Chapter Text
Leo slid his arm out from under the man with a move practiced over many late nights and early mornings. He was practically an artist of escaping from the beds of women and men before they woke up and expected anything from him—another round of sex, breakfast, or, even worse, a second date.
This man never woke up as Leo dressed quickly and tiptoed to the hotel room door, holding his breath until it clicked shut behind him. Then he pulled on his boots and went down the hall to the elevator, wondering if he could wake up anyone in the bar to serve him before he left. Instead, he spotted Dragonetti, the usual head of security for the band, in the lobby and veered toward him.
“Going home?” Dragonetti suggested rather than asked.
“I suppose so,” Leo said wistfully gazing in the direction of all the alcohol.
“It's not my place to say,” Dragonetti said in the tone of one who knows very well it is, “but I think you had enough tonight.”
Leo made a rude noise. “I stopped drinking hours ago and I worked off that alcohol already. It's only...”
“It's 4:30 a.m. and I think it's time you went home and got some sleep.”
“Sleep is for the weak and untalented,” Leo insisted, but Dragonetti took his arm and escorted him down another hallway to a side door leading to the parking garage. Leo wasn't even sure what hotel they were in. Management always rented rooms for the band members who wanted them after big award shows or appearances. It made things easier on all of them and less to clean up, particularly in the way of hangers-on who were picked up and left discarded and disappointed in the bedrooms.
Leo gazed out the window at pre-dawn Los Angeles as Dragonetti drove, and his fingers itched for a pen and notebook. Everything looked pristine and peaceful, totally unlike reality, the lights starting to twinkle on as the city awoke, and he longed to capture the image in words, potential lyrics for another song, but he pushed the feeling aside. It wasn't what he did anymore.
He dozed for a long while until the car left the city and climbed the narrow canyon road that led to the house he was renting. Another pang hit him when he realized he didn't even know the proper address, and he'd already been staying there for more than two months.
He waved Dragonetti off and stumbled his own way inside, unerringly finding the liquor that someone had thoughtfully restocked in the kitchen, and then made it to the bedroom. Part of him wanted to shower, to wash off the reek of the evening and the nameless man, but the rest of him was too lazy, and he fell on the bed on his back, only bothering to kick off his boots.
He took a long drink from the bottle—wouldn't want to bother the never-seen maid with more dirty dishes, would he—and took a deep breath. It had been a long day and a long night at the … why couldn't he remember the name of the event? The band had been invited to play, but since they were on “hiatus” as the label called it internally and “in-between records” as the label told the public and “totally fucking over” as Zo put it, they had not performed.
Still, the media ate up any appearance, so Leo had worked it for the red carpet, smiled and posed with supermodels, took selfies with adoring fans and horseplayed with Zo and Nico for the cameras. Then he had left as soon as he'd picked up the short and muscular blond, but he simply could not remember what the event had been.
Sort of how he could barely remember what it felt like to make music and perform because he loved it rather than because he was fulfilling a contract.
He put down the bottle and searched his pockets for his phone, intending to Google himself to find out for sure where he'd been, but the first thing he pulled out was an iPod. He frowned and turned it over then recognized it as Nico's. He'd been messing around with Zo, as usual, and had thrown it to Leo for safekeeping after Zo tried to douse him with a bottle of champagne. Several beautiful women had giggled and intervened, but somehow Leo had forgotten to return it.
He thumbed it on and went to Nico's music which almost filled the device. Leo scrolled through the artists in the library and smiled when he saw how eclectic Nico's tastes were—one or two songs of everything from Britney Spears to the Rolling Stones to Adele and everything in between.
Leo suddenly wanted to update his Twitter. Years before, when he'd only had followers who knew him from live club performances, back before the band, he'd started Hump Day Happies, posting a couple links every Wednesday to a song that really grabbed his attention or something that he fell in love with immediately, songs that crawled inside his brain and lived there until he shared them with others who would equally appreciate them. It had been fun, and his followers would recommend songs back to him, and he'd found quite a few things he liked that way. It had been fun, back then, to immerse himself in the music without any expectations and believe that he would be doing what he loved the rest of his life.
He wondered if he'd feel that positive surge of energy from his 2 million-plus followers now, or if they would just fight and endlessly pick apart ever single word he posted and search whatever song he chose for hidden meanings. Heh, might be fun anyway. Nico certainly had enough music to choose from.
Leo went to Nico's playlists and looked at the most played. Maybe he'd give the kid a shout-out and dedicate the new version of Hump Day Happies to one of his favorites...only Leo didn't recognize about twenty of the most played songs, and the remaining were by their own band. The others were all by the same artist “Riario,” which Leo thought was a stupid-ass name for a band, and it wasn't much better for a person. There wasn't even a tiny picture of a person or group, just a black and white album cover. He absently touched it to play the most popular song then went back to check out the artists where he raised an impressed eyebrow. Nico had 40+ songs by this Riario.
As the music began, even through the tinny speaker of the iPod, Leo was entranced. He closed his eyes and just listened for the first time in forever. The song was a flurry of strings, some instruments he couldn't even identify by the sound, but the effect was melodic and a little bit haunting. Then the singer began and Leo was lost.
Later, he tried to describe and categorize the voice like he did everything else, but this time, even his imagination for creative metaphor failed him. The voice was magic. It somehow suited the music perfectly—it was a little rough, a little smooth, and the passion came through clearly. When Leo got over the initial shock, he listened to the words and it got even better. Dude was telling a story in the song, and the way it flowed made it clear he was the author of the lyrics telling a tale in song.
Leo caught himself nodding his head and humming along by the end of the song and skipped to another one. Then another. And one more. They were all full of rich instrumentals, lots of strings and piano, and the singer was always the man with the unusual voice. The actual sound quality wasn't the best, Leo realized after the fifth or sixth, but it had the scratchy quality of old vinyl rather than the stuck-in-a-well sound of poor recording equipment. It added something to the performance, took him back in time, and forced his attention to the beauty of the vocal performance without electronic distraction.
Leo found his phone finally but didn't bother Googling himself—he went right to YouTube to find this Riario and see his videos. But, he was sorely disappointed when he discovered Riario's channel and started playing the homemade videos.
Oh, it was definitely the right voice, the right sound, but the videos weren't overly produced or high quality. It looked like he just set up his iPhone and played in front of it without caring that each one only showed him from the neck down. In each video, he played an instrument—guitar, banjo, was that a fucking ukulele?—and sang to the accompaniment without the other layers of instruments and production that his album songs featured. Even when he played the piano, the camera didn't capture his head or face.
All Leo could see were the thin, perfect hands with long, nimble fingers working the strings, and a broad-shouldered, slim male figure in plain T-shirts with the occasional flannel overshirt, and he was disappointed. He clicked play on the latest song this Riario had uploaded, and it was a stripped-down version of the first song Leo had played. He found himself shutting his eyes again and wallowing in the richness of the sound and the voice. And imagining what the face looked like that went to that body in a black T-shirt with a white swirl.
When he found himself idly pressing his palm to his interested groin, Leo's eyes shot open and he stopped the song. He did not need that, not again. He could imagine what the singer looked like, sure, he obviously had a face made for radio if he wasn't willing to share himself on YouTube. He probably had scared off fans completely before someone recommended cutting his face out of his videos. Maybe he had to wear a paper bag over his head to perform or a motorcycle helmet or a giant mascot head to hide his identity.
Leo reached around the bed until he found the bottle and drank. Then drank some more.
It wouldn't do to fall in love with some guy's voice and music and hands, even if they were all really fucking amazing voice, music and hands. Talents and looks would fade away, and then... that didn't bear thinking. So Leo did what Leo did best when confronted by feelings—he deflected.
He figured out his Twitter password, took another long drink, and wrote Hey all, Return of Happy Hump Day, if it is Wed, if not, fuck off. Here's something to ponder and hump to if you so desire and linked the latest YouTube video of the Riario song he'd heard first.
After he Tweeted it, he paused then rapidly thumbed, Don't know the artist but seems to be a very angry hipster before they were hipsters. No face though so what you hiding there? followed by, Just sayin gif you can't showit, what's the point in even bothering. Somethings not right but gold star for effort.
And then he turned off the phone, took another drink and fell asleep with Nico's iPod still playing beside him. He slept better than he had in years.
****
Leo woke up to angry cursing and shouting, but having been in a band that toured together for years, he wasn't shocked by it; it just made him think he was back in a bus somewhere and he wondered groggily where they were performing that night. He rolled over and rubbed his face, scrabbling on the bedspread until he found his phone. But when he tried to check the time, it was Nico's iPod, and it was shortly accompanied by a very angry Nico barging into the bedroom.
“You are the biggest asshole in the history of assholes,” Nico screamed.
Zo was right behind him, trying to hold Nico back and shouting at him to calm the fuck down. But Nico was in a rage like Leo had never seen, and he actually scrambled back against the headboard when Nico got free and bolted for the bed. But instead of hitting him, Nico swooped down on the iPod and hugged it to his chest.
“God, are you that upset about your fucking iPod? I'm sorry,” Leo said tiredly.
“You fucking asshat. You don't even know what you did,” Nico fumed.
Leo shrugged and scratched himself. “Apparently I stole your music and you're mad?”
“You ruin everything you touch. It's not even Wednesday, you twat,” Nico yelled while Leo yawned. “This is it. I'm done. Don't talk to me until you're ready to be a fucking grown-up for once. In fact, just don't talk to me again.”
And Nico stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind himself so hard it bounced open again.
Leo was pretty impressed but still confused so he looked up at Zo for an explanation. Zo crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.
“You've really got us into the middle of another shitstorm, thanks so much,” Zo said.
Leo got more confused by the second but he suddenly desperately, urgently needed a bathroom. “Hold that thought,” he told Zo as he stumbled to the bathroom as quickly as his hungover legs would take him.
When he was done, Zo was sitting on the bed looking at his phone. Leo went for the bottle at his side, but Zo grabbed it first and held it out of his grasp. “You have had enough,” he said.
“I haven't even started yet today,” Leo argued, but Zo was firm.
“I would beg to differ, based on your Tweets from very early this morning. Or maybe you can claim you were hacked?”
“I was hacked?” Leo was even more confused so he snatched the phone from Zo and checked on his Tweets. There were only three new ones, and oh yeah, one was a link to YouTube. He touched it and that music started, and he remembered, remembered how the music had seduced him with its awesomeness and how he'd only wanted to recommend it to his followers so they could enjoy it too. “What did I do wrong?”
“So you did post that?”
“Yeah, what's the matter?”
Zo sighed, a very put-upon sigh that he had used many times before. Leo was old friends with it, nearly as old of friends with the sigh as he was with Zo.
“Nico has never been this pissed,” Zo finally said. “He really likes that guy, you know, and you just shit all over him. Now all of social media are calling us bullies, his stans have us trending with the hashtag LoserLeo, and you, they are slaying in effigy on every hipster site on the Internet. The gifs and memes are strong already.”
“All because I recced the guy's song? What's the matter with him? Did he get his feelings hurt because he's not a fan of mine?” Leo was honestly lost.
“That guy hasn't even responded,” Zo said. “And everyone is up in arms because of the other tweets, you stupid son of a bitch.”
Leo re-read them and laughed.
“Seriously, Leo?”
“Well, you have to admit, it is pretty funny.” Leo laughed again until Zo stood up in disgust.
“You managed to insult a total stranger who has a really strong, militant fanbase, who Nico idolizes, and now you're laughing about it?”
“It's ridiculous. Forget about it. It'll blow over.” Leo threw the phone on the bed and stood up to clap Zo on the shoulder. “Let's go get some breakfast and everything will look better.”
“Leo, it's 5 in the afternoon.”
“So? There are lots of restaurants that still serve breakfast.”
“I don't think you're taking this seriously.”
“No, I'm not,” Leo agreed. “It's just a stupid Internet thing. It doesn't matter to anyone.”
“Nico would beg to differ. The guy is kind of a hero to him.”
“Nico needs to realize that there is no such thing as a hero,” Leo said sharply, and Zo stared at him in surprise. Leo sighed. “Let's just get something to eat and then maybe you can explain to me exactly why I should care about all of this.”
When they were settled into a booth with coffee, Leo borrowed Zo's phone to check Twitter again. First he found Riario's verified Twitter, but it was empty except for a post months before of the highly stylized black and white art that must be an album cover. Nothing Tweeted to Leo or anyone else.
Then Leo checked his own notifications, and the vitriol made him laugh again so Zo grabbed for the phone. Zo was right: people were really pissed at him, and some of their suggestions of what he should do to himself were pretty inventive.
When he won the brief wrestle over Zo's phone, he scrolled through his notifications until he found a fan twitter dedicated to Riario. It made him raise both eyebrows. There was apparently a fan effort underway not to slam Leo but to get his #LoserLeo hashtag replaced with #RespectRiario and allow the fans to post why they loved Riario and what he meant to them.
Then Leo hit the jackpot. Fans were posting selfies of themselves with their idol in a show of support and unity, and he finally got to see this Riario. The first thing that struck Leo were his eyes—big and dark and somber. He always managed to stare directly into the camera, and Leo's stomach and then lower clenched at the intensity of the look. But he never smiled. Leo flipped through one fan pic after another, but Riario was always showing a serious demeanor, or nothing more than the hint of a smile on his lips, his very nicely formed lips.
It was not how Leo had pictured him, not at all, and Leo ran a thumb over one particularly clear fan selfie and made it as big as possible to enjoy the view. Then another fan posted a Vine of Riario speaking a phrase from one of his songs—in his raspy, breathless voice that made Leo's cock a little hard— and just as the video ended, Riario smiled as he turned his face away, and Leo was gone. He watched the Vine loop over and over until Zo leaned across the table suspiciously and asked, “Are you watching porn?”
“Almost,” Leo said.
Zo got a look at the Vine and swore. “Don't do this, Leo. Just let it go.”
“Let what go?” he asked absentmindedly as he went to that fan's Twitter to see if they had posted any more Vines with Riario.
“Him. This. It. You've gotten us and yourself into enough trouble. If you're not going to apologize, then just leave it alone and let it blow over.”
“Apologize,” Leo repeated, logging back into Twitter. “That's exactly what I'm going to do.”
First, he made sure he followed Riario's official, unused account and then the popular fan account.
Then he Tweeted at the official account, Everyone is telling I should apologize so I'll say I'm sorry. Sorry for telling the truth, or would you rather I apologize in person He followed that with: I can do that if you're brave to show your face. You're good, just be less serious? And thank your fans, bad press better than none
He thought the smiley emoji with one open eye and the tongue sticking out was the perfect accompaniment to that.
Zo shook his head and swore as he watched the notifications blow up again in a fury.
After breakfast for dinner, Leo wanted to go to a bar; Zo suggested a movie. They compromised by getting drunk at Leo's house while a movie played unnoticed on the huge-screen TV.
“This isn't how it was supposed to be,” Zo lamented.
“Nothing in life works out like we plan,” Leo said and would have sounded sage if he hadn't been hanging off the leather sofa upside down.
Zo jumped when his phone trilled with a text alert, “That's Nico.”
That dumb fuckwad only made things worse. Shut him up or I'll do it permanently
Leo read over his shoulder and whistled. “The little guy is really pissed.”
“I told you so,” Zo said. “But I wonder...” He wrote back, “What dumb fuckwad do now?”
Almost immediately, Nico texted back, His lame ass apology made our fans mad now they're coming for the Riario fans it's a fucking flame war
Leo started to laugh until Zo elbowed him in the gut. Nico's next text was brief gtg Riario just posted
At Leo's drunken command, Zo found his tablet and went to Twitter, but Riario hadn't Tweeted anything. They wasted a few long minutes trying to figure out what Nico could have meant.
“Just ask him,” Leo urged.
Zo shook his head. “I'm not risking my balls by asking Nico anything.”
The mystery was solved when Nico eventually sent Now THAT is a classy man fuck Leo.
Leo tried to puzzle out if Nico wanted the classy man to fuck him, Leo, or what, when Zo thought of YouTube. “Ah, this Riario uploads every Friday, from the looks of it. A song, a poem, something.”
“This is Friday?”
Zo ignored him. “And his last post was seven minutes ago. Wow, it already has 1,200 hits.”
“Play it,” Leo crawled closer, practically onto Zo's lap to see the iPad.
It was a lilting, upbeat song on the ukulele of all things—Leo couldn't believe that anyone still played one of those—and he was so concentrated on the fingering of the strings and the play of the muscles in the forearms cradling the instrument that he didn't pay attention to the lyrics. Until Zo groaned, and he realized Riario rhymed “he's a dick” with “sad lyric” and worked in “just ignore the douchebag” to match the meter of “make him want you back”, and he made Zo start it over again while he laughed until he had tears in his eyes.
There was no mention of Leo by name, of course, but the song was obviously not about a boy who cheated on a girl as it ostensibly sounded. It was certainly not about how the girl got revenge by burning down everything he loved until she faced him alone with a samurai sword.
The cheerful strum of the ukulele ended, and Leo saw Riario's face fully in motion for the first time as he leaned down into the webcam and Leo liked it. He liked it lot. Riario smiled, all quirked lips and big eyes and stylishly messy black hair, and reminded his followers to take the high road, to definitely not engage others no matter how misguided, clueless or horrible they might be.
As Zo moaned, Leo grabbed the iPad to Tweet, Nice tiny guitar and hair, do you think you are a Japanese cartoon? Or do you believe a Flock of Seagulls will make a comeback?
Leo's Twitter blew up with another wave of hate and he laughed. The guy was good. Really good. This could be the most fun he'd ever had in war and he looked forward to the challenge.