Something More | Randy

chapter twelve | walls

My request for space- at least in the physical sense- turned out to be a futile one. In the new week, we launched into a full on rehearsal schedule, all five of us forced to be in each other's pockets for at least twelve hours a day. 

In the lead up to our European tour- our biggest tour yet, we were taking our set more seriously than we ever had. I slaved over arrangements, nitpicked harmonies to death, and we even put effort into our stage movement and choreography, deciding as a collective it was finally time we levelled up from wandering around the stage and a few questionable dance moves. 

Despite the forced proximity it brought on, the distraction of tour stress was welcome. Rye and I were able to remain civil but separate, sinking into a routine we knew well; collaborators and co-leaders of the band. In the past, the others had jokingly referred to us as the band dads, but this time around I felt we were more like business partners than a married couple. As much as it stung, this was how it needed to be. 

There were certainly a few awkward moments, particularly in the first couple of days as Rye struggled to realise that I was in fact serious about the whole 'taking a step back' thing. Physical affection had always been a natural component to our relationship, and I was sure it didn't go unnoticed by him when I ducked covertly out from under the arm he threw around me, or scooted over to make a gap between us when he sat next to me at the piano.  

I could tell it was hurting him, by the glances he kept throwing my way and god, it was so hard for me to maintain, but I had to remind myself to stay strong. The only way I could get him out of my system was to force myself to resist my every instinct that was screaming at me; 'Be with him!' At the end of the day he still had Kylie, and we still had three other boys relying on us to keep this band afloat. It was the only logical thing to do.

Love, however, had a bad habit of not listening to logic, and I still went to sleep each night with a head filled with him. He was there waiting for me behind my eyelids, the second my lights went out. After saying no to him all day, I simply wasn't strong enough to deny him through the night as well, and I fell asleep shamefully often with my face buried in his t-shirt, which I couldn't bring myself to give back to him.

Beneath the safe cover of the darkness I replayed the feeling of his lips on mine, analysing every detail of the memory out of fear it might slip into oblivion. I couldn't allow myself to forget how tightly he'd gripped me, how he'd kissed me like he'd waited his whole life to do it, or especially how his tongue had tasted as it battled against mine, running past my lips and over my teeth. I dreamed about being back in that moment again, with my hands knotted in his hair and my junk up against his thigh. I wondered if he thought about these things as much as I did.   

When I woke each morning I'd allow myself one final moment of happy pretending, then rebuild my walls ready to face him in the day ahead. 

***

I was barely able to stay upright by Friday afternoon, exhausted not only from the rehearsals but also the emotional exertion it took to keep Rye at arms length every day. I sat on the ground, my head rested on Brooklyn's shoulder, mind still spinning with a million different worries although my body was finally still.  

Brooklyn had managed to become a substitute vessel for my affections during the week, a safe scapegoat for my cuddly side to manifest itself upon. I was naturally affectionate at the best of times, but my starvation from Rye meant I had a lot more excess energy than usual, which Brooklyn seemed more than happy to receive. That kid loved attention. I was also certain that Rye had noticed my increased closeness with Brook, as I felt his gaze heavily whenever the two of us were together, following me with that same expression of hurt and confusion he had worn when he found us together in the bathroom.