Chapter Text
Somewhere in the distance, there’s Radiohead playing from one of their phones. The TV growls with static, filling the mundane, cloudy day with much more noise than is welcome at that particular moment. The glow emitted by a fluorescent lamp in the corner seems to be too bright for their liking, but neither makes the move to turn it off. The marihuana they ingested makes time a foreign concept. Minutes feel like hours, hours feel like an eternity. It rids them of awareness, strips them of any motivation to change their comfortable position in bed. And so, they lay. They lay together in bed. Fully clothed. Holding hands. Turned towards each other. The moment seems so long, so bizarre. Nothing feels real anymore. It hasn’t for a while now. Neither dare to speak, but they exchange glances. Smiles. Expressions. Kisses. The bond they share has definitely become stronger, maybe even changed, for better of course, over the past few days. Who knew it would have only taken them a few long, late night conversations to learn everything there is to know about each other? Their relationship used to be casual. Focused on fun. But now? It’s something far deeper. Far more dangerous. They’re trudging over frail territory. A bride about to collapse. Ice far too thin to support their weight. Somehow, the topic has shifted from memories to death. Unfortunately, that makes for a good opening to talk about Joosts parents. He doesn’t feel like crying today… Yet, tears fall from his eyes.
“I… Try to… Avoid thinking about it.” He mutters. “Years have passed. Over a decade, already… But the grief still takes over my thoughts and mind and… I can’t stop over analyzing what happened. I can’t stop blaming myself. Had I gotten home earlier…”
“Hey.” Tommy wipes his tears. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one's fault.” He reassures him, or at least, tries to do so. “You were only 13. Practically a child . It was something that probably happened over the span of minutes, hours at best.” He sits up to grab the tissues lying on the bedside table and brings them to him. They take a small break once he lays back down, and then, he grabs his hand, stroking the soft skin beneath his fingers with as much tenderness as he can muster up. “I’m sure your parents would have chosen to stay here and see you grow up, were they given such a choice. No parent wants to abandon their child. You’ve done great things, and honoured your fathers wishes by participating in Eurovision. Damn that crew member that falsely accused you and damn the EBU. You made it. And no one can take that away from you.” He kissed his head, trying to talk him out of the slowly brewing panic attack. They wrap around each other like vines as Joost buries his head into his chest.
“Do you think they would be proud?” That question holds so much pain, so much suffering. It truly breaks his heart.
“I don’t just think. I know.” Tomas placed another gentle kiss on his forehead. “While I don’t necessarily believe in God, I fully believe they watched you perform from above, you know?” He whispered, rubbing his back. “Or even, hell… I’m sure they were there, with you, on that stage, performing along.”
“Maybe.” Joost whispers back. “I feel like I have… unfinished business, you know.” He sighs heavily. “I truly wanted to perform this year. I really did. I had the song ready, my crew was waiting for the final confirmation… But…” He almost chokes on his words. “I can’t bring myself to go back. Not after what happened last time.”
“And no one is pressuring you to try again when you’re not feeling up to it.” Tommy rested his head against Joosts. “People say… Grief is like glitter. It gets everywhere. You keep finding its pieces even long after you have cleaned up the original mess.”
There’s a long moment of comfortable silence between them. Warmth bounces off their bodies and sneaks in past the walls they have involuntarily built around their minds during the course of their lives. It’s freeing in the most vulnerable of ways.
“Are your parents proud of you?” Joost asks him absentmindedly.
“Do you really think I’m sober enough to think about such things most of the time?” Tomas blurts out. But then, after a while of thought, he continues. “I like to think they are. I’m not sure there’s much to be proud of, honestly. But they never… Berated me, for who I am… I guess. We had a fair share of fights when I was younger, sure… But it’s nothing out of the ordinary, for families to disagree… “ He rolls over to his back and stares at the ceiling. “I wasn’t exactly the… easiest… To love. I kept getting in trouble, not only in school but also with the police. I can’t count how many times they had to bail me out.” A chuckle escapes him involuntarily. “I never graduated from highschool. They gave me an ultimatum. Had to make a choice… And I chose weed. But… Yeah. They are. My mom used to be skeptical, but now, she’s over it… And fully supports my music career.”
A comfortable silence drapes over them like a warm blanket yet again.
“You rarely take anything seriously.” Joost untangles himself from him and flips onto his back as well. “Why?”
"Because our existence itself isn't serious at all, either." Tommy replies.
“Is that so?” Joost inquires.
"Life's too short to be normal.” He shrugs. “Sometimes, you just have to embrace the weirdness. Accept it's absurd.”
“I guess you’re right. To be cringe is to be free, after all... Isn't that what they always say? You know, when you're growing up and… Despite the fact we're stuck in social constructs and put under labels, all of the adults, parents especially, and those inspirational quotes… They all tell you to be yourself. But I don't know who I am, to be honest…” Joost sighs. “Do you?” Tommy turns to him with a lost gaze.
“I don’t, either. I'm just embracing whatever the fuck is wrong with me to make money off it."