Were All Together Again Were Here Were Here

Joining a boyband gave Tyler everything he ever dreamed of. A close-knit group of friends, the adventure to model a beautiful masculinity, and a vocal implant that lets him sing even improve than he did earlier transitioning. Only deep on tour, Tyler realizes he wants more from ane of his bandmates, yearns for a love that would never fit the paradigm that has been advisedly crafted for him. His managing director wants him to be the heartthrob: available, wholesome, and pure. And since his manager gave Tyler his vox, he tin can always have it away once again.

Jeff opens the app on his phone while we warm upwardly. While nosotros run through scales and diction exercises and harmonies. While nosotros breathe in—two, three—out—ii, three. While four voices unite to become one, each a band in a rainbow of sound. While Jeff adjusts the timbre of my voice.

Information technology didn't ever sound like this. That's part of why I auditioned for Dorsum 2 Back—for the vocal implant. A chance to sing like I used to before my vocal chords thickened. I wanted my range dorsum, wanted the soaring feeling of a note held against the smashing of harmony.

I clear my throat.

"Sounds proficient, boys." Jeff pockets his telephone. "Accept a slap-up prove." He waves over his shoulder and heads upwardly to the sound booth.

As much as I honey beingness in a band, I love existence in a boyband even more. You lot're not supposed to. Boyband members are male, merely no one considers them masculine—not when their audience is comprised of teenage girls. Sky preclude girls' tastes be given any weight. When I was one, my favorite band was a group of baby-faced cis boys whom my classmates misgendered just so they could call me a lesbian for liking them. Figures, they were my trans masculinity goals and now here I am:

Beside a piano, backstage at Madison Foursquare Garden, artillery effectually iii other guys every bit nosotros huddle up before the show. I breathe in the spice of deodorant, freshly done cotton, sweat, and hint of coffee. Experience the heat of their damp armpits confronting my shoulder blades. The shell of their hearts.

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"All right, lovers, let'southward go." Zeke waggles his eyebrows, eliciting laughter equally we pile our hands on i another'due south, twine our fingers. Sing ourselves off.

"We're all together again, nosotros're here, we're hither. We're all together again, we're here, we're here!" Our joined easily bounce up and downwardly to the rhythm as we sing the old campfire vocal in a circle no i else can penetrate. "Who knows when nosotros'll exist all together over again? Singing all together again! Nosotros're here, we're here!"

We whoop and cheer. Adrenaline punches through my body equally we race to take our positions below the stage. The opening notes of "Continue Running" rumble through the stage above, though they play clearly in our monitors. I close my optics, letting them vibrate through my torso.

"Tyler."

A stagehand holds out a microphone with a strip of blue tape wrapped around the handle. Mine is e'er blue. Jasper'southward green. Aiden's yellow. And Zeke's scarlet.

I accept the offered mic, nod my thanks, and glance sideways at Jasper. He winks at me. Smirks. My heart flutters like a teenaged girl'due south. It's the same heart I've always had and it withal flutters for musicians like Jasper. The edgy ones.

He exudes masculine energy through eyeliner, tight black jeans, and nail polish. I straighten my own jean jacket, a light blue denim over a thick white tee shirt. Khaki joggers. Clean white sneakers. I only wore them for the commencement fourth dimension two shows ago. Still have the blisters to prove it.

"All right, B2B." The stagehand'due south voice is in our ears. "Yous're up in five, iv, three, ii—"

I don't hear her say "one." I'yard already in the music. A loaded bullet in a sparking chamber. When the trigger is pulled, we shoot up into an arena of sound. The electricity of the band—of a live-wire guitar and surging drums. The wall of auspicious and screaming, words duplicate only the sentiment the same:

This music is a part of me. It hurts when I don't listen and even more when I do. I'g here because this concert hall is my church. This melody is my body and these lyrics are my claret.

I feel the ache in my chest and know I feel the aforementioned.

Then, I'thou raising my mic and our voices bring together the chorus of dissonance and we're off. Euphoria settles under my skin, carrying me between songs. We don't officially dance—nosotros're too absurd for that—but we're so close. We're mocking dance: jumping to the beat out, bouncing around the massive stage. Zeke runs past with the melody on his lips and a can of Airheaded String in his hand.

When it'southward empty, he chucks it aside and slaps my ass, cackling. I'1000 not mad and the fans love information technology when he screws around. Fifty-fifty the label encourages it. I pick up the span, startled but laughing. My voice doesn't suspension or scissure. With Jeff'due south control, it doesn't falter—it lifts without effort. I close my optics, hold my complimentary mitt up and, for a second, I'd swear I'm singing four notes at the same fourth dimension, harmonizing with myself, conducting sound like a lightning rod.

I wonder, with the implant, if I could.

Merely then I see the others closing in, hear their voices joining mine. Aiden flips his long brown pilus out of his eyes while he picks at his acoustic, notes like the patter of raindrops on hot pavement.

Jasper walks towards me like he'south in West Side Story, crouched down, snapping his fingers, singing to me—only me. He grabs my mic and our voices blend impossibly into one.

"When I buss you / it's like ooh-wee-ooh."

"I can't describe / your ahh-la-la-la."

"Some night when / the moon is high"

"Nosotros'll ay-ay-ay-ay / 'til it'southward calorie-free."

"When I kiss you, baby." Then Jasper is looking at me the way he'south looked at a hundred girls and his manus is in my hair, sliding downwards my neck, and my face is burning, and the next thing I know I kickoff to for-existent kiss him. On stage. While Zeke sings, "ooh-wee-ooh," and Aiden strums his guitar, and the crowd is so loud, I can't even hear my ear monitors.

Slowly, the sound mellows, the lights drop, and spotlights illuminate our final song. No one looks at me differently. Zeke ruffles my pilus like I'm his child blood brother. Aiden leans over his guitar to sing backup into my mic. Jasper takes my mitt for our bows.

Everything is okay. I don't know why I idea information technology wouldn't be. Zeke calls us "lovers" all the fourth dimension, Aiden's cried on stage before, and Jasper flirts with anyone with a pulse. I can osculation him. It doesn't mean anything to the fans. Only to me.

"You lot wanted to run across me?" I'm still rubbing a towel through my sweaty hair, when I duck into the makeshift office the venue's provided for Jeff. "I got your text."

"Hey, Tyler. Accept a seat." He gestures to an upholstered chair on the contrary side of his desk-bound. It's fat, polished wood that belongs in a penthouse office, not a room with a paper sign taped on the front. But his workspace needs are outlined in our tour rider alongside ours. I can't arraign him for wanting to feel comfortable.

Jeff is as bad-mannered every bit you'd expect an executive-type who chases twenty-somethings around music venues, all solar day, to exist. Like an out-of-bear upon dad who's besides decorated to exist home for your birthday, but all the same pays for the party. And he is sort of like our dad—none of us has been home for more than a few days at a time, in years. Non since we auditioned. Not since Jeff called united states all into a conference room, still strangers, and said, "I want to bring back the boyband."

I sit and slouch, crossing my legs casually, the way I've seen Jasper do. It looks better on him, I decide, and shuffle until I'g sitting upwards directly. Jeff lays his phone face up on the desk-bound, amidst ii stacks of papers and a computer monitor that could've come from outer infinite, in comparison to the heavy desk.

"What's up?" I ask.

He taps lazily at his phone. He does that enough that we're never surprised or offended when he's working and talking to united states of america at the same time. Merely this feels different. Like it's for show. Like he wants me to watch what he's doing.

"I want to review some interview protocols with you. Nada big, just a couple notes from the label."

"Okay." I lean forward until I tin can see the app on his phone. The one he uses to adjust our song implants.

"Almost what happened on stage this evening."

"Okay?"

He rubs his hand over his evening stubble. "We desire y'all to advisedly consider how you answer questions nigh the incident."

"Incident?"

"The kiss."

"Oh, that." I express joy. If I human activity like information technology didn't hateful anything, it won't. "The fans loved information technology."

"They did. That they did." He disappears into his telephone again, switching to a news app that streams video of the "incident" and photograph on which someone has scribbled pink hearts with a stylus. I try to take hold of the website, simply Jeff scrolls quickly before turning off his phone and looking right at me. "But is that really the image yous want to cultivate?"

Is that a trick question? "Aye?"

"Let me re-phrase." Jeff flattens his palms against one some other and points his fingertips at me. "That'south not the image the label is hoping you'll cultivate."

"Zeke literally spanked me, on stage." I'g smiling only Jeff isn't. For the first fourth dimension, I'thou nervous.

"He'south a goofy guy," Jeff says. "Information technology was a joke."

My smile goes dried. "Am I not funny?"

"You are, of course. You're all good-humored guys. That'southward why the fans love you. You're like shooting fish in a barrel going, approachable, you make them laugh."

"But?"

"But you're the 1 they always come back to, Tyler. The 1 they want singing 'When I Osculation You' to them. Whose last name they write on their binders. Who's plastered on their bedroom walls. You're the face of Dorsum 2 Back. You're . . ."

I know the word he'south looking for. "Wholesome."

"Exactly!" Jeff nearly leaps out of his leather chair. "When I envisioned the band, I didn't know who would incorporate it, what your personalities would exist, what you would expect or sound like. But I knew I needed yous. And I chose yous over a chiliad potential heart throbs because you lot're smart and business savvy. And I trust that you can carry out my vision for the band. You lot tin do that, right?"

I nod, pulling my knees up onto the chair.

"That's skilful." He smooths his tie. "If anyone asks about the incident, how about saying that it was Jasper's thought. He'due south got that bad boy affair going on." Jeff tries to mimic Jasper's smirk, but it looks creepy when he does it. "Anyway, I'll let you become to the double-decker, celebrate with the guys. I think we understand each other." He holds out his manus to me.

I'm on autopilot when I take it.

"Skillful man." He pats me on the back and ushers me out, shutting the door behind me.

I stand up in the cold hallway, staring at the painted cinderblock walls. I tin can withal feel the banner of Jeff's hand on the dorsum of my right shoulder. His balls. And yet, I feel so unsure.

It's almost four:00 a.m. when I surrender trying to sleep and wander into the back room on the motorbus. A reading lamp shines in the corner where Jasper sits sideways on the couch, wearing sweats and a make clean blackness shirt. His sleeves rolled up, notebook in hand, pencil between teeth.

"Sorry, I—"

"It'southward okay." Jasper tucks the pencil into his beanie. "Stay."

I walk over to the other end of the couch and slide onto the warm leather, pulling the bottom of his blanket upwards over my knees. "What're you lot working on?"

He shrugs. "Had some lyrics in my head that I couldn't exit. Zip special."

I've never seen Jasper write before—that's Aiden's affair. He'll sit right there, besides, curled upward in a coating and hoodie and spend hours writing and re-writing, choice his guitar up off the floor, play a few chords, hum, ready it downwards, so write again. Zeke and I can play video games right abreast him—nothing. None of united states even try to get his attending while he's in the zone.

"What about yous?" His question startles me more than it should.

"Couldn't sleep."

But Jasper stares at me, his left eyebrow slowly rising.

"What? I couldn't!" I whisper, eyes darting towards the door.

I tin can't tell him I was thinking virtually the blitz of kissing him in front of all those people. The heat of the lights, of his body, his mouth. I've never done that before—kissed a human being in public since I've been one, likewise. It was simply equally terrifying as I thought it would exist. And I want to do it again.

"Okay, Ty, um . . ." Jasper leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know that kiss wasn't a joke." He dares to see my eyes, but I can't. I wait away before all the blood in my body can blitz to my face; it already is. "I'1000 guessing that's why you're withal awake."

I stand, looking at my feet. "Think I'k going to caput back to—"

Jasper takes my hand. Stops me. "I know it's awkward to talk nearly."

"It's non awkward." I expect him dead in the heart and recollect what Jeff said—how I'm supposed to talk about "the incident." "Because it was a joke. Sorry for making you uncomfortable."

He laughs. Laughs. I curl my fingers into fists, even though he's yet holding on, pulling me towards him. How fucking dare he practice this when I'm trying.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable, Tyler. You're ane of my best friends—you lot're like my blood brother." He pauses and I watch him recall through the implications. "Whom I'd brand out with, apparently. That'due south weird. Sorry."

I requite in and laugh with him. My ears cool, or they're so hot they've gone numb. "Glad I'm not the only weirdo." I sit back down. Closer.

"Oh, I'k definitely weird, as well. And I recollect Aiden might be weird? But it's rude to inquire, so I'm totally reading into his lyrics."

We laugh once more. My centre's notwithstanding beating fast, so I identify a mitt over it and take a deep breath.

"Information technology's okay to be weird." Jasper takes both my hands in his. We tin can't be this close again. I'm going to want to kiss him and we're not on stage.

That's the unwritten contract we have with each other and our fans. We're freer when we perform. We can do things there we'd never do at an appearance or say on an interview. To some extent, it's an act. We all know it. We can only dance if we're mocking dancing, merely touch and kiss if we're mocking affection.

Jasper squeezes my hands. "But you tin't—"

"I know." Information technology hurts more than I thought it would, when he starts to say what Jeff already did. "We tin can't . . ." Kiss each other on stage. ". . . practice weird stuff during our concerts."

"Well . . ."

"Well?" That wasn't the response I expected.

"Tyler." He sighs, and then leans frontward and kisses me for the second time. Lips chapped, smelling like pine copse and hops. He kisses me a 3rd fourth dimension—I'thou counting, because I know nosotros just take so many. My mother used to say the garage door but had so many ups and downs, because my cousins and I would play with the remote and she didn't want united states of america to break information technology. Same with the car windows. The reckoner simply had so many startups and shutdowns. And Jasper and I only take so many kisses.

He catches my lesser lip betwixt his teeth when he pulls abroad, biting. I gasp and grab on to his shirt.

"You can't practise weird stuff on stage. Because yous're the boy next door," he says. "The heartthrob. Always unmarried, always straight, ever—"

"Wholesome," I say to Jasper like I did to Jeff. "I get it. Zeke tin grab my ass because he's a joker and you can buss guys because you lot're the rule-breaker." I scoff. "You'd remember being trans would disqualify me—it's not a hush-hush." I go asked about it during interviews all the time. "Every bit long every bit I'm romantically available to our fan base of operations, that'southward what matters." I pull my hand complimentary of his and stand. "Information technology's not similar any of them are going to fuck me, anyway, so it doesn't matter what's actually in my pants as long as the possibility exists."

Jasper looks from his empty hand to me. "Never underestimate the power of a respectable weirdo."

I don't kiss Jasper, tonight, when nosotros sing the song—I don't even stand about him. My mark is moved to the other side of the phase, well-nigh Aiden. It's that style for the whole prove—I find words pushing themselves out of me as if I'chiliad non even singing them, just rather they're playing from inside me, my body an elaborate music box. And my voice sounds dissimilar, this evening. Slightly fuller, deeper. Information technology's thick in my throat. It feels proficient, similar hefting a weight easily over my head. Like I always imagined my voice would sound.

Nothing else feels right, though. Aiden easily his guitar to a stagehand, for the last vocal, puts his arm around my shoulder, and draws the others towards us for a ballad. The screaming stops. My ears ring with silence.

I await at Jasper, raise the microphone to my lips and, when I sing, information technology's to him—for him. "I desire you as you are / don't ever change for me / when I give you lot my love / I requite it unconditionally."

A moving ridge of applause crashes over us equally nosotros finish. Aiden takes my hand, raises it over our heads. We bow. I stare out into the shining abyss. Surrender myself to the dissonance. Detect my frequency. Dissolve into pure audio.

Aiden pulls me off stage with him. The alter in scenery jars me every bit if awake from a dream. The absurd dark tunnels backstage. A slippery water canteen thrust into my hand, a towel draped over my shoulder. The band pats my back as nosotros laissez passer; Aiden puts his arm around my shoulder, guiding me into a room with "Press" taped to the door.

I forgot. Nosotros agreed to do a backstage exclusive with Netflix. Beyond the room, Jasper pops open up a beer and up-ends information technology. I watch the golden liquid tilt back, bubbles rise, the level drib equally it disappears between his lips. The angle of his neck, exposed Adam's apple, stubble.

"Why don't you accept a seat over there, Tyler." Jeff's pointing with his stylus to an empty seat betwixt Zeke and Aiden, not even looking at me. Looking at his telephone.

"Sit with usa, Ty!" I brace myself every bit Zeke slams into me. He hoists me over his shoulders like a fireman.

I outburst into laughter. "Zeke!" I pretend to struggle, just not enough and then he'll drop me. "Okay, okay, I'll sit with you." I wait directly into ane of the cameras and shake my head. Jeff gives me a thumbs-up.

I piece of work to maintain my smile afterward that. I wasn't acting. I genuinely like goofing around with Zeke. Now information technology feels faux.

He plops me down on the sofa sideways, my feet landing on Aiden's lap, my head on the leather, abreast Jasper. He looks down at me. Doesn't touch me. Doesn't run his fingers through my hair or curve down and buss me.

Zeke nudges me to sit up while he slides in betwixt me and Jas. The interviewer is a girl named Thalia, not much older than us—if at all—with a nose band and thick wavy, black bangs. Her cute cheeks dimple when she smiles. She looks nervous. A fan? A professional person who'south as well a fan. She's trying not to look at me, simply our eyes meet several times.

I politely sentinel while she reads her introduction. Nosotros're going to play a game, apparently. Another, older woman hands us each a can, while Thalia says, "This is 'Truth or Drink'!"

"Is this—" alcoholic, Aiden begins to ask. He's definitely not supposed to beverage on photographic camera. Never mind Jasper chugged a bottle before this.

"Oh gosh, no!" Thalia laughs. "It's seltzer."

"Cool," Aiden says.

Thalia tucks her hair backside her ears and straightens up, question cards in hand. "Well then, are you ready, boys? I have some tough questions lined up, just I'll outset you lot off like shooting fish in a barrel."

None of them are actually tough. Most of these nosotros've been asked a million times, but nosotros're expert at pretending they're interesting.

"What'south your well-nigh embarrassing moment on stage?"

Truth.

"All-time fan run across?"

Truth.

"Worst fan run into?"

Drink. We never shit-talk our fans.

"Fair, fair." Thalia drinks. "Any girlfriends?"

Drink. The answer is no, we don't take time, but we've learned fans enjoy the mystery.

"Boyfriends?" Thalia holds my gaze for too long.

I break the contact and am most to drinkable when I realize the others are all answering the question. Of course they are. At that place's no room for mystery. Our fans have to believe nosotros're available to them. Like Jeff said. Like Jasper said.

"What nearly that buss, Tyler?"

I perk up at my proper noun, having been dutifully watching Aiden explain how straight men can exist sensitive and limited their feelings—shit I hold with but which grinds me down in the context. He knows I'm gay. Just considering I never say the word, doesn't mean I haven't shared late-night stories of by hookups and childhood crushes. That he and the others haven't ribbed me for chatting with cute stagehands during sound check and passenger vehicle boys at twenty-four-60 minutes diners.

"Tyler?"

I want to drinkable. Why can't I drinkable. That'southward why the pick exists, so I don't have to answer this fucking question. They're all looking at me. Jasper, pleadingly. Jeff, equally if he can will the words from my rima oris. He'southward a second away from mouthing the respond like a helicopter mom at her kid's spelling bee.

I'm supposed to say information technology was Jasper'due south idea. Information technology was Jasper's thought and I'm an innocent party, ladies. When I kiss you lot, you lot will be a girl and I will be straight and wholesome.

"What most it?" I'chiliad three seconds away from puking my eye into my lap.

Thalia looks at the woman who handed us the cans. Her supervisor, maybe. Someone who'll tell her how far she can push this. The woman nods.

"Can nosotros get some details? The fans are in quite a tizzy. Some are even—do you know the word, 'shipping'?"

I shake my head.

"Like—" She explains with her hands, confront flustered. "—advocating that there'southward a relationsend between you and Jasper. 'Jasler' is all over the net, always since the New York show."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jasper take a long slow drag of his seltzer and my oral cavity has never felt dryer. I hate this. I hate lying. I hate Jeff for telling me to and I hate Jas for playing along.

I agree my can with both hands, to quiet their shaking. Look past the camera at Jeff. Say, "I don't know anything about 'Jasler' but things can get a little weird on stage, sometimes, and the truth is, I kissed Jasper becau—" I don't stop my sentence. Not because I'm at a loss for words but considering I can't.

I clear my throat and effort once more, merely nothing comes out. I hear Jasper covering for me. Playing my respond off. Zeke laughing and Aiden talking nigh what the song means to him and I cannot speak. At all.

I bring the tin can to my lips, allow its contents slide down my throat. The room isn't the correct color. I feel like I'm sinking. Underwater. Silly.

"Whoa at that place, Tyler, need another drink?"

I nod and take hold of the can tossed at me.

"Squeamish reflexes," Thalia says.

Seltzer sprays when I crack the can open and I don't smiling. I drink. I beverage for every remaining question and during the silences betwixt them. When it's over, I spring to my anxiety, cross the room, and push button into the hallway. Adrenaline drives me down the winding hall until I find the red door marked "Dressing Room – B2B," slam the door and lean against it.

I scream. A adept difficult scream that rips through my throat like fire. Simply it's a silent scream.

I practice it once more. Feel it scraping my insides. It hurts. I want information technology to injure. Want to scream so loudly it echoes down the physical halls. But I tin can't. I can't brand a sound. Jeff turned off my voice. He took it.

"Tyler?" I hear Jasper's muted phonation as he pounds on the thick door. "Ty, information technology'due south me. Open up."

He can't hear my "No" or my sobs as I slide to the floor.

"Is he in there?"

"I think so, but he's not answering."

"Tyler?" More than knocking. Jeff'due south voice. "Tyler, I'g coming in." He cracks the door.

I don't move. Don't look at him when he peeks through the cleft, merely I know he's at that place. His cologne smells like crisp white wine. He slips between the door and its frame and so says to the guys outside, "Nosotros'll merely be a minute, boys," and closes information technology.

"Tyler," Jeff says with an air of I don't know what to practice with y'all. He massages the creases in his brow while he plays with his telephone. "I thought we were on the same folio?"

I don't try to answer.

He squats downwardly to my level, the legs of his adapt rise with the bend of his knees, to expose gray argyle socks. "The label's giving you a few days to decompress. Regardless of what you might think, we care about your well-being. Let me know when yous're ready to talk."

What he means is, allow me know when you're gear up to behave the way we want you to and I'll requite you back your voice.

"Fuck yous," I mouth. Information technology's enough. He knows.

Jeff locks his telephone and slides it into his accommodate pocket, stands and adjusts his cuffs. "Get up." He looks down at me only doesn't move. "Come up on, the buses demand to leave, soon, and yous've already made enough of a scene this night."

More knocking and muffled voices from the other side of the door.

"We're here for you, Ty."

"Any it is, it's okay."

I don't desire them to run into me like this. Not the guys or the band or the coiffure or fucking catering. The one affair everyone likes about me—that I similar near myself—is gone. Stolen. No, I gave it abroad when I let the characterization stick an implant in my throat. How could I take been so fucking stupid as to recollect I owned my voice?

"Tyler." Jeff is still here. "You can walk out of hither on your own or—"

That's all it takes to become me to my feet. I fling the door open to see the guys hovering beside the door. Jasper chewing on the ragged collar of his shirt, Aiden on his necklaces, Zeke on his fingernails. They all finish. Straighten upward.

"Ty." Jasper reaches out, just I knock his hand away before he tin make contact. As if I demand a reason for the label to hold my voice hostage any longer.

I don't hateful to look at him, but I can't help it. His brow is wrinkled, lips parted, a held jiff between them. I speak a silent, "I'grand sorry," merely it'south too belatedly. I walk beside Jeff all the way back to the bus, so I don't have to wait at him. He stops short of the forepart door and I hop on, followed by Jas, Aiden, and Zeke.

When the door closes and nosotros're alone, Zeke grabs my sleeve and finds my eyes with his. They're dark blueish and searching, their usual spark softened. "Do you want to talk nearly what happened back there? Y'all sort of . . . fled."

"If you'd rather nosotros give you some space . . ." Aiden looks at the others, making sure they don't overcrowd me. Thing is, I want them with me. It means so much that we confide in ane another and care about each other in the same world where frat bros once chosen the states 'Barrel 2 Butt.' Where I've otherwise lost my organized religion in men.

But how tin I tell them when I can't speak. How can I make them empathize when they didn't seem to care I kissed Jasper and didn't support me during the interview or discover when I couldn't speak.

I pause away, leaving the three of them in the front lounge, while I hibernate in my bunk. Their voices rise over the hum of the road, every bit the motorcoach pulls out of the parking lot. Aiden's soothing tones, Zeke'due south of a sudden serious. I tin't make out their words but listen for the patter of their shoes as they pass. Two go into the back, to unwind. The third stops.

I close my eyes when the curtain draws back an inch.

"Hey." It's Jasper.

I don't look at him.

"I know you're awake, Tyler." He rubs my shoulder and my anger rises to his touch like a magnet. "Ty."

I press my confront into my pillow. One I took from the firm I haven't been back to in years. That used to live on my bed but at present lives on a bus. I didn't know I only had so many sleeps in that bed, so many nights every bit a regular guy with a family and a home.

"Talk to me, Ty."

"I tin't!" I shout it right in his face, feel the scratch in my throat. The dry air on my lips.

Jasper blinks similar I've spit on him.

I slide out of my bunk, claiming nigh of the narrow hallway. He teeters dorsum, and I go along even though he can't hear me. "I can't talk to you considering Jeff turned my fucking voice off, okay?" I piece my mitt across my throat.

"You lot can't talk," he says.

"No," I say, then shake my head, which is then hot, and this bus is so small and stuffy. I throw my head back and scream. Tears well in my eyes, spilling over when I look at him. They catch in my eyelashes and blur Jas'due south thick brows and dark-brown eyes until I glimmer them complimentary.

"Ty, I'm here for you." He pulls me into a tight hug. "Are you ill? Did it happen during the interview?"

I starting time scanning the bunks for a pen and newspaper. I need something to write with and Jasper's black leather notebook stands out against the ivory sheets. I drop downward to his bunk and pick the notebook upwardly. Jasper sits beside me on the messy pile of blankets and pillows. We lean back against the outer wall, our feet hanging over the short border and resting on the flooring. This feels safer, like nosotros're exterior of fourth dimension and space.

"Expect." Jasper slaps his hand on the leather-bound cover. His fingers curl, confront twitches and tenses. This is his journal. I didn't even recollect. It'southward—it might be private. I shouldn't. "You know what, screw information technology." Jas hands me a pen and gestures for me to get ahead.

Without stopping to read, I flip through pages of cursive and sketches and scratched-out lyrics, glimpsing my name amongst others, until I find a blank folio.

<<Jeff has an app on his phone,>> I write.

"Yeah."

<<He uses information technology to tune our voices—their ranges and timbre.>>

"Yeah?"

<<He tin plow them off. Our voices.>>

Jasper scoffs. "No."

<<YES.>> I underline the word 3 times.

"No." He's pleading when he says information technology this fourth dimension.

I circle the word YES until the newspaper rips.

Jasper looks away. "He tin can't—they can't. Can they?" He wraps a manus around his neck, looking to me for confirmation.

"I'm not making this up," I say, then write the same words.

"I believe yous, I simply can't believe it," he adds. "This is because you kissed me."

<<Jeff told me to say it was your idea—he chosen it an "incident"—but I didn't recollect . . .>> I squeeze the pen in my fist. Jasper wraps his mitt around mine. The tension feels so adept, I desire to experience information technology everywhere. Want him wrapped around my whole body. To quench the fire. Crush me to cinders.

I drop the journal and pen between us and press my mouth against Jasper's.

I buss him because Jeff doesn't want me to.

I osculation him because he's scared, now, too.

I kiss him because the characterization could confiscate my voice forever and I'll lose not only my voice but him and the others. What else volition they take from me? What else did I sign abroad when I signed over my life as the heartthrob? How many of the few remaining moments belong to me?

I kiss Jasper considering I am non wholesome. I'thousand a fucking weirdo. A queer—that'due south the give-and-take everyone'southward terrified to use. It doesn't matter if I was born a girl, equally long as I alloy in, now. I'grand a man, now.

I pull my mouth off Jasper'southward long plenty to tell him how desperately I've wanted him and for how long. How I want him, unconditionally, and want to be him. I can say anything I want, now that no one can hear me. He listens, anyway, property and kissing me until we're so close to breaking all the rules.

"You shouldn't do this," I say, pressed into the corner of Jasper's impossibly small bunk. In that location'south no room for us to prevarication side by side, only him on summit of me. His hands in my hair and upward my shirt, pressed against my scalp and my dorsum. He has and then much to lose still.

I dig my finger into his breast and agree his eyes, so he knows. When he unfastens my wing, he knows. When he slides his paw downwards my pants, he knows, and when his name vibrates silently through my throat, he goddamn well knows—we are not supposed to be doing this. He could lose his voice, for this. I could lose mine forever. It hurts like someone is scooping out my chest, just non doing this would hurt more than.

We collapse. My pants one-half down, Jasper'south shirt half up. The door to the dorsum lounge clicks open and I hear Aiden'southward and Zeke's anxiety pad along the carpet. The metallic swish of their curtains sliding. Whispers and hushed laughter.

"Are you going to tell them?" Jasper traces my jaw with his finger.

Looking into his eyes, all I can recall is, god I am so gay, but I say, "I don't know." And I don't know if Jas understood me, so I pull his phone out of his back pocket and open his texts to me and type, <<I don't want to accept everything away from them, like it has been from me. I don't desire them to have to choose.>> The electronic light illuminates our soft cavern. "Like you practise," I say to myself.

I won't tell Jasper, but I'm terrified he'll forget well-nigh this. That Jeff will give me my voice back and we'll keep on going, like always. Singing the words they write for usa. Hit the marks.

"I tin talk to them with you, if you want," Jasper says. "And then you don't have to go through that lonely."

<<Why should you go through it?>> I type.

"Ty." He sounds incredulous. "What do you think this is, a solo act? Nosotros're a team. Pull your pants back—ow, fuck!" He bangs his head on the low ceiling of his bunk and rubs information technology while straightening his shirt. I spotter him duck nether the curtain and stand up upwardly in the hall, while I tug my pants on and fasten them. Run a mitt through my hair. Pull myself together long enough to push the drapery bated and join them.

Aiden'southward sipping a craft beer he can merely buy in his hometown. Zeke's holding his Nintendo DSx. They let their easily autumn by their sides, give me their attention. I seize with teeth my lip and glance at Jasper. If he wants to share this burden, now'southward his adventure.

"The label can turn off our voices," Jasper says, point blank.

They stare at us.

"What does that mean," Aiden asks, "'turn off' our voices?"

"It means the vocal implant the label fitted the states with tin be more than tuned. They can literally shut united states of america up if we don't play along with their images of us." Jasper and Aiden both look at his beer. "You're non supposed to potable in public, are you?"

"No," he whispers. "Not me or Ty."

He's right. We weren't handed rulebooks and it'south not in our contracts. These are the rules nosotros've learned past working with Jeff. Past the tour riders suggested for each of us, the wardrobes we're given, the interview questions nosotros're asked.

"What do you recall would happen if Zeke went dorsum on his meds? If he was able to focus for more than five seconds. Sit still. Fucking retrieve. If I decided I wanted to larn guitar—you call up Jeff would permit me play audio-visual?"

"I'd never fifty-fifty considered playing or writing before Jeff suggested it," Aiden says. "I do like information technology, simply . . ." He looks at Zeke. "You should exist able to go dorsum on your meds, if you desire. You lot don't always accept to be on. And Ty should exist able to kiss guys, if that's who he is. I mean, nosotros all know that's who you are." A little laugh escapes him.

Jasper smiles and raises his manus. "How-do-you-do, um, my name's Jasper. I don't actually similar the color blackness as much as you'd think. Sometimes I write lyrics that I'll never show anyone—"

"What?" Aiden playfully smacks his arm. "Yous can bear witness me! I want to—"

"—and I'thousand bisexual."

"I'yard straight," Zeke says, raising his manus. "I've asked Jeff about going back on my meds multiple times and no 1 ever asked me if I wanted to write songs!" His await of offense sends us into total on, face-hurting laughter.

I poke my finger into my chest and shout, "I'm gay! And I have a big fucking crush on Jasper!" No one can hear me, only they all laugh, anyway—with me, not at me. Our arms are around 1 another again, all of us.

Aiden raises his hand. "I-I'm . . ." A deep pucker settles into his forehead. "I don't even remember I'm a 'boy' all the time. I'm afraid to tell Jeff. We're a boyband. That's the basic requirement. I don't want to exist kicked out."

"It'due south okay, man—or non-human being." Zeke rubs Aiden's shoulder. "Neither do I."

I shake my head and say, "Me neither."

"Fuck 'em," Jasper says. "If they boot us all out, we can be our own ring."

"Not if they take our voices, like they did Ty's," Zeke says.

They all stare at me, the reminder of how fragile our band is. The moment when we were our full selves, gone. Our voices at stake.

"Hey, Ty." Jeff's caput and torso appear where he leans into the double-decker. This isn't his space, simply he inserts himself, anyway.

I don't respond, obviously. I tin't speak and don't requite Jeff the satisfaction of watching me try. I don't even remove my headphones, though I do striking pause.

"Shayna from wardrobe asked me to bring that over." He nods at a garment bag hanging from a cabinet knob. "You do want to perform, correct?"

The question catches me and then off baby-sit—the yearning to sing, again—that I say, "Yes," then dig my nails into my palm when I remember I vowed not to "speak." I nod, trying not to look likewise eager. But I tin can't help it. I fucking miss information technology. I miss the lights, the energy, the crowd, the guys. I miss the feeling of audio ripping through me like a bullet.

Jeff pats my dorsum. "Good boy."

I literally seize with teeth my tongue.

"I'll exit you to it." He nods at the garment handbag. "Telephone call's in fifteen minutes. I'll see y'all and the guys at your marks below the stage. Got it?"

I nod.

Jeff nods, and so leaves.

I should sit down it out. Protest. Show the characterization they don't own me, but they do. And I want to perform and so badly—need to. I close my optics and take several deep breaths. Forget this is Jeff's doing. Retrieve why I'm hither: for the music, for the guys, for the fans. For me.

We soar equally the platforms we stand up on rise. Born from the ground into the spotlight. I hold my mic to my lips and unleash the melody: "Don't stand up all the same / gotta keep running." I experience the sound in my throat. Hear my vocalisation harmonizing with the others'. But something is incorrect.

"How y'all doing tonight?" Jasper asks the crowd, belongings his mic out to choice upwardly the swell of their response. A wave of screams. "I don't know, guys, I don't retrieve they're awake all the same." He winks at me.

I bring my mic up and say, "They audio a scrap sleepy to me, Jas," simply no sound comes out. My heart ticks like a bomb waiting to explode in my chest. Confusion seizes my face.

Jasper's smile falters. He tilts his caput. Says, "I asked how y'all are doing, tonight." Except he doesn't lookout the audience for their response, he watches me.

I put the mic to my lips over again and say, "I call up they're awake, now." And no ane hears me. I snap my fingers into the mic.

Jeff didn't turn my vocalism on. He didn't fifty-fifty turn my mic on. And still, when the chorus comes around, I hold upwards my mic and move my lips and my voice rings out over the speakers like it's coming from my throat. It'south non. I'm a warm body. A marionette. Jeff might as well stick his arm up my donkey and puppet my jaw with his hand.

The lights dim to soft blues and purples. The 4 of u.s.a. walk to the forepart of the stage, Aiden with his guitar. Jasper raises his mic to his lips and says, "Nosotros're going to practice something special for you guys. Go off-book. Sing a trivial song a cappella, for you, that we just e'er sing for each other. You won't find information technology on the set up list." The crowd cheers simply Jasper holds his finger to his lips, quieting them. "You know the one I mean—Zeke?"

"Yup," he answers. "And you guys are in for a treat."

"Aiden?" Jasper says, adjacent.

When Aiden says, "I'm ready," I realize what Jasper'south doing.

He's forcing Jeff'south mitt.

My heart picks upward speed as I search for the audio berth through the glare of lights. Is Jeff upwardly in that location? Is his finger hovering over the app, wondering whether to plow my vox dorsum on or shut Jasper's off? When he says my name next, will Jeff let me answer?

"What about you, Ty?" Jas looks correct at me. "You fix?"

When I bring my mic to my lips and say, "As e'er," the words sound full and loud over the waiting silence. I switch my mic to my left paw and put my arm around Jasper and sing, "Nosotros're all together again, nosotros're here, we're here."

Jasper puts his around Aiden. "Nosotros're all together once again, nosotros're here, we're here."

Aiden, around Zeke. "Who knows when we'll exist all together again?"

Zeke around Aiden. "Singing all together again? We're here, we're hither."

We look at one another. Grin. And, this fourth dimension, sing in unison, that nosotros're all together, once more. Iv voices, again. Brothers. Friends. Weirdos. We're here. And who knows how long Jeff will let us go on like this. The label can finish the tour. Bar us from the studio. Peradventure even keep us from singing all together, once again. Just we will continue to use our voices to support one some other. As long equally someone is listening. As long as nosotros have each other. We're here, we're here.

Purchase Nosotros're Here, We're Here from:

"Nosotros're Hither, We're Hither" copyright © 2022 by Grand. M. Szpara
Art copyright © 2022 by Goñi Montes

citation

husseystonsuld.blogspot.com

Source: https://www.tor.com/2020/06/10/were-here-were-here-k-m-szpara/

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