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The sea of phone flashlights was almost blinding him. He had to squint a little, and for a second, fear overcame him. He had been on dozens of different stages in the past year, and yet the sheer masses of people screaming his songs alongside him tended to overwhelm him. But fortunately for him, the one person who could calm him down in moments like these was standing right next to him.
When he felt Jesse’s arm around him, grabbing him tightly, holding him while he sang the chorus with him, his pulse slowed down and his smile returned. That’s how it had always been. When Jere was overcome with despair, Jesse was right there to help him regain his composure. When he stumbled and fell, he knew Jesse would catch him. He had been his constant in life ever since they had met. One reassuring look from Jesse’s blue eyes and Jere was at peace again.
Once he had been a small blonde school boy all alone in this new city, and Jesse had been the first to even talk to him. Soon enough, he had grown to love his curls and round glasses, his cute laugh and all the stupid jokes they constantly made in class, much to their teachers’ dismay.
They had spent their mornings at school and their afternoons at ice hockey practice, always laughing, always together. Jere could recall one specific time when a girl from school he had liked so much rejected him, which had led him to take practice really serious that day. He was tackling other players and hitting their sides with his hockey stick as if it would make him feel better or help him cope with his anger and the deep, deep sadness inside of him.
It had been his first heartbreak, and he was too embarrassed to tell anyone. But when Jesse found him all by himself in the changing room after practice, shaky and with glassy eyes, a little hug and a concerned “What happened?” were enough to break Jere’s protective shell. At that time, he would have been embarrassed to admit it to anyone, but now he fondly remembered how he had cried in his friend’s arms for god knows how long, telling him in detail just how broken-hearted he felt.
Jesse had listened attentively, stroked his hair a little, and lifted his mood at least so much that he could go to school without feeling like he had to start crying any second the next day. They had never spoken about it again, but Jere knew his friend remembered. And he knew he was aware how much trust he had built in him that day.
And he felt like he needed everyone to know just how much his best friend meant to him.
“Say Jesse!” He exclaimed, smiling widely when the audience chanted his friend’s name.
“Say Jere!”
He didn’t even hear the people shouting his own name right afterwards; all he could think of were the occasions Jesse had shouted it just like that. In ice hockey matches; either to call his attention or to cheer for him.
And also, the first time he had seen him again after his surgery.
Jesse had rushed to the hospital as soon as Jere could receive visitors again. He had held his hand, repeating his friend’s name over and over again as if to make sure he was really, actually still there, still alive, and not just a figment of his memory.
Jere had shown him the stoma attached to his stomach. “Look at this fucking thing,” he had said and laughed. Laughing things off had always been his way of dealing with them.
Jesse had tried to laugh alongside him, but it was obvious how worried he really was. He had never been great at hiding his feelings, especially not in front of Jere. His friend could read every single facial expression, knew what every twitch of his eyebrow and every nose scrunch meant. And Jesse especially couldn’t disguise how worried he was about his friend’s health. He looked like he was barely 50 kilograms, his thin body seemed so weak from the disease. Jesse couldn’t get himself to say anything to his friend. He could only repeat his name over and over again.
Luckily, Jere didn’t need reassuring words this time. Jesse’s presence was enough. All this time in the hospital had given him room to think. And one very specific thought, one very specific dream kept making an appearance.
“Jesse?” He asked him, and his friend looked down at him with raised eyebrows, squeezing his hand, nodding to signal he was paying attention.
“Jesse, I’ve been thinking,” Jere said and sat up so he would be able to look into his friend’s eyes.
“I think I wanna do music full-time. Fuck it, I need to do music, I can’t fucking spend whatever’s left of my life doing some shitty job in some shitty office.”
Jesse nodded slowly. He had always been better at listening, and he knew how to give his friend’s thoughts the space they needed.
“Jesse, as soon as I’m out of this fucking shithole, you and I will go to a studio and make a fucking song,” he said and gritted his teeth, squeezing his hand again; so hard this time that Jesse winced in pain.
“A song? For real?” He asked and pulled his hand away, shaking it to release the pain.
“Yeah, a rap song. I’ve had so many ideas while I was trapped in here, it’s like I couldn’t get my brain to shut up.”
Jesse nodded slowly, and for the first time since he had entered the hospital room, his worried frown made room for a shy little smile.
“Sure, you know what? Let’s do it.”
It had been a couple of years since then. And now, they were singing said song together. In London, at a sold out venue in front of thousands of people.
If he had to be honest, back in May he wouldn’t have thought he would ever return to England to play his songs. Losing Eurovison felt to him like he had lost his career after it had skyrocketed just shortly before.
Oh, and Jesse knew all about it. He had been the one comforting Jere, he had held him in his arms while assuring him he wasn’t a disappointment, that Finland still loved him and the rest of Europe did too. Jesse knew how competitive his friend was, he had felt it himself during too many ice hockey matches back in the day.
Now, standing on this stage, Jere could barely even recall the sadness that had taken him over day and night. Now he was flooded with endorphins, and he knew Jesse felt similarly.
This hadn’t been only his journey. They had been on it together, ever since the two of them had produced Urheilujätkä so many years ago.
Jere’s losses were also Jesse’s, and Jesse’s successes were Jere’s, too. This was their song, their ultimate proof of trust and friendship.
He couldn’t have sung it without him, just like he wouldn’t have been able to master all the highs and lows in his life without him. Maybe he disagreed with their own song. Maybe he wasn’t in charge of his own luck. Maybe it was Jesse.
“Thank you, London!” He screamed, and when he turned to Jesse, he hoped his friend knew that whom he truly meant with those words was him.