Something More | Randy

chapter one | studio

It had been a bloody long night, and I was half asleep when a sudden jarring noise caused me to jump. 

"MORNING ANDY!" sang Rye, far too loudly for the hour. I groaned as I noticed the vlog camera in his hand, which had undoubtedly caught my involuntary high pitched squeak and jump. My embarrassment was brief though, I was used to this kind of shit after four years. I shot Rye and the camera a sassy look as the other boys flooded into the studio, then I collapsed back onto the couch, my tired eyes fluttering shut again. 

"Oof!" I huffed as I felt Rye's weight over top of me suddenly. My eyes flashed open again. Rye, now sitting half on my lap, leaning against my body, was vlogging again. 

"Aw, he's a tired little baby," Rye cooed in an exaggerated baby voice, fluffing my hair as he did so. The contact caused my sassy demeanour to dissolve against my will- as his proximity always did. So I turned to my puppy eyes instead.

"Why won't you let me sleep, Ryan?"I whined cutely, "I've been up all night laying guitar tracks for you to sing to." I directed my wide-eyed gaze to the little Rye on the viewfinder in front of us, for some reason feeling a little too vulnerable in my hazy state to meet his eyes directly. I was painfully aware of the hand that had been in my hair, now casually resting on the back of my neck. 

"This is true, guys, this is what we'll being doing all week," Ryan explained to the vlog, "we just pull mental hours so that we can get EP3 out to you guys as soon as possible. Andy started last night laying literally all the guitar tracks in one night so-"

"And I'm sleepy," I insisted again, laying my head on his shoulder, pretending to fall back to sleep. I could feel the side of his face twist in a smirk. 

Rye pressed a kiss to my temple. "I'm gonna let this guy sleep now." He finished. I heard the camera screen flick down, meaning he had stopped filming. I rolled off his shoulder and back onto the couch, snuggling into the cushions. Rye rested his hands on me for a few seconds longer before sighing and gently manoeuvring my legs around him so he could get up. I felt his warmth leave me and I curled up against the couch, ignoring as always the slight quickening of my heartbeat that he left behind.  

***

"And, mate. I got you a lemon iced tea." The Starbucks logo gradually came into focus before my eyes as I reawakened. 

"Thanks buddy," I said to the blurry figure of Mikey, accepting the drink gratefully. I felt the cool liquid soothe my sore dry throat instantly. 

Mikey sat at my feet, Starbucks coffee in hand. I watched him with a smirk as he pulled out his phone and took a selfie with the straw in his mouth.

"You're a proper basic white girl," I chuckled and saw Mikey's face turned into a frown as he turned the phone towards me- the selfie, it turned out, was a video.

"I am not, sir." Mikey replied, zooming all the way into his frowning face, then posting the video to his instagram story. 

My eyes wandered over to the other couch where Jack seemed to be trapping a squirming Brooklyn inside his hoodie by pulling the strings tight around his face and tying a complicated knot. Brook seemed to have stopped fighting by this point and was thrashing his head wildly to and fro as if it would help him to see. This was all very typical behaviour.

My eyes continued to roam the space, instinctively looking for the remaining member of our five piece ensemble. They found him in the recording booth, headphones on, eyes closed, rocking to the track in his ears. 

By the pace of his swaying I guessed he was listening to our slowest track on the EP, the one I had strummed a particularly beautiful acoustic guitar melody to in the early hours of the morning. 

I got up from my place on the couch to sit by Charlie, our producer, at the desk. I slipped on a pair of headphones so I could hear as Rye began to sing his lead. 

And goddamn, when he opened his mouth if I didn't feel that song come to life. Rye's voice effortlessly dipped and peaked around the melody, slipping into his falsetto and causing a grin to spread across my face. That's my boy. 

He opened his eyes and met mine once his part was sung.  Fuck yeah! I mouthed to him through the glass. His grin matched mine. 

***

The impossibly long studio day dragged on. By two AM we were all a little delirious. While Jack laid vocals in the booth, Mikey, Rye and Brook began a strange tribal dance around a lamp in the middle of the room. I, tired again, laid on the couch and scrolled instagram to the sound of their rhythmic footfalls.

I checked on my post from earlier today- photos taken by Mikey of me in the booth. I reread my aesthetically lower-case caption.

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chapter 41. "songbird"

growing up with music in my heart, i always wanted to spread my wings and fly. now that music within me is finally taking flight. 

there is something so vulnerable and so beautiful about sharing your soul with the world. turning your emotions into art to bring happiness to many.

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The caption was admittedly a little shaky due to sleep deprivation, but at this point I felt sure that the wankier my posts, the more the roadies would eat it up as pure poetry. The comments from the boys brought me down to earth a bit.

mikeycobban: deep

itsgibsonwyatt: I BELIEVE I CAN FLYYYYYY!!!!

iamjackduff: where's nan?

itsgibsonwyatt: Sick pic btw broski absolutely smashing it 👌🏻😍

And then..

ryebeaumont: my little bluebird x

The smile that crossed my lips was involuntary, and I looked up to make sure none of the boys caught me. They were still marching in a strange conga line thankfully. 

I clicked his profile and watched the story. A shirtless good morning selfie that I quickly skipped. A video in the car with Mikey. Then- oh god, about four pics in a row of me sleeping on the couch from this morning, the last one captioned "sleeping angel" and I cringed at the thought of the fresh influx of Randy posts that would inevitably be appearing in my tagged photos.

That was our relationship. Best mates. Bandmates for four years. A very close friendship that our fans latched onto. And if it made them happy, what was the harm in a little flirting for the camera? Or onstage. Or in the comments section of our instagrams. As blurry as the line to 'Randy' became, at the end of the day we were both into girls and always had been. I tried not to think about the stray feelings that made that little distinction more confusing for me. 

I didn't notice the conga line dissipate until his body was next to mine on the couch. 

"Fuck I'm tired," he said, yawning. I quickly clicked off his profile. 

"It'll definitely be another all-nighter," I responded, catching his yawn, "I'm going to try get another couple hours sleep."

"Same. Move over," he commanded. I let him push me up the couch a bit so that I was now in front of him, my back against his chest. Sleepily, I reached around for his arm and pulled it over me like a blanket. He hugged me tight around my middle, burying his face in the back of my neck.

I fell asleep to the feeling of his breaths hitting my spine, trying not to think about the jolts of electricity each one sent through my body, or the stubborn butterflies fluttering in my stomach.