Work Text:
Epilogue
A piece of paper, slightly dog-eared at the edges, black inked chicken scratch writing marked its off white colour. Fold marks and creases littered its otherwise smoothed surface, due to it being folded too many times within a pocket in order to keep it neat. Each spare space of it was sprawled with the slightly smudged back ink; the pen used to write on it too free flowing with the black liquid. A letter. A somewhat simple letter. To a band member.
Yes, you thought, roll your eyes. Look, yet another girl obsessed with a boy band which she thought she would actually meet. It was pathetic, and you knew that. But it didn’t stop your face lighting up when the thousandth picture of one of the four boys popped up on your timeline. And it didn’t stop you religiously listening to their music until you were sure the beats of their songs thumped along to the pounding of your heart. A horrible, all-consuming pounding that you felt fill ever part of your body, burning through each muscle and bone. Not that they knew any of this, they were still boys of course. Oblivious to how there stupid high pitched giggles in their interviews- all of which you watched without fail- or there in-jokes which had become jokes just because you weren’t ‘in’ them, or the way they simply acted around each other, made your heart flip and fall in on itself in a way that could only be described as dangerous. Your heart felt like it was squeezing itself, or a hand was gripping it too tightly, a sound of pure joy- to other people the sound of someone choking- erupting, seemingly unexpectedly from your throat, your eyes squinted at the edges and your whole body seamed to scrunch up on itself. Yes, all about some stupid boys, in a band that you would never be more than a fan of.
But that didn’t stop you. The waves of ‘feels’, and ‘ohmigod, I can’t even’s were frequent and welcomed. Giving your head a feeling of togetherness whenever your feelings were mirrored with another fan. Someone reaching out and letting you know you weren’t alone in the life gripping, almost unhealthy attachment you felt towards them. And it was ridiculous, barbaric even. To solely base your happiness and fulfilment on the shoulders of three nineteen years olds and a twenty one year old. It didn’t stop you though. It was your childhood. The way that you choose to spend the years the way you could, bending the time around masses of exams and then the opportunities for other work. Not that you were complaining.
***
14th June 2015
The letter sat trembling in your sweaty open palms. White paper quivered and shook along with the way that your hands were shaking slightly. Your hearts words splashed across the pages. It was almost too scary. How close proximity to something, or someone- currently blocked from view- could reduce you to such a mess. So today was the day. The day when you would actually meet the eyes of those four boys for real this time. Stare into them and learn their true colour, not there magnified perfection of high quality photos. Not through the lens of a camera or the screen of a laptop or phone. It was exhilarating, knowing that four people you knew so well were behind a measly plastic whitewashed wall. Through some form of magic, 5 Seconds of Summer had decided to do some form of meet and greet at a dinky record store near where you lived. A few people now, a few being a mere 500 people due to how much the boys had grown, but compared to the growing 5sosfam, that was small.
The screaming girls were herded like cattle. Funnelled into a run of silver railing, that twisted and snaked in an endless queue. Hard, concrete, grey floor served as makeshift seats as people slumped on the floor and waited. Waited for what felt like forever. As each girl meet them, the queue inched forwards. A few girls squealed as they realised that they were next, or the next but one, or the next but two. A huge mass of cheap, fake band merchandise, every now and then littered or flecked with an older fan. Older in the way they held themselves with a little more dignity, kept there internal screaming actually internal and composed themselves to refrain from having an emotional break down like the ones around them. An older fan like you, dressed in an old merchandised top, one of the ones that the boys had worn a similar copy of when they were just starting out. However your head was reeling, stomach churning, vision blurring as the thought of a maximum of five minutes in the same room as your idols. Feeling of nerves, but excitement, laced with the feeling of being sick trickled though your blood, coursing through your body. So you counted. Counted the amount of people in front of you: 10. The amount of girls with badly dyed hair in an attempt to get attention: 34. The amount of girls with more than one piecing: you got up to one hundred before there was a tap on your shoulder.
A smaller girl, bunches in her hair but a scowl on her face, pointed forwards. “Your next” she said with a high pitched voice. She pointed with a stubby little finger to the door. You regarded it. How the long row of makeshift white plastic wall ran down the length of the store. How the door was stark against the flimsy wall, black with no windows. Two guards flanked the sides of the doors, arms crossed and frowns on their faces as they wonder why on earth all these girls could care about some boys who could sing. Like anybody could be bothered to explain the heart wrenching feeling of their closeness.
Then you were stepping past them. Between them and though the black, flat door. Pushing into a room smelling of hair spray, boy’s cologne and sparking with electricity and excitement.
Multiple flashes of a camera, blinding, well practice smiles and Australian accents filled the room. Making it burst with life in a way only comparable to the way your heart was splitting open with over developed feeling. Four strong pairs of arms wrapped around you, grounding you as strong smelling hair tucked into your shoulder, when they squeezed. Your eyes met light blue. Then chocolaty brown. Then hazel. Then green. Green eyes that seemed to be set ablaze, a flicker burning deep in the back of them, resting longer than expected. You spoke of course, more of a blubbering mess than you would like to admit. But when the owner of the green eyes, wrapped strong, bare arms around you, you managed to whisper a choked “Thank you”. Thank you for more than I can ever say, you thought. But that was too awkward, too intimate in a way to share with them. You couldn’t just stumble over the fact that you relied so heavily on boys not much older than yourself, it was too much. Too weird. Then everything went blurry. A sweaty letter shoved into white hands with stubby fingers marked with an anchor.
You were out of the room. Replaced with another blushing, crying girl who was equally as ecstatic to see them. Your letter would just be placed underneath the rest of them, later to be left untouched. Strong, cold air filled your lungs as you breathed in. Filling your body with something substantial that wasn’t hope for the boys to read it. Or longing that one boy in particular would read it. A boy that, like the meaning of his tattoo on his arm, to you, symbolised home.
*Michael POV*
Later that night, holed up in the quite of his bunk, Michael un-tucked the letter from the back of his jean pocket. It was creased, bent lightly from when he had moved around and it had moved with the bend of his legs. The letter had been tucked into the back of his pocket since the girl with the swells of emotion filling up her eyes entered the meet and greet room. So now when he flicked a short thumbnail underneath the seal of the envelop, breaking the sticky bond, he read the whole letter. Taking in all the words, grateful in the feeling of honesty and the fact it wasn’t a girl professing her love like the rest. The words filled his heart, then his eyes with tears. So much emotion and feeling spread over the lined paper it made his chest ache. He read it again and again. Till his eyes were red and sore and sleep overcame him.
And so the letter read. “Dear Michael. I could start by telling you how much, you and your best friends mean to me. I could write paragraphs upon paragraphs about how many nights I have stayed up thinking about how it would change my entire life to just see any one of you once. And now, if it is you reading this letter, then that has come true, and my life is already changed. Without sounding too sappy and besotted, then professing my love for you all, in truth I don’t know how I will feel. If I will be ecstatic because I finally go to meet you, or upset as those three minutes will be gone in a flash and I will be left knowing what you are actually like and that’s something I can never have. The ways your voices actually sound in person, the way your eyes actually look and how the shadows catch them, or the way you sit or stand or lean when not being harassed by producers and such, to stop acting like children. In any way, I know for certain, I will be different.
"I may think that I know you; it may feel like that when I can tell who is speaking through an old live stream without looking, and how I can tell when your birthday is etc. But in reality I don’t know anything. I don’t know which side of the bed you sleep on, or whether the boys are only messing about when they say you snore, I don’t know whether you actually shout at the screen when you play the Xbox or if you like lots of butter on your sandwiches. Saying that, and actually thinking about what I don’t know, reveals that I know very little. And I’m okay with that because I know that I’m just some crazy girl with a devotion to four boys, but I know you love each and every one of us. A fan, that’s what I am and I’m proud to say it. So if you read this letter, I hope you do, then just know that you have changed my life, made me realise through the pounding of a baseline or the rising intensity of a guitar solo that there is something to hold onto. The music, yes, we will always have that, but let’s hope for a certain, small amount of time we will all have you as well. From Y/N. (@your/twitter/name) xx”
***
14th June 2016
@mikey5sos: I can’t believe I’m finally seeing you tomorrow. I’m so excited!
(@your/twitter/name): I know, how long has it been?? I can finally see you through more than the Skype page thingy!! It feels like it’s been a year since I saw you last??
@mikey5sos: Yeah, it must have around that. Wasn’t it at that meet and great thingy? The one with the dodgy flimsy walls?
(@your/twitter/name): I think it was actually, and then you friggen stalked me, until you found me!!
@mikey5sos: I DIDN’T STALK YOU! You left your user name at the end of that letter!
(@your/twitter/name): Oh god that letter. Jeez that was embarrassing ha
@mikey5sos: It wasn’t embarrassing. It was wonderful… I may or may not have cried…
(@your/twitter/name): YOU CRIED!?!?!
@mikey5sos: shut up
(@your/twitter/name): MICHAEL I-AM-MACHO-AND-NEVER-CRY CLIFFORD ACTUALLY CRIED OVER A LETTER I WROTE HIM?!?!?
@mikey5sos: SHUTUP
(@your/twitter/name): We have been speaking basically every day for the last year and you never once told me that you cried
@mikey5sos: IS IT ANY WONDER WHY WHEN YOU ACT LIKE THIS?!?!
(@your/twitter/name): Okay, okay. I’ll stop... ahhahahaahahha
@mikey5sos: Bully…
(@your/twitter/name): Um sorry, but Luke!! You bully him all the time!!
@mikey5sos: Yeah but he deserves it
(@your/twitter/name): muke af
@mikey5sos: Sometimes I forget you’re a fan
(@your/twitter/name): It’s because I’m a fan that you have been graced with my presence
@mikey5sos: whatever
(@your/twitter/name): YOU KNOW ITS TRUE
@mikey5sos: yeah yeah I know y/n, right gtg. Ash is flipping out as I left an empty vegemite jar in the fridge. Wtf? Someone forgot his hair moose or something. Anyway, see you tomorrow. I’ll be thinking of you.
(@your/twitter/name): Well it is annoying Mike. Make sure he doesn’t use Luke’s or he will never get his hair wavy again, but okay. Wow yeah tomorrow. First time of many I hope. Okay ttyl x
*@mikey5sos is offline*
*(your/twitter/name) is offline*
***
14th June 2017
“Hey Y/N?” Michael asked. His voice muffled by the huge slice of pizza he just managed to stuff in his mouth. “Yeah?” you said, more respectfully after swallowing your own doughy, oily mess. “Is this a date?” now he had scoffed down his mouthful. “No Michael” rolling your eyes as you spoke. “This is what we do every Friday so we actually leave the house”. You shoved another piece of the oily peperoni pizza down you throat, relishing in way there were cheesy strings from your mouth to the piece you were holding.
And it was true. Every Friday since that awkward first meeting at the coffee shop down the road, you had both made it your ‘thing’ to go to the dingy pizza restaurant close to your house. It was some sort of tradition, no matter what was happening you would both make your way to the dark interiored pizza place, with the sticky leather seats that had some sort of residue from god knows what on them, with the low hanging lamps that flickered and made an eerie noise whenever they did, which served the best pizza in town. It was amazing, the cheese always coming in long loops from the bite in your mouth to the bitten piece. A low hum of general electronic appliances rung through the place, and the occasional hums of content from yourself and Michael as you ate a particularly tasty piece.
Michael took a swing of his drink, swilling it around his mouth. It trickled down his throat and his slight Adams apple bobbed. He flicked his now much longer hair out of his eyes. “Well can we go on a date?” he was still trying to act coy, and confident but the slight tapping of his finger on the bridge of the glass gave him away. The condensation on it dampened his already sweating palm. He was really nervous. He may have known you for around two years now, but that was when your relationship was strictly platonic. Nothing more than friends. And no hints at the inner screaming from him every time your shirt slipped off your shoulder, revealing pale skin he just wanted to litter with kisses. “Like…us two?” you queried. You hoped, and prayed that your voiced stayed steady and didn’t shake with how apprehensive you were. Was he actually doing this? For real? After all this time? As you thought back on the two utter years of pining over your best friend you had to go through to get to this point, you couldn’t help but feel like it was worth it. Yes, it took some restraint to not act upon your urges, yes it was almost painful to watch other girls being flung at him, and yes it did feel almost unbearable sometimes when the thumping of your head when his hand was subconsciously brush over your skin in an attempt to reach for a beer or something similar.
But it was also elating to feel the swell of pride in your stomach when he would push those girls away in favour of spending time with his best friend, you. “Yeah?” Michael said, almost whispered. He tried to wipe his palms on his jeans to rid them of the sweat. His answered the question as if he was open to the idea of it not being the two of you, which wasn’t really true. “Okay!” you semi-shouted. Afterwards when you were thinking about the way Michaels face had lit up when you replied so excitedly. “Okay?” he quirked, his cocky demeanour back when he mocked your excitable outburst. “Shut up” you muttered, looking down into your lap and reaching for another slice of pizza. ‘It took you long enough to ask’ you thought to yourself, but you didn’t say it out loud.
***
14th June 2018
“Michael for god’s sake get out of that card board box!!” you shouted as a bright coloured blob ducked down inside of the brown wrapping paper of a box you had just emptied. “What are you? A two year old?” you screeched. He had been mucking around in the boxes- hiding in them then jumping out at you when you least expected it, pushing holes in the bottom of them and trying to walk with a box for a body, and then trying to fashion one into a hat which he had quickly given up on, leaving the remains all over the floor-since the removals van to your new shared flat had arrived. His head shot up out of a box, different to the one he had gotten in before. A piece of Styrofoam padding was stuck to his head, nestled in his mess of his hair cut. His beaming smile lit up his entire face, and his green eyes twinkled. You couldn’t help but let a small smile work its way onto your face when you saw how happy he was, the way that his bubbly laughter filled the place that otherwise was only silent apart from rustling of paper and the chink of plates and china. “Why am I even dating you?” you said, the light tone in your voice. He pouted, full lips you had felt on yours hundreds of times before, going red and plump. “Because you love me?” he added a ‘w’ to the start of love in his best attempt at a baby voice. “Well it’s a good job I do isn’t it” you sighed, before plucking the Styrofoam of his head- to which he frowned at- and pecking his pouted lips in a kiss.
***
14th June 2019
Deep purple hair dye stained your hands. The remains and evidence of the now light purple haired boy in front of you. It faded slightly as it washed down the drain mixed with the luke-warm water. He was stood in front of the mirror, running a hand through his recently dyed hair. “It’s not very punk rock, is it?” he queried, a slight uncertainty in his voice. You turned to look at him. Taking in his whole face. The way his nose curved downwards the tiniest way, with a little bump at the end. The way his cheeks were slightly rosy and pink against his ghostly pale skin from where he had been tilting his head upside down over the bath tub, blood running to his head, whilst you rubbed the purple, foul smelling dye through his hair. The way his brows were darker then the golden hair of his fluttering eyelashes, and how they furrowed slightly as he inspected his hair. And the way now his deep green eyes, already so bright and almost fluorescent in the semi light of the bathroom, looked even more vivid of set by the almost white dusty colour of his pastel purple hair. “You look beautiful” you mumbled, running your hands lightly across his slightly stubbled jaw. He pouted, lips nudging your palm. “I don’t want to look pretty, I want to look punk rock” his jaw jutted out in defiance, but you smoothed over his bottom lip. “My pretty boy” you whispered before gently kissing along his dark hair splattered jaw line.
***
14th June 2020
*A newspaper article*
5 seconds of summer? More like 9 years of fame
The Australian boy band, consisting of four members has finally agreed to a mutual break-up of the band since being shot to success almost ten years ago. After their first sell out world tour back in 2014-15 dubbed the ‘rock out with your socks out’ tour, the boys have climbed the ratings, breaking records and winning many awards. The multimillion pound boy band began its humble begins in the garage of a fellow band mate and from there has continued to reach millions of views online and sell gold then platinum records. To say the four boys from Australia really made it would be an understatement, but now after developing a fan base that could even top the formidable ‘One Direction fanbase’ (a still closely knit family since the split of the 1D boys multiple years ago) even though the fans of 5SOSfam-which they call themselves- may be more prone to be found listening to the sounds of bands such as All Time Low and Green Day- since there release of She’s Kinda Hot in 2015, finally signalling them as a punk rock band- than teen poppy tunes.
However despite there still increasing fan base and the fact they seem to be ‘taking over the world’, the four boys have decided to call it a day, and have thrown in the towel. It is rumoured that the break up is mostly due to the previous guitarist of the band- Michael Clifford- wants to settle down and make a family with his new fiancé Y/N. Their relationship has blossomed ever since Y/N, a budding fan at the time, met her future husband at a meet and greet in her home town. The wedding is rumoured sometime around June next year, but a baby is not said to be on the way. We congratulate the newlyweds but will terribly miss the boys new found glory in the rock industry.
***
14th June 2021
The silver band of your engagement ring shone brightly, glinting and winking at you. The small diamonds encasing the whole thing even brighter, blinding almost, in the sun. Sun which had bronzed your skin but left Michael’s red with sun burn. A slightly duller and thicker band was next to the winking one. A date-the 14th of June- engraved on the underside so that it pressed against your skin, reminding you of so many different 14th of Junes. A wedding band mirrored on Michael’s other hand. Both rings were slight on your finger, still new and dirt free. A tan line was underneath them, paler skin trapped beneath the metal. The honeymoon had tanned your skin. Leaving it glowing and at the peak of health, your skin glowing like the glowing happiness in your heart. The wedding was wonderful. No other way to describe it, soft songs had been played up until after the first dance- Michael’s hands had held you so lovingly, the ridges and calluses of them framing your body and open shoulders that were revealed by the white creamy dress. It was a family affair, his and yours. So obviously the boys had come, growing old now- even you could see that. Having three best men was a necessity to Michael, when he finally committed himself completely to you, he would do it with his three best friends at his side. And to say that tears didn’t slip from their eyes would be a lie.
***
14th June 2022
Unknown to both you and Michael a budding life was growing inside of you. Blossoming like a flower soon to be in bloom. A growing child, to be mothered by you and loved wholeheartedly by Michael. A small life, made and loved and cherished by both of you, that would have the striking green eyes of its father, the ever so slightly golden skin of its mother. A child who had the little button nose of its father and the cheeky quirk of its lips to match. A child who had the shorter eyelashes of its mother and her laugh also. A child who would grow up swaddled in love and affection till it was nearly smothered with the devotion. So in the deeps of your stomach, masked currently by the churning love for your husband; the tiny life's father, the child grew. Grew until the swell of your stomach was unmaskable. Till the sickness in the morning was unbearable. And until the baby’s tiny cries were heard in the delivery room.
***
14th June 2023
At almost four months old, the tiny baby wailed insistently. It was a girl. Daddy’s little princess and Mummy's little angel. But she cried and cried. A non-stop scream for attention and affection. Of which was always given willingly by either a tired looking you, or a bleary eyed Michael. So today, in the middle of the night, the wailing started up again and it was your automatic reaction to roll from your bed towards the small child.
Stumbling down the hall to the pink dusted nursery, you stopped immediately. Even in your sleep deprived state you couldn’t help the building love and admiration for the man standing cradling your baby in his arms. He was singing, softly, sweetly. A lowered rendition of ‘Amnesia’. A song that after so many years still brought tears to your eyes as it dug up so many memories of pining nights over Michael, even when he wasn’t your friend, your boyfriend, your fiancé, your husband. His soothing tone and hushed whispers, along with the swipes of his thumb along her little tufts of baby hair- the same colour of Michael’s natural hair- soothed the child. Quietening her screams and the rocking lulled her into a sleep. But still he rocked her, whilst pacing slightly. Cooing words of love and devotion at her. So as you stood in the door way watching the man you loved, comforting and cradling your baby in his arms, he didn’t even see you. Too engrossed in protecting and fulfilling the need of the the tiny life in his hands.
The love for him pumped through your veins. Sparking your brain and heart, highlight your vision. Almost like a drug as it coursed through you and mixed with your blood. It tingled through ever limb of your body and made you feel lightheaded. A drug. Too powerful and addictive to ever have been tried in the first place. But too fulfilling, eye-opening and wonderful, to ever, ever give up.
***
14th June 2053
Surrounded by children and relatives alike you smiled. Beamed even. Over the years, your children- a girl and two boys- had branched out. Had their own families and started their own lives. So now all around you were the results of the burning feeling in your chest; love, that you had for Michael. Both of you were not now at the pinnacle of health, greying hairs and groaning joints were present and there were new, younger spectacles of love around you. But as, hand in hand, you and Michael studied the screams of “Oh grandpa Michael” and “Tell me about the band you were in” you couldn’t help but think about the letter. How a few splashes of ink could lead to something that neither of you could explain. Something that you didn’t need to explain to anyone. It was felt in the way the cool metal of your wedding ringing dug into the now frail skin on brittle hands. Or the way a tiny little pin-prick was visible just above Michael’s grey haired eyebrows from a metal bar that was no longer there. Or in the way your hair was still long but a whitey grey colour. It was a time line. A timeline of how long a love so ferocious can last and how it won’t be put down by the specs of water that are splashed on it.
A simple girl can fall in love with a band member. Sure anyone can. And sometimes, it only takes a split second for that band member to love her right back.