Work Text:
Bobby had been called many things in his life. Selfish, unremarkable... fag. Snarky comments whispered just loud enough that he could hear them. Usually in the school hallways, but sometimes at home from his older brothers, or even his dad.
Ever since his mom left music was his only escape from the testosterone-crazed madhouse he called home. He’d sneak into the garage and just lose himself in lyrics and melodies, so when he was 15 and saw an ad hanging up asking for a 2nd guitarist to join their band--“name TBD”--he signed the hell up.
And then all of a sudden music wasn’t his escape. Sunset Curve was. His bandmates became his family. And names? Who gives a fuck? When someone called him pretty boy, Reggie would wink at him and say "well, they’re not wrong". And if someone shoved him and called him crybaby Alex would step protectively by his side, only moving back once Luke had chased them off with some vague threat he probably wouldn't actually be able to pull off.
It took them years to find a small smattering of success, but none of them cared, they knew they were going to be legends. They were living the dream.
And then… everything got fucked.
They died.
His family. His brothers. They died.
And he dove into music, to keep- to keep from drowning, sinking, into his sorrow. He played their songs over and over and over again... until they became his own.
It took a long time until he had the courage to play for an audience. But after 5 grueling years, he decided he was done hiding. He changed his name, his life, and finally, he played. He played loud, and he played clear.
He played for his friends, his fallen family, but he never said their names. He didn’t want to be bombarded with questions, or fake Hollywood concern, he didn’t want to deal with that, he couldn’t deal with that.
So instead he kept them alive in his songs--their songs.
It took him years--and a lot of therapy--to admit this, but… it got to his head. The fame, the money, the girls. He didn’t have to worry about insults or names, about mean brothers or classmates. He didn’t even have to worry about being rejected by chicks because who in their right mind would turn down Trever Wilson.
When things calmed down he did feel guilty, he really did, but he had another family now, a baby girl, and he couldn’t afford to tear down his empire with the truth.
So he lived a lie.
It wasn’t too bad most of the time. Sometimes he’d remember their smiles and cry, but those were the worst days.
He resigned himself to living with some guilt, but at least he didn’t have to live in fear, it wasn’t like the boys could come back and haunt him.
...Right?