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The rain of the Costa Rican wet season hit the tin roof of the studio, a relentless drumroll that drowned out the sounds of the surrounding jungle. Inside, the air was thick, heavy with humidity and the suffocating weight of a fifteen-year stalemate.
Julian sat slumped on a worn velvet sofa in the back of the control room. Across the space, Nick was leaning against the mixing console, scrolling idly through his phone, a half-empty bottle of local beer dangling from his long fingers. They weren't playing. The amps were switched off, the microphones dead. The silence between them had been taking up all the oxygen in the room.
Julian watched him, a familiar, hollow ache settling in his chest.
Your attention please…
Julian closed his eyes, the words echoing only in his own mind. He felt like a ghost haunting his own life. He looked at Nick,the sharp jawline, the familiar slump of his shoulders, and felt a bizarre sense of dissociation.
I wondered if an assailant passed this way
Was a friend that I once knew, flew in from L.A.
That was what they had become. Strangers who knew exactly how to hurt each other. Nick felt like an assailant to his peace of mind, yet he was the same boy Julian had once tangled limbs with in cramped Los Angeles motel rooms, hiding from the rest of the band in 2001. Back then, they were a unified front. Now, Nick didn't even look up when Julian shifted on the couch. He was completely oblivious to the war waging in the singer's head.
Julian leaned his head back against the wall.
The fractures had started so long ago, during First Impressions of Earth, when Julian’s grip on the band had turned into a vice. By Angles, the ice had frozen over entirely.
Oh, a lesson that I learned a long, long time ago
Reminded me of my lonesome self
That old wrinkled shadow
He had built a fortress to protect himself from the sheer terror of needing someone else. He had pushed Nick away before Nick could realize how completely Julian depended on him.
And I'm, I count my blessings then
I know nobody understands
I waste my days away
"You good?" Nick's voice cut through the damp air, sudden and sharp.
Julian blinked, startled. Nick was looking at him now, an eyebrow slightly raised, his expression guarded. That was their dynamic now, polite and standoffish.
"Yeah," Julian lied smoothly, running a hand through his hair. "Just tired."
Nick gave a small nod and went back to his phone. He had no idea. He had no idea that Julian was unraveling, thinking of their ruined relationship right in front of him.
A cruel realization began to pulse in Julian’s temples, a silent, damning chorus that explained every cold shoulder and every sarcastic comment they had traded over the last decade.
You don't have love because you don't want pain
Woah, no, no
Julian stared at the scuffed floorboards. That was the truth of it. He had killed what they had because he was terrified of the inevitable heartbreak.
You don't want pain because you don't have trust
Woah, no, no
He hadn't trusted the band to survive it. He hadn't trusted Nick to stay. Most of all, he hadn't trusted himself.
You don't have trust, so you don't have love
Woah, no, no
You don't have love because you just can't take the pain
The words looped in his head, a relentless condemnation. It was a liar's remorse, played out in agonizing slow motion. He was sitting ten feet away from the only person who had ever truly anchored him, and he couldn't bridge the gap. He was entirely paralyzed by his own defense mechanisms.
There was a time
Sat there like a dog
He was the one
Julian swallowed hard, the memory burning the back of his throat. He remembered the early days, how Nick used to look at him with that quiet devotion, waiting for Julian's lead before Julian had crushed it out of him with his own ego. Back then, Nick was the one. The only one who made the chaos bearable. But that version of Nick was gone.
Now he's away riding the radio waves
Get the fuck out the way
Now, Nick was his own immovable force. He had built his own armor, pushing past the wreckage Julian had caused, riding the success they had built together but remaining entirely separate. The world around them had changed too, turning into something unrecognizable.
We can have all the things you want okay
Listen to the AI tell you what to do today
Everything felt so manufactured now, the industry and expectations to just produce content and hit play. It was all a hollow, synthetic machine compared to the raw, bleeding connection they used to share.
I waste my days away instead of giving it a voice
I want to play my game
Julian hated himself for it. He wanted to speak. He wanted to shatter the standoffish act, to walk across the room, grab the phone out of Nick’s hands, and confess everything. He wanted to apologize for Angles, for Comedown Machine, for the cold sterile professionalism that defined them now. But the cowardice was too deeply ingrained. He chose the game. He always chose the game.
The studio door swung open, letting in a gust of wet air. Rick Rubin, their producer, walked in holding a clipboard, looking stressed.
"Management just emailed," Rick sighed, rubbing his temples.
Taking too long, please send us a song
"They want a progress report," Rick continued, completely unaware of the tense atmosphere he had just walked into. "They’re asking if we have any finished tracks yet."
How can I do this all on my own?
Julian felt a suffocating wave of pressure. He looked at Nick, waiting for him to say something, to share the burden like they used to. But Nick just shrugged, taking a slow sip of his beer.
Never a secret, all down the tubes
Putting your feet up, wrong attitude
"Tell them we're working on it," Nick said flatly, his tone dripping with a bored apathy that Julian knew was just another layer of armor.
Rick sighed again and stepped back out into the hallway to make the call, leaving them alone once more. The silence rushed back in, thicker this time.
Hiding a secret is nothing new
Julian couldn't take it anymore. The unspoken history between them, the ghost of what they used to be, was expanding in his chest. He stood up abruptly. The sudden movement made Nick look up, his guarded expression faltering for a second into genuine surprise.
Something inside is bubbling up
Julian grabbed his wet leather jacket off the back of a chair. He didn't look at Nick, terrified that if they made eye contact, the whole act would collapse.
"I'm getting out of here," Julian muttered, shoving his arms into the sleeves.
Nick frowned, finally pushing off the mixing console. "Where are you going? The roads are flooded."
Julian stopped at the door, his hand resting on the brass handle. He finally turned to look at the tall guitarist. Nick looked tired, defensive, and entirely oblivious to the tragedy of their shared history.
We gotta go somewhere to get drunk
"There's a hotel bar up the hill. I think it's still open," Julian said, his voice surprisingly steady, masking the desperate, pleading undercurrent in his chest. He held Nick's gaze, stripping away a bit of the standoffish facade they had perfected.
A reservation, dinner for two.
"Come with me," Julian added quietly.
Nick stared at him, the silence stretching out, competing with the sound of the rain on the roof. For a moment, Julian thought he saw a flicker of the old Nick, the one from the cramped Los Angeles hotel rooms, break through the ice.
Slowly, Nick reached for his own jacket.
"Alright," Nick said, his voice low. "Let's go."
They stepped out into the storm together, the unsaid words and the thoughts still ringing violently in Julian's head, drowned out only by the heavy Costa Rican rain.