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...
4am It should've been the hour of peace and silence. Yet Frans was sitting in unfamiliar cafe like a statue. His body was almost shutting itself down, but the XL black coffee in front of him was keeping his mind crazed, alert and awake. The last, morning interview, had ended exactly at 2:57. After that, Oswald and Lance had stopped in front of the cafe.
Frans' eyes traveled down the dark red painted wall, to the white floor and red leathered seats. He felt like he wasn't in his own body, that it was a dream and he was fast asleep in his own bed.
Someone weaseled their way next to Frans, they took his arm and placed it around themselves. A loud sigh was heard.
"Now I can officially say that I have been in Frans King's arms at 4am in a dark cafe."
"More likely pressed yourself in between Frans King and a table."
Frans answered, looking down at the guy stupidly.
"Uhm, Victor? Mind sitting across the table?"
He asked Victor whose eyes were half closed and a pleased smile was plastered on his face. His white hair was styled up and his clothing was rather fashionable.
"Nah, I'll pass."
Victor said. Frans just sighed and leaned back. Actually he didn't really care that he had almost a stranger, a man nevertheless, pressing himself between him and the table at 4am. Victor huffed and pulled away. "Fine." He sat across the table, looking just a dat bit annoyed. Frans lazily opened his eyes and took a sip of the cold coffee.
"So, what are you doing here?"
"Drinking coffee."
"I can see that, but why 4am in some kind of crappy cafe? Mate, you even listening? Well, when someone is talking to you, you usually don't fall asleep. Frans? Hello? Anyone there? That's nice, you meet a star and you're so boring he falls asleep while you're conversing with him. Well done Victor. You're the best."
Victor muttered to himself as he leaned over the table. Frans was indeed fallen asleep, snoring quietly, his head resting against the cold window.
"Hey! Get away from him!"
Victor almost jumped out of his skin as a young man approached them. The man was tall and lanky, he had dark eyes and black hair. He definitely didn't look like a guard, if anything, then a janitor. Victor snorted as the stranger glared at him.
