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Jan could feel his muscles begin to ache. Twenty, fifteen or even ten years ago, he wouldn’t have felt it half as much. Now though, he thought his legs were about to fall off. He never remembered bar stools being this painful to sit on.
He dragged himself to the bathroom. With his back turned to the mirror, he took his wig off. It was tangled to hell and back and, even though he didn’t even drink anything himself, smelled like beer. In hopes that the conditioner would deal with some of the knots, he washed the wig and combed it until his arms hurt just as much as his legs.
With his last strength, he dragged himself under the shower. Now that his hair was short, he at least didn’t have to shampoo it anymore.
Jan caught a glimpse of his reflection the mirror. He couldn’t even wince at himself anymore. At least the botox could keep the wrinkles at bay. Something inside of Jan didn’t recognize himself anymore. Most of his face was stiff now. Out of curiosity, he tried to pull his eye brows up. It worked a tiny bit but for the most part, he just opened his eyes more.
Should he stop with the injections? Probably. It felt weird to look at himself and it was unreasonably expensive too. Still, he feared how his face would change. With how Attila and Jørn had aged over the last few years, he wasn’t too keen on finding out. At the end of the day, Jan wanted to look good. If not for himself, at least for Jørn.
How long had it been since the last time anyways? Four months?
Jan decided to think about that tomorrow at the very earliest. He huddled into the bed next to Jørn.
“Are you alright?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come here, beautiful.”
Jørn pulled Jan closer.
“Do you really think that?”
“Of course I do.“
Jørn let his knuckles glide over Jan’s cheek. The drummer avoided his gaze.
“Why would I not think you’re beautiful?”
“I don’t know anymore. I think I messed up.”
“With what?”
“Kind of with everything.”
Jan hesitated for a second. He cuddled his face into Jørn’s shoulder.
“The botox, the filler… the hair transplant too.”
“Are you afraid of looking your age?”
“Have you heard all of those ‘Hellhammer doesn’t age jokes’? I don’t want to look old like… you.”
For a few seconds, Jørn was quiet. He halfway hoped that Jan would catch himself but then he remembered who exactly he was married to.
“Jan? In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never said anything dumber. You don’t know any of these people, why do you care what they think about you?”
Jan didn’t respond.
“I love you more than anything but, Jesus Christ, we’ve been over this at least five time in the last thirty years. Do you think I look bad?”
“No.”
"Do you remember what I promised you 17 years ago?"
"Hm?"
"I looked into your eyes, I held your hands and I told you 'Through health and sickness, until death do us part'. I meant that."
"Has it really been 17 years already?"
“It has been! It has been the most beautiful 17 years of my live. And besides, I’m 57, no one cares about what an old man looks like. That’s why being an old fart is great! You’re 56, that’s something to be proud of. If you want to keep doing that stuff, keep doing it, if you don’t, don’t. I will still love you. Even if we don’t get weird looks anymore because people think that you’re 25 years younger than I am.”
“Do people really notice that much?”
“I think you care about the wrong opinions people have about you.”
Jan smiled into Jørn’s shoulder. The bassist kissed the top of Jan’s head.
“But… I do like the wig when it’s clean. That was a good decision.”