were 'dealing with their trauma') in front of a white wall with a gnome in a Kerrang shirt. Not a literal gnome. But she was smaller than me, and I was built like a twelve year old; that had to be some kind of record.

"What kind of interview is this? We drove for an hour to get here. This is ridiculous," I complained.

"Oh, look who's moaning now." I rolled my eyes and flipped him the bird, sitting back to listen to the guys play a game of fucking 'word association'. I was never attending one of these again. I'd only come for photographic purposes, and they'd confiscated my camera on the way in. 

"We're starting with Donald Trump," said the too-short 'interviewer'. This wasn't an interview. This was a game. If they'd said to me, 'come along - we're playing some games' I'd have said, 'no thanks, I watch you play games all the time'. I hated my life.

"Unqualified!" Fil yelled, immediately. 

"Wishy-washy," was Ben's first contribution, earning him a funny look or two. For an intelligent young man, Ben Barlow said a lot of questionable things. 

"Mediocre," said a more professional sounding Sam (as professional as he could sound with that accent, anyway).

"Ben!" Cried Fil, far too excited for Ben's own liking. Zach and I sniggered, earning glares from the sound crew and camera guys. If Ben could see us, and looks could kill, I was certain we'd need some help. A slap echoed throughout the studio as Fil took a punch, giving out a muffled little cry. 

"Neck Deep," Ben mumbled, presumably mock angry about the mediocre comment. Not by any stretch of the imagination was Ben Barlow mediocre. 

"Shit." Sam's comment earned a few chuckles from the other boys, getting nothing but eye rolls and sighs from Zach and myself. The interviewer clearly didn't get the joke.

"West." I could almost hear the little smile in Ben's voice as he proudly insulted his best friend. On occasion, these boys were actually kind of adorable, but they'd have killed me for saying it out loud. 

Eventually, word association was over and the boys stumbled their way out of the little interview room and over to the snacks table. Zach and I followed, obviously, because who in their right mind was going to pass up free food? Apparently not Zach, I realised as he shoveled multiple servings of multiple different party foods onto a tiny paper plate.

"Who are you feeding with that, Zach? An army?" Even Fil's plate was relatively empty in comparison, and, let me tell you, that man could eat for England. 

"I'm taking some for Matt," he said, which I immediately knew was a lie. "You know, to help him get over falling through the floor." Matt West only ate bread, meat and cheese. No. Exceptions. Was there any bread, meat or cheese on Zach's plate? Absolutely not.