Frans King is a modern day popstar who lives his life on the outside as if everything were perfect. But, inside, he faces the tumult of an emotional typhoon.
His father and his record company force him to live a faux life in order to support a good...
The door opened and Frans peeked over his shoulder, seeing his own mirror image. That woke him up.
For so long they have been kept separate, in fact, they haven't even said hello to each other. And never has he seen his look alike up close.
The guy stopped on his tracks, surprised as well.
Frans tiled his head, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the guy standing in front of him. He noticed him doing the same.
The stranger was wearing dark jeans and boots, a dark jacked over white tee. There was a dog tag hanging around his neck and a lighter between his fingers as he slowly slid it back in his pocket.
His eyes were only a little darker shade of green, or who knows, it might even not be his real eye color. But his face looked so much like Frans' it sent cold shiver down his spine. His dark hair fell over his eye as he pushed it aside to keep staring at Frans.
Their staring competition stopped as the stranger peeked over his shoulder and then closed the door quickly.
He marched over to Frans and sat opposite of him, leaning his elbows on his knees. They were even the same heigh, it seemed surreal to Frans, by the looks of it, the stranger was taken aback as well.
They were never allowed to speak with each other, that's why the situation was tense, awkward and exciting at the same time.
Frans held his hand out, the guy shook it.
"I'm Frans."
"Michael, Michael O'Connor."
Yet, there was the difference Frans was searching. Michael's voice was little deeper and he had heavy British accent.
Frans leaned back, not taking his eyes off Michael who stared at him as well. "How did they even find you?"
Frans asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. A small smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes were still filled with something dark and violent. There was something that screamed danger, but Frans knew better to judge someone by their appearance.
"I was just walking to this restaurant where my great aunt worked, I had to wait 'till her shift ended. So there was this guy sitting across the room, looking all too fancy and stuff. And he stepped closer, offering me job. I needed that money, and it seemed simple enough task."
Seemed.
Frans huffed as Michael leaned back, taking out his cigarette.
"Why did they even need me? You can't stand a bit of booze?"
