Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lights pour onto the floor, dousing any and every dancer in fluorescence. The beat booms through the speakers, taking over the brain of the listener. A group of lads lay low. They’d usually be performing, all dolled up, dressed up in drag but today they need to be as normal as possible if they’re going to find their Robbie.

Robbie, their dearest friend and stupidest idiot is the baby of the group, the wandering toddler you have to keep an eye on or he’ll snatch some sweets or chat up some mob boss who could end him and the club at any minute.

It’s like he doesn’t sense danger. Doesn’t feel the toxicity radiating off these men, the slime in the form of sweat dripping off their hands, the lust swimming in their eyes. Well, the last part is a lie. Robbie definitely feels the lust but he loves it! It makes him feel like an actual queen, the ultimate object of desire. Mark says it’s all a part of growing up, Gary thinks he’s just a slag, typical, Howard believes that he just doesn't understand but Jason reckons that it’s something deeper. Robbie never felt wanted before; bullied at school, neglected at home. So when someone gives him attention it’s like heroin and he’s hooked.

If they say they have a drink, he’ll drink it, if they say they have a pill, he’ll take it and if they say they have a party back at their place, he’ll attend it—or at least try. Usually one of the lads notices him getting too friendly and drags him away. More often than not, it’s Gaz, or Ivy Keys as he’s known in the nights, who scolds him for being such a slag.

“He shouldn’t even be here,” mutters Jason. It’s true. Robbie shouldn’t be here. He’s barely 18. He still collects toys from the cereal box. He knows nothing about the world and Jason just knows these letches will take advantage of that. 

Shame that’s all part of the job.

Seems today they don’t have to look far though as Robbie is right in the corner, surrounded by two blokes that could’ve been casted by John Major and his stunt double in a biopic. At least three times his age, near to retirement, seedy, sleazy and smiling down at him like he’s theirs. 

Robbie smiles too, that cheeky chappie smile that does nothing besides show his age. His painfully young age. 

“Oh hiya, lads,” he greets them. “Met these two last night. Cyril and Jim. They've been coming here since Marko’s sisters worked here apparently. Anyway, we were just about to leave for a couple of drinks back at his. You're welcome to come!”

“I don’t think so.” Howard’s voice is stern. Stern as steel. Stern as to tell these men in a silent matter to get the fuck away from his friend before he batters them. And Howard would. He genuinely would. He’s come so, so close before, like when Robbie went back to that prick after Glastonbury. 

He continues to glare as he folds his arms, narrowing in on the one named Jim who’s hand is inches away from Robbie’s bum. He hates to wonder what would happen if he and the lads weren’t here to keep this sort away.

Luckily, it doesn’t get to that point as the men get the message and leave without a single word. As always. 

Jason grabs Robbie’s arm with so much firmness you’d think he was trying to tame a tiger. He’s been here before, they’ve both been here before, they’ve all been here before telling him how dangerous this is, to leave with a total stranger without anyone else knowing. How many ways can they say it? How many more times must they repeat it?

Robbie’s zoned out. He knows he’s messed up but Jason’s started one of his famous ‘What the hell were you thinking? Do you wanna get killed!’ lectures and he can’t bring himself to be present. He hates being like this. He hates that he can never say no. He hates that anyone can make him feel special with just a few words and even less actions.

And he hates that they all know it. He hates that he’s weak and he hates that Gary just rolled his eyes for the second time in a row. Who does he think he is? 

But before Robbie can open his mouth, or Jason can even finish his sentence, Gary gets up.

“Well, I’m off.”

“What?” Mark asks, gobsmacked by the abruptness. 

“No whats, Markie,” he grins at him. “Ivy Keys has got places to be!”

“But we’re gonna have lunch at that kebab place like we always do.” Jason introduced them to it since he loves Indian food and they’ve been going ever since. Has he forgotten the sacred tradition? 

“Lunch? It’s already past 1 and Nigel’s booked us this nice Scottish restaurant with a golf course and I have to be there by half past. I don’t want them to cancel our table.”

Robbie can’t resist making a remark. “You’re still seeing that hog? Surprised he still hasn’t left you in the lurch.”

“He won’t leave me in the lurch, he’ll put me in the biz but I doubt you know what that even means.” And Gary has to get his own back. “Too complex for you to understand, hey? Maybe you should stick to pining over punks.” 

Robbie looks at him with daggers for eyes. “Put a ring on it yet?” 

“We’ll see,” Gary quips with his hand in the air, imagining a ring on his finger. He quite likes silver, though Nigel’s is gold, and he has fondness for sapphire but you never see them on rings. 

It’s only for a few seconds, just to piss off Robbie and make his status clear to the others before he leaves, letting the door slam behind him.

ᯓ★

Emerald green grass, white collared shirts and the first skims of Spring sun. This is the life, Gary thinks to himself as he watches his man get a hole in one. His man, Nigel. They’ve been going steady for a while now, almost two years but to Gary feels like forever and a day.

After watching Gary’s performance of his own song, Nigel found himself stunned by the talent and seduced by the drag persona that he just had to get to know him over a roast dinner the next day. Since then there’s been days like this and nights of passion. Gary’s basically taken the place of his wife who’s getting less action than a book upon an old shelf! Not that it bothers Gary at all. He isn’t fond of her. From what he’s heard she’s a boring broad, oblivious to her dear husband pulling the wool over her eyes whilst pushing his cock into someone else…

“How are you, my love?” 

“I’m well,” Gary smiles as Nigel takes his hands. “It feels like it could be summer already.” 

“Well I do suppose we’ve gotten lucky today though I do wish it was actually summer. I’d love to see you in tennis shorts!”

They both laugh and nuzzle their noses under rays of sun. Their smiles from ear to ear.

How ever did he get so lucky?

His main goal when he arrived in Manchester was to dedicate himself to music and when he ended up performing Like A Virgin in red lipstick and a blonde wig by the end of the first night, he figured that he was still doing that – just by different means. If he wanted to live the vanilla life he would’ve stayed in Cheshire and followed the path his parents pushed him towards: married with a stable career as a bank teller with a child on the way. 

Well, none of those things will ever happen, not any time soon anyway but Gary can see him and Nigel settling down in the countryside somewhere once he files for divorce.

ᯓ★

Dance is a form of expression, a way to speak without words, to paint without brushes, to sing without vocals. Howard loves it, loves to interpret the music through choreography, loves to feel the music through movements but it isn’t his first love. No, his first love was cross dressing. Dressing up in his mother’s clothes and makeup when she was at work. Her lavender dress was his favourite, reminding him of the spring he was born in, and he added the pearl necklace his dad had got her for Christmas with the high heels she always wore to events. He even put on her perfume, Chanel No. 5, and her red lipstick. He looked beautiful, he felt beautiful but to his brother who watched him from the door, he was sinful. If not sinful then downright disgusting and needed to be dealt with.

His elder brother beat Howard that day so badly you’d think he had stolen from his mother’s purse, not just been seen in her dress.  

And that’s why Howard turned to dance. It allows him to be himself, it allows him to be free and it allows him to push Jason down without fear of repercussion!

Their backs are against the wall and they’re panting like dogs from the dancing and the laughing. They were meant to be choreographing to that song that Gary wrote but Howard reckons that the last half hour has just been them messing around to music. Still, not the worst way to spend time. They deserve a break after today’s close call.

“Surprised you ain’t pulled a muscle when you tugged Robbie this morning,” Howard remarks.

“Nah, I’ve tugged much more than that,” he smiles as he flexes his muscles. “The old boy’s used to it.” 

They both giggle like the immature teenagers they ought to be. 

“What are we going to do about that boy?” 

It’s a question, there’s no doubt about it, but one with no clear answer. It’s like asking which religion is correct or how long until Stephen divorces Elaine, it just doesn’t have an answer. And Jason loves answers, it’s why he’s so curious about the world around him, so excited by different cultures and languages and so frustrated by Robbie’s incessant recklessness. 

Sometimes he wishes he could reach into his head and just…

“What can we do?” He’s right. What exactly can they do? “He’s 18 now, when’s he gonna wise up? We can’t keep running after him. We’re his colleagues, you know, this is not a crèche! And even if it were, we’d be calling home, bringing in parents,” he’s looking at Howard now. “And I know for sure, firsthand, leaving your family is a decision no one willingly makes.”

And Jason knows. Jason knows far too well as he left home young too. Not as young as Robbie did, he can thank God for that, but he left the age Robbie is now and it was tough. 

Jason had a fling. No big deal, many teens have flings but in his case, it was with the priest’s son who, under pressure from his father, outed him at confession. Jason forgives him now but back then no such thing could cross his mind, not when rocks were being thrown at his windows and turds were being pushed through the letterbox. 

That was only the start of what would become an unbearable hell. He became an easy target for violent attacks and after a particularly bad beating, someone came to his aid. Damon was his name, a London bloke, who smiled as he said “Glad to see there’s another one of me” and asked him on a date the day after. 

However, Jason’s mother picked up on everything, as mothers do, and whilst she had no proof of the relationship (they were very discreet), she still wished for her son to stop “acting like that” and start being “normal” which triggered the final argument between them. 

“I won’t have a queer eating off my plate” were her final words and they could’ve brought Jason to his final days but he left before dinner. All the savings Damon had told him to keep in case came in handy when he reached the city and the phone calls from his twin brother Justin kept his spirits up but if he hadn't found the club, it would’ve never ended well.

“But for the love of God, why can’t he behave and stop taking everything for a fucking joke!” 

ᯓ★

“It’s not that we don’t love ya, Rob, we do,” Mark clarifies as he stirs the pasta-tuna mix. He’s getting an early start on dinner since today’s lunch ended before it began courtesy of Ivy Keys and Mad Robonna. He has to blame both. It’s only fair to blame both. The latter more than the former to tell the truth. “We’re just worried about ya. I mean, you drive us wild. You don’t ever stop. Like today, you had no idea what those blokes could’ve done to you! It’s dangerous out there. This job’s a guessing game and you can’t ever lose. You know what happens when you lose. You lost before. When you went off with that Liam guy to Glasto...”

“That was one time!” Robbie yells out, feeling the need to emphasise that that episode was a one-off. A pilot for a series that never took off. A flopping debut single from a brand new band. A fluke. A three-night-stand. He doesn’t remember his name, Robbie doesn't remember a single thing about those days, just the cloud above his head waiting to burst.

And the pretty little white lines on the table, and Liam’s tough accent egging him on, and his knees getting redder and redder from kneeling…

“But it wasn’t just once, was it?” Mark stops stirring to look him dead in the eye. “You went back to him loads of other times.” 

It’s true. Not a lie told. He’s gone back plenty of times after Glastonbury. More times than he’d ever admit. He’s actually lost count. Too many times he’s been led astray, out of the club and into his bed. Praying that the door didn’t creak too loud in the night or that his eyes didn’t look too dark in the morning. 

“They know it, we all know it, I know it, I just don’t say anything because it’s your life but I can’t say I’m not disappointed because I am! It’s like you don’t even think when you do these things and if you do, it’s all a laugh to ya but it ain’t! Because I’m telling you, Rob, we can’t keep running after ya, you know, we’ve got our own lives. Sooner or later you’re gonna end up on your own if you continue like the way you are now. How do you seriously expect to keep on?”

Mark digs the spoon into the bottom of the pot out of pure frustration. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been more fed up in his life. When is enough enough? When will Robbie learn that this job’s no joke! This is real life; the life they lead and it could very well lead to his end if he isn’t careful!

Mark sighs in a futile attempt to calm himself down. “You can take ya share, I’m goin’ to go shower.”

As he watches Mark stomp on, something changes in Robbie. Twinges, twists and turns in him.

They don’t want him here. They never have. Or at least not now. Not anymore. That’s why Gaz left early, that’s why Howard only said a few words, that’s why Jason dragged him so hard (harder than Gaz has ever), that’s why Mark snapped at him just now. That’s why. It’s all been a message. A message that he isn’t too thick to get. He can get the message, he gets the message. He’s simply not wanted. Around here, anyway. 

He’s overstayed his welcome. He’s done it before at school when he tried to hang out with the good kids to avoid being bullied. It was better to be bullied for being part of a group rather than for being himself. By the end of the second week, though, they had ditched him. They said they had nothing in common with him. He couldn’t add numbers right or read well.

It was the same at home, no, worse. Because unlike school there was nowhere to hide, except for Nan’s room, but she held his head under the bathwater when the teacher called to say that they believed that he wouldn’t pass his exams. 

They were right. All right. All right from the very start. And now they’re right now. Right right now.

And he’s going right now, yeah, he’ll leave. He won’t wait for the other shoe to drop. No way! If they want him gone, he’s out of here. Quicker than a john when the boys in blue show up!

He doesn’t need a single person. He needs nothing at all. He needs no one but himself. Not a single thing but his coat. And maybe his walkman. He could use some Madonna, even though his mood is crying out for The Smiths.

And so, Robbie goes through the door. And though he doubts Mark’ll be able to hear him through his butchered rendition of Better The Devil You Know, he still lets the door slam as he disappears into the late winter.

Chapter Text

There’s nothing like a nice, warm shower to ease the tension of the day and bring back your peace of mind. It’s exactly what Mark needs after what’s happened so far. He can’t believe it hasn’t been a day yet – their shift ain’t even started yet! They’ve got a whole night to get through and judging by the way Gary left earlier in the day, the ice queen won’t be lending them any of his hair spray. 

Not like they need it anyway. He hasn’t said anything but Gary still uses that cheap stuff everyone stopped using last year and with him being on the arm of a rich bloke and all, you'd think he’d use some of that money on his prized wig since he insists on touching up his roots each month.

Though, it wouldn’t hurt to get a head start.

“Robbie!” he yells from underneath the shower head. “Spray your wig now!”

No response. That’s strange. 

Anyway, Mark rinses himself off, relishing in the last hot droplets hitting his back and turns off the water with a yawn. He’s missed out on his midday nap.

Oh well! No chance of it now and no chance of them kipping in the dressing room either if they stay here for much longer. Might as well slap the thing on now! 

“Robbie, did you hear me?”

Still, no response. 

He must be getting all huffy in his room, Mark figures, but he’s already decided he won’t be having none of that today. They need to get a move on.

“Rob, I know you’re upset but you can’t avoid me forever—” 

The door hasn’t even been closed, it’s barely touching the frame and Robbie’s not in there. He’s not in the closet, trying to turn long dresses into miniskirts, he’s not by the window, daydreaming of being a superstar, he’s not on the bed, sleeping like a baby. He’s nowhere to be found.

“ROBBIE!” he yells out but there’s no reply. Somebody's taken him, ripped him away from home, abducted him and Mark couldn’t save him, couldn’t get to him in time because he was in the shower, tending to himself, tending to his own needs when Robbie needed him most. No one ever tended to Robbie’s needs before and Mark swore to be different, promised to be the first and what did he do? Let him down like everyone else in his life. 

He needs to search, get a clue. They must’ve let something behind – like a glove or a note or something, anything to indicate who they are and where they’ve gone.

So Mark turns the place upside down. The bed, the curtains, the closet, the drawers — it’s there he realises that Robbie’s walkman is missing. What kidnappers take a kid’s walkman? It’s only Madonna deepcuts.

That means he must have left of his own accord. 

That’s a little better than an abduction but his Robbie is still gone without a trace! 

Mark opens the other draw, there must be a note or something, Robbie wouldn’t just up and leave, not just like that! He figures this must be where Robbie “stores” makeup, if you can even call it that. There’s more lipstick stain than a love letter and the mascara’s all dried up despite being brand new, and there’s some book at the bottom…

It seems to be some sort of journal, but Robbie’d never journal. He can’t spell well for starters and lives life in the moment, never stopping a moment to reflect. This couldn’t be his, surely?

There are a bunch of blank pages, random drawings of superheroes, daisies and hearts. Broken hearts, arrowed hearts, beating hearts, hearts getting ripped apart. Then there’s a handful of poems—Mark quite likes the one about angels, he isn’t too fond of the one about no regrets.  

But then there’s an entry from a month ago that makes Mark’s eyes go wide.

‘I wish Liam didn’t hit me anymore. It hurts me emoceanally more than fisically. I also wish he stopped calling me thick but everyone does or they think I am. I hate when he pushes me the most. I always land on the table or the floor. I hate it because I’m away from him suddenly. I don’t want to be away from him. I love him. I don’t care. It’s me and him against the world. I don’t care what the rest say. How do they know? I just wish he didn’t slap me. I hate it when he punches me. He always aims for my nose. It hurts. A lot. But sometimes he hugs me and giz us a kiss and it’s all better.’

Mark wants to crumple the pages, rip them out then he wants to cripple Liam, pummel him, rip his sweaty hair out and small cock off while he’s at it and slap him, punch him like he punches Robbie and see how he likes it.

But he can’t—at least not right now and there’s more. A couple pages later, written over a broken heart lays the most recent entry. 

‘I think they hate me. Everyone does I think. Howard barely talks to me. It's like he’s embarissed to look at me so he just looks down. Jason’s always having a go at me and Gaz always calls me a slag but I am and I can’t help it. I think I want to stop but everything feels so good like they actually like me. Like somebody likes me. I still have Mark tho. He’s a kind heart. I love him. He’s never not there for me. But I don’t tell him everything. How can I? He would leave me and I don’t want to be alone. I never want to be alone because I can’t be alone.’

Mark instantly shuts the journal and puts it so close to his chest that his heartbeat must send ripples through the pages. How could Robbie think that they hate him? Jason may tell him off from time to time but that’s only because he wants the best for him and Gaz... Well, Gaz is just bitchy but he doesn’t mean what he says and after a couple of years going back and forth you’d think he’d know that by now.

But it’s not about the facts, it’s about how he felt—isolated, shunned, neglected by this new family that had adopted him. He bottled it up, kept it to himself, from everyone else, even from Mark, who he said was always there for him, and now it’s all blown up and he’s ran off, off and away, away from them and away from home. 

“Oh, Robbie!” he cries out as if he’ll miraculously hear him and return to him. He needs to return to him, Robbie needs to return home. And return right now.

He needs to tell the others. They need to know everything! But he has to calm down first. He knows he looks a right state! Thank God he didn’t already do his eyeshadow, he would’ve looked like a battered wife! He puts on TV to distract him, letting a BBC documentary play.

“Those with the disorder show symptoms that may come off as intentionally disruptive but are entirely out of their control. Difficulty with following instructions, waiting their turn, sitting still as well as talking noisily and interrupting conversations are all signs of the inattentiveness, hyperactivity and impulsivity that they suffer with.”

“Hmm,” Mark hums to himself as he applies his mascara. “That sounds a lot like our Robbie.”

As the programme shows different interviews with people diagnosed with the condition, Robbie’s behaviour makes more and more sense! The lads will be so glad when he tells them! Jason’s really into this psychology stuff. Then Mark’s heart sinks: he’ll have to tell them

Robbie’s gone too.

ᯓ★

Pop. That’s what it sounds like. The sound that Ivy Keys makes every time she sucks that cheese from in between her teeth. Chewing and swallowing just to do it all again.

Nigel’s brought Gary Parmesan cheese from his trip to the Italian province of Florence. When he first heard that his man was “going to see Florence,” Gary hit the roof, thinking he was going off with some other tart. Turns out it was just a city and for his fierce reaction (one that Nigel found quite sexy), he brought him back perfume, a sundress, 18k Versace earrings and of course, the cheese that’s getting more than him at the moment!

Harmony Dando’s been ogling the earrings for so long that he’s been allowed to borrow — they’re actually pure gold! And Jane O'Range got offered the perfume but she passed, Citrus is her signature scent. Plus, she’s more interested in this dairy product that seems to have made her mate delusional — banging on about this huge wedding where they’ll all be the bridesmaids and church bells will chime louder than Big Ben!

‘Fat chance’ is what they would say if this fantasy wasn’t so bloody funny! 

“Chocolate mousse for the cake because that’s royal and all,” he says in between licking his fingers. “You know, ladies, this cheese used to be a sign of wealth since some bloke buried it during the Great Fire of London.”

Jason and Howard are staring at him but they aren’t saying anything, but he knows they want to. Because they’re sniggering like a pair of mean girls behind their victim’s back!

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Jason insists whilst Howard shoots a playful look at him. 

“Well it ain’t nothing if youse are giggling,” he snaps like the diva he is. “What? Oh I get it, you two bimbos think that Ivy Keys’ as thick as a punter’s wife,” he gets up to peer down at them from his high horse. “But I’ll have you know that I passed with flying colours!”

Howard didn’t quite catch that. Thinks he misheard.

“Don’t you mean you undid the teacher’s fly to get that pass?” 

Jane O'Range howls with laughter (how unladylike of her!) and Ivy Keys sits up straighter than she’ll ever be!

“I earned that A!” 

They don’t know how many times he was leaned over that desk!

But before he can divulge his risqué revision method, the door flies open and a pale Marie Sophree rushes in. 

“You look paler than Queen Elizabeth I,” Gary quips. “Cut out the powder—”

“He’s gone.”

“What?”

“Robbie!” he exclaims, his voice wobbling, cracking and shaking. “He’s gone!”

As his statement echoes through the stagnant silence, Mark begins to shake as if saying the word out loud shocks him — even though it’s been true for the last however many hours.

Jason takes him by the arms and brings him onto his lap. He does this with all the lads whenever they’re in a state, bouncing his leg or rubbing their back to soothe them and help ease the emotions out. He’s found it helps every time if only by solidifying his role as mother hen. 

Oh well, it’s a small price to pay if it makes his mates feel better. And Jason figures he’s fine with being the mum, as long as Howard’s the soft-hearted dad.

“Mark, please,” Gary turns around to face him, earning a glare from Jason. “He’s gone off before, hasn’t he? We all remember Glastonbury and that wasn’t even a year ago. He even ran off from home to be with us for fuck’s sake! I don’t know what you’re stressing over when he’s probably sodded off to...”

The door opens and the room falls silent as Nigel saunters in. Nigel’s a letch who’s had his hand down every front, not that Gary believes it. Everyone’s a liar or an easy slag—even his own friends who’ve told him time and time again. He’s tried it on with the likes of Mark before but his main catch seems to be Jason who’s been rejecting advances since he began working the doors.

He makes him sick, his skin crawls at the sight of him and he recoils at the thought. Jason could be making more by letting him fiddle and fondle, no dosh can buy dignity and frankly, Gary has a stomach of steel to let him cop a feel.

However, he is still the owner of the club which means they have to show him respect. Without him, they wouldn’t have the opportunity to work in a secure environment and have the luxury of their own dressing room. Howard didn’t even have qualifications and he still let him work the doors alongside his best friend Jason. 

And as for Robbie, he just kept on coming until the group all but melted around him. To his credit, something Nigel will never give him, he sings great and just has that IT factor—you’ll never not be entertained whilst Robbie’s in front of you. He’s just never liked the chap. Too cheeky, too witty for his own good but he’s insecure, naive and charming all at the same time.

He walks around almost like he’s inspecting them, resting his hands on the shoulders of Howard and staring at a shakily breathing Mark on Jason’s lap before looking into Gary’s reflection and glaring at him from behind.

“You’re late.”

It’s the way he says it, like he enjoys putting them all on edge. Jason thinks he’s a prat, or as they say in all those psychology books he reads, a narcissist. Someone who’s self-proclaimed superiority leads them to entitlement and exploiting others without an ounce of empathy. The rest just settle for pompous prat.

Gary puts on a smile, his rouge lips perfectly eclipsing his pearly whites. “We were just about to leave, actually.”

Nigel raises an eyebrow. The absence is felt by everyone, there’s no point in avoiding it. 

“Robbie’s gone off... But he’ll be back soon, nothing to worry about,” he reassures. “And when he does I’ll give him a bloody good hiding for all the hassle he’s caused us.”

The last bit’s in his head but he does mean it: Robbie’s really taking the mic this time. And it’s not even funny. It’s annoying, irritating, down right infuriating at this rate!

“The show must go on,” Nigel states. That will always be true. Especially in this business. And they’re on in 2 minutes if they want to keep this job.

They figure he’ll show eventually. 

He never does.

Robbie is gone.

Chapter Text

If there’s anything in this world that’s for certain, besides life and death, it’s the British rain. A staple of the country, especially of the northern city of Manchester, it never lets up. Never stops, never ceases no matter the temperature or time of day. Like tonight; it’s raining hard. So hard in fact that you can hear each individual raindrop take turns battering the window like a married man battering a streetwalker, to the point it’s more like an outdoor war than ordinary weather.

Still, to some it’s soothing.

“Oh how I love the rain,” Mark chirps, perched up on the window sill like a bird on a tree branch. It seems that the rain’s the only thing keeping him sane these last couple of days ever since Robbie's gone. It’s like day can’t turn to night and when it does it’s just another day that has passed without his Robbie. First night he stayed awake, second night he did the same and on the third night he tried again but Gary was coming back from his shift and saw the lights on through the window and now they’re here, all in his kitchen. It’s too late to eat anything, Jason reckons, so they’re all just taking turns making each other cups of tea with shots of espresso in between to keep them up. 

It isn’t a hard charade, really. They’ve done it before with certain overnight clients, Howard and Jason do it more though as, upon request, they work as a duo: the two Tonies, they’ve come to be known by—they were going to go by HJ but they offer much more than handjobs.

“It makes me wanna dress up as Debbie Reynolds and start singin’ in the rain,” Gary croons with a smile that could touch Northern Ireland. 

“It reminds me of my first kiss.” 

Mark’s eyes flutter at the thought and the rest can’t help but smile themselves. Oh, the wonder! 

“Awww!” Gary can’t believe it.  Mark Owen getting his first kiss in the rain? That sounds like it’s ripped straight from one of those cheesy rom coms. “Your first kiss was in the rain?”

“No! It were in the shower!”

There’s a gasp, then Howard cracks and the whole room is laughing as Mark tries to mutter about not being so sentimental, failing happily as he gives into the laughter. God, he’s needed a giggle! Maybe that’s what’s been getting him down: going without the best medicine, going without his Rob…

Mark breathes in and takes a sip of espresso. He won’t allow himself to slip into despair. Not when there’s still a chance Robbie’ll hear them and come walking through the door with his own jokes and ruckus.

“Sounds about right for the group slut,” Gary muses, taking a sip of his tea and letting the soft burn linger. He’ll never admit it but he loves a good wind up, especially during times like this where they’re so close together that every word under breath can be heard.

Perhaps the caffeine is getting to him, or perhaps it’s the wine. He was with Nige before this…

“And how was yours, then?” Mark asks in a playful, posh accent. 

“It was dignified,” Gary states with another sip of his tea. It tastes a bit tangy.

He had just touched down in Manchester with nothing but a sheet of music and a dream. After making it in the club, he had his first regular: Steve. He was a twice-divorced boring blacksmith who was down on his luck and wanted a bit of fun, nothing you wouldn’t expect from working the job but the thing was that Steve was sweet, like sickeningly sweet. He bought him cards out of season, charity shop shampoo and splurged all of his wage on second-hand jewellery. 

“Yeah, no, really. Second-jewellery for me: Ivy Keys, the queen!”

Gary was not about to let him have the first go.

So he turned his pretty eyes to the man in town: Eric. Tan, lean and always in ripped jeans, Eric must’ve been every parent’s worst nightmare and every good girl’s wet dream back in secondary school which, in retrospect, is where he probably peaked but Gary didn’t take any notice of that! To Him, he had finally hit the jackpot. No longer did he have to put up with mint hair care and rhinestones he could only hope were smaller than Steve’s nob, Eric bought him candy floss conditioner, paid for him to get his nose pierced with palladium and even wrote him a poem comparing him to his idol, Marilyn Monroe, sure that he could sustain her sex symbol status.

He was great, minted, finer than fine but when the time came, Gary was left mortified. 

“No! Mortified doesn’t even come close: devastated is the word!”

Eric was driving a Cadillac! The man who he was about to let in, let hit, let deflower him was riding in a Cadillac and expected him to do the same! Expected Gary Barlow, the Ivy Keys, to play passenger princess and then pillow princess afterwards with the knowledge that he may have been seen inside a Cadillac.

“It would’ve been fine had I been dolled up like Marilyn Monroe but this was meant to be my big moment, you know, I was giving him the greatest gift of all: my virginity.”

And when being offered the greatest, you respect it. Not try to degrade it by having it drive in a car that hasn’t been popular since the first James Bond. 

“I thought you were rich so what the fuck is this?”

Gary knew there had to be a reason for this because not once did he make himself out to be a cheap whore, and, for his sake, there was.

Eric never could hold his drink. It was something Gary noticed immediately as he managed to nick more than a tenner off him on the first night, then another twenty quid as they made it to the dark room. It obviously wasn’t an issue for Gary as it contributed to his brand new chandelier earrings, but it was an issue for others who got the worst of him, brawls and all.

It all came to a head one night. Eric had one too many and got chucked out of one of those exclusive clubs for starting trouble, as always. Knowing he’d get a proper bollocking from his old man if he called for their chauffeur in his current state, Eric decided he’d stay in one of the hotels until he’d sobered up. Only issue was that he’d already drunk all his money, so he’d decided to beat and bottle the first person he saw in hopes they’d have some dosh on them. 

Turns out they didn’t and Eric stood trial a few months later. His lawyer managed to get him off the GBH charge, however he was made to plead guilty to theft, and since this was not the first time this had happened, Eric was a known troublemaker, he was sentenced to 9 months in jail.

“Funnily enough, Steve once told me he got mugged whilst he was coming home from work. Swore he’d seen the same bloke again outside of the club and all. I told him he was being paranoid before I put two and two together.”

Eric explained that he used to drive a Mercedes but his father cut him off after he was released from jail and the Cadillac was the only car he was allowed to take. 

Gary had sympathy and all, at least he thought he was meant to, but he also had standards. Standards that were very high but very reasonable (like his prices). Standards that Cadillac simply did not meet. 

And if Eric wanted his way, he was going to have to pay.

They arranged to meet up again the next day. Gary was ashamed of being seen in public with him again but to his surprise, Eric had rented a nice, dark blue Chevy with spinner wheels and everything. 

“Wow!”

They drove to a quiet, calm stream where they made out for a bit before moving it to the backseat as the radio started playing Careless Whisper. Gary charged him extra for the inconvenience and emotional damage, and (secretly) for finishing before the song did.

“Wait, so how did he pay for the Chevy?” a grossly invested Jason exclaims. He wouldn’t bother usually, just chalk it up to one of Gary’s many embellishments and exaggerations but tonight, he can’t help but feel that bit curious.

“I don’t know,” Gary answers, unbothered, licking crumbs off of his fingers. “Probably got eaten out by a loan shark. Anyway, if we don’t move onto dear Markie, I think he’s going to burst and I've already had what’s inside of a tart.”

All eyes fall on Mark as his twinkle like little stars in the night sky, the nostalgia hitting him like a comet. 

Mark was never a stranger to sex. His mother put herself on the game to put food on the table; him and his sisters were all products of the profession, accidents that were too late to be erased. He can still remember her ushering them upstairs, telling his sisters to lock the doors and put on their records so that “mummy could work”. 

Needless to say ‘the talk’ wasn’t necessary in their household.

“Daniella was a proper swot, always putting books over boys like some nerd and Tracy was an actual nerd so when she finally got a bloke, I was like ‘About time!’ The frigid cow needed something to do. Always nicking my Bros clippings, she was.”

Alex was his name and he lit a flame within Mark from the moment he came through the door. Tall, dark and handsome with a jawline that could cut through glass and cheekbones that were higher than his straight-A grades, Tracy had finally done something useful for once by bringing this fitty home.

And Tracy knew this, she wallowed in this, she wallowed in Alex, practically swallowed him with each kiss. It was torture, straight torture watching them from across the room, flirting and fondling, stroking and snogging, caressing and kissing at every opportunity!

First love, they say, makes you fall the hardest but Mark reckons that they should say that forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest as he imagined it did every night. Alex was so high, so far up on the tree that he seemed impossible to pick but Mark swore to himself he’d pick him, pick him and taste him, taste him and swallow him whole.

Mark was never a swot like his sisters, only book he’d ever read was James and the Giant Peach (and he was gutted when it wasn’t a metaphor for his body!), but with exams coming up and all, he needed to start taking things seriously, he needed to hit the books, and the boy.

“We already had chemistry, physics were a ten out of ten but I were always a practical learner, especially when it came to biology.” 

So Mark studied diligently, studiously. He listened to every word, every syllable Alex said and followed all his instructions. He cut out each and every possible distraction, going as far as missing out on the latest issue of the Gay Times and stopped watching blue movies. For the first time since he’d started school, he actually asked questions in class (like a proper swot) and even stayed behind to make sure he got everything correct. He made sure to go to bed at a reasonable hour, no more seedy partylines and in the evening, when Alex was gone, Mark went over his notes, dragging his finger along Alex’s handwriting and sucking on the pen he’d left behind.

And it all paid off after another tutoring session. Mark could understand everything but those pesky chemical equations and the frustration was really getting to him, so much so that he couldn’t hear Alex explaining the method. So Alex leaned in, and Mark leaned in too, and their lips met as the sun set.

“Alex apologised immediately, said he didn’t know what came over him but I knew what had came over him; my magic! And I just kept on working my magic ‘til it happened.”

And ‘it’ happened some few weeks later.

Mark sometimes found it a bit hard to sleep during his adolescent years. Although puberty had treated him graciously in the looks department, his hormones were raging at every hour of the day and the fact that his mum and sister seemed to be in some sort of make out sound contest didn’t exactly help! For the sake of work was fine but Mark couldn’t help but think that Tracy was faking every sound, that or she was just an annoying fucker. 

Even long after everyone’d gone to sleep he felt no more tired than he did during the day so he went for some fresh air.

Mark soon found himself stargazing. He’d always been dazzled by the constellations, pretending to connect them with his finger then closing his eyes so he’d open them to a different set shining. 

Alex couldn’t sleep either but settled for a cuppa until he noticed something in the garden. 

It was Mark, iridescent and irresistible under the pale moonlight. His sylphlike body sprawled against the soft ground, so careless yet so graceful and ever so alluring. He must’ve noticed Alex looking at some point as he began to flutter his eyelashes like butterfly wings.

“You’re not some scared little virgin, are you?”

Mark thought he’d already proved himself by putting his mouth to good use but Alex’s question threw him off and for the first time in forever, Mark actually felt unsure of himself. He’d been fantasising about this for ages, imagining Alex on him, in him and the rest so what was stopping him now?

“Then I remembered: only the best performers get stage fright!”

So Mark swallowed and answered with a smug, “‘Course not” and Alex took him, took him then and there in the garden, the moon as their only witness.

What followed were, to Mark, the best months of his life. Not only was he on cloud nine; but he had Alex doing him good at every chance! They truly were love’s young dream or whatever they say. All Mark knew was that his life had been changed, his body had been fertilised and his soul had been enriched in ways not even his sultry imagination could conjure up for a wet dream! Those revision sessions were still full of hard work, just more on the physical side and Mark was still getting to bed at a reasonable hour, he was too sore and satisfied afterwards to stay awake.

But all good things must come to an end and theirs came on a sweet, Sunday morning. Mark had his legs spread on the countertop as Alex stood in between, insatiable as ever, hoping to get a quickie in before the day started. Turns out that most swots are early risers in addition to being vanilla so when Danielle walked in on them, she shrieked like she had just caught Charles and Camila!

“My mum gasped and Tracy, well, Tracy actually wanted to kill me, and him, knife in hand and everything! She had to be stopped by Alex who caught a few cuts in the process. She also had to go and tell him that I was a virgin and had never had a boyfriend. Typical! She were just jealous of me, jealous that I could pull whoever I wanted whilst the only thing she could pull was my posters off the wall. And she did, by the way, every last one of them. Ended up breaking a nail as karma, the poor cow, but I didn’t care. I’d actually done it and done it loads of times. People still can’t understand how Eve picked the fruit but if you ever ate it, or even just licked it, you’d just know! I think it ruined our relationship just a bit, they never really spoke to me much after that but it was only a bit of fun! And I know I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

None of the lads can say they expect better from Mark but they can all say that they’re impressed by his teenage rebellion. Most teens just stay out late or have a fag, Mark Owen wrecks his own home!

Jason, more interested in this liaison love story than any of his non-fiction books, just has to know what this Alex fella is doing now.

“I don’t know,” Mark answers as he takes a bite of an apple. “Touring, I suppose.”

“Damon’s meant to be done with his tour now,” Jason muses.

“How was Damon?” Gary asks, ready for another soap opera. Though he’s unlikely to get it off the likes of Jason who might be the most moral out of the lot.

And that’s saying something considering they’re dancers by day and rent boys by night!

“Oh, Damon, he were perfect. He drew me a warm bubble bath to relax me and didn’t rush a single thing,” he smiles to himself before slipping on a scowl. “Can’t imagine Henry ever giving me any of that since sodomy’s a sin. Not like he had any problem getting on his knees for something other than prayer, then again I can’t say I had any problem either.”

There’s a chuckle from Mark and Gary respectively before all eyes wander to the one who’s yet to speak.

“Don’t be shy!” Gary coaxes him, rubbing his arm like there’s no tomorrow. “Don’t let the mansnatcher discourage you! Though Markie does make a tough act to follow.”

But Howard just puts his head on his arms and when Jason leans in to comfort him, he flinches for a brief moment before melting into his touch.

“Sorry, it’s all getting to me,” he confesses with a heavy sight. “It’s cold and wet outside and we know he doesn’t like that. He really shouldn't be out there; he should be in here, with us, talking our ears off.”

“He’d spend the whole time banging on about Liam like a lovesick teen,” Gary remarks.

Then he remembers, takes a moment to quietly reflect as his blasé façade fades away and he realises. “He’s only 18...”

Mark bows his head. 

“And he weren’t even his first, was he…”

When Robbie was 11, his father came back. Finally returned after all those years away without so much as a phone call to check up on them or postcard to show them what he had been doing. Robbie was over the moon; his prayers had finally been answered, angels were real and they were blessing him with the ultimate gift. They could nick his BMX and exclude him from games but they couldn't take his daddy away from him and that was all that mattered to him!

“Fool,” his nan called him. “You really think he’ll look after ya? You can get buggered for all he cares!” 

And nan could get stuffed for all Robbie cared! He was going to be with his father now, seeing his life, learning his craft whilst spending time with the greatest showmen in the country as they travelled from venue to venue.

Maybe he’d even bring Robbie out at the end, do a father-son duet like Clint and Kyle Eastwood and sing that My Shadow and Me song he used to record on the TV. 

But it wasn’t anything like that and by the end of the first day, Robbie was wondering why he even came. Maybe nan was right, maybe his dad didn’t care at all. Why else would he lock him up in their hotel room with only a lad mag and faulty TV to keep him company? Robbie couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t join in, he swore he understood all the jokes about women and alcohol, though he couldn’t understand why they cared about tits so much. 

He figured if he just went down there and made his presence known, they’d all respect him and include him in all the grown up things. He wanted to be all grown up, he wanted to be accepted, he wanted to be one of the lads—a part of something at least once, for once. 

So he did, or at least he tried until he found himself lost in the crowd with no choice but to sit down. Robbie never liked crowds. They made him really anxious and he swore sometimes his heart would race and he’d feel lightheaded, but nan always said he was being dramatic so he stopped talking about it. From his seat, he could overlook the sea of strangers which now included his father, being everything that Robbie could only hope he would one day become. 

Robbie wanted to go to sleep. Robbie wanted to go home. Robbie wanted to die for what little attention it would bring. But he continued to breathe, continued to live and continued to watch his father and his friends forget of his existence, all except one who was staring right at him.

Richard was the too cool for school son of Pete’s friend who had dragged him along on the tour to make up for his past, alcohol-fueled abuse, not that it was doing any good. Richard still resented him, refusing to laugh at any of his jokes and reminding him that he never asked to be there when his father begged him to be more civil with him.

Robbie looked up at him with stars in his eyes, like he was Natalie Wood looking up at James Dean and Richard looked down at him and smiled, like he was a hot rockstar grinning at an adoring groupie. 

And Robbie swore that he’d never felt warmer than when Richard put his arm around him that night.

That wasn’t the only feeling Richard gave him, though Robbie admitted it all felt a bit funny, and a bit wrong, but it was their special game and Robbie always wanted to have something special. Besides, it made Richard really, really happy and you’re meant to make your friends happy even if it hurts. 

And Robbie wanted to make his dad happy, more than anything, and what better way to do so than by showing him one of their special games! They always put Richard in a better mood after another argument with his father,  he always thanked him and begged for more.

So Robbie reached out to Pete’s belt, trying to start the game but Pete slapped his hand away furiously and demanded to know who had taught his son these sickening things.

“It’s all Richard, dad, like I’ve been telling ya! It’s our special game.”

Pete flew into a rage like nothing Robbie had ever seen before in his life. For the first time in his life, Robbie was afraid of his father as he watched him storm into the dressing room and take Richard up from the collar. He felt like everything was all his fault. That if he had kept his big mouth shut none of this would’ve happened. Richard wouldn’t have been forced to see a shrink by his father who would surely fall off the wagon due to the loss of his career and his dad wouldn’t be looking down at him with the pity given to lost puppies, telling him that he could no longer take care of him, that he needed help beyond what he could give him and that this had all been a terrible mistake.

“Dad, I’m sorry, please forgive me! I didn’t know, I swear. Please, I don’t want to go home, I love you, I wanna stay with you!”

But Pete put him on the first train back with a postcard in his hand and tenner in his back pocket.

Mark remembers when Robbie told them. He remembers the reaction most of all. No one laughed with him because they understood what he couldn’t, understood that he had been taken advantage of, understood that that boy, no matter how young he was, had stolen Robbie’s innocence. Jason tried to tell him, tried to explain that he had been abused but Robbie didn’t want to know and fled to his room not too long after.  

Gary asked Jason if he really had to say it like that, if he could employ more tact than fact to ease the blow instead of instigating an argument.

Mark chose not to repeat those words to Robbie, thought it’d do more harm than good so he just wrapped his arms around him and lent a listening ear. It was the least he could do. Robbie just couldn’t understand why everyone laughed at Mark and Alex’s liaison but condemned him and Richard because he ‘was too young to be in control’ or whatever Jason was trying to express with his fancy-pants words.

“He thinks that I’m some victim but I’m not, I know I’m not. How can I be a victim when it felt so good. If I wanted to be a proper victim, I could’ve gone to me dad’s mates. I saw the way they looked at me. I could’ve taken ‘em all but I didn't because I didn’t want to. I wanted Ritchie and he wanted me.”

It was then that Mark knew for sure that Robbie was just a baby, his baby that he was going to take care of.

“You don’t think he’s gone back there, do you?” Howard asks, genuinely wondering if he’d actually head off there of all places. 

“No, I doubt it,” Gary says casually, checking his nails. “They’d be nothing for him. Plus, we don’t even know the real reason he left.”

“We’ve read his diary!” Mark reminds him in case he’s forgotten. He sounds shaken, like the mention of the memory has put him back into shock.

“And did it say anything about missing home? Closest it said was about missing his dad and last he’s heard he’s telling blue jokes in Swansea. And I highly doubt he’s got enough for a train.”

“So where’d you think he’s gone?” 

It’s a rhetorical question. There’s no way any of them could know where the poor boy’s gone off to, but Jason can’t stand Gary’s know-it-all attitude for much longer. Even the moon can’t hack it and has made way for the sun who will, hopefully, show them the light.

“I don’t know,” his voice ever so stern and his eyes ever so clear. “But me and that Gallagher fella are due to have words.”

Chapter Text

“And the fact that I got stuck with you, when you can’t get nothing right, boils my piss!”

Liam would cry if he hadn’t heard it all before. It’s all that’s been said for the past minutes, now hours that he’s been awake. And he can’t reply, he can’t retaliate, can’t even make a single rebuttal because deep down inside he knows, no, feels it to be true and he can never quite shake the guilt he feels.

He remembers their last birthday with Da. It was a Sunday, a holy day, or that’s what Mam used to say until she got kicked out of the Church for filing for divorce. Maybe it was the rays of light peaking through the curtains, or maybe it was the picturesque clear blue sky but Liam felt so chipper and his mood soon carried onto Noel, and that was something since Noel was the stroppiest teenager there ever was.

They made jokes, played games, listened to the radio and sang songs. Them butchering Love Will Tear Us Apart must’ve driven him to butcher them. Both mentally and physically. 

Liam was frozen solid on his bed as he watched Da beat the living daylights out of Noel. He felt like he was going to vomit when Da looked at him and smiled, as if he was meant to be enjoying this horror show that was playing out in front of him when he could barely comprehend it! He wanted to intervene but no movement could be made, he wanted to scream but nothing came out, he wanted to stop being useless and actually take action for once but he couldn’t, no, he didn’t, so he just sat there and watched. 

Liam never forgot the look on Noel’s face; it was the look soldiers give renegades; it was the look of pure betrayal. It’s been burnt into his mind ever since and he’ll be dead before he can ever say that the memory’s faded with time.

And now he sits here, getting beaten by his brother’s words. He could never tell him that. No, that would be unfair. He’s going through so much already: managing the band, writing songs whilst still taking time to tour with Inspiral Carpets. Oasis was Liam’s vanity project, anyway, Noel was just helping his little brother make this dream of his real. If anything, Liam should be even more grateful to his brother for doing all this for him, and he is, but that doesn’t make those heavy words any less crushing.

Robbie always says that Noel looks like Gail Platt from Corrie and as his brother hoovers the mess from last night’s rehearsal, Liam’s face is painted with a small smile and for the first time, he realises how much he needs Robbie in his life like roses need rain. If Robbie were here, he’d say something silly to make Liam laugh or he’d just let him wrap his arms around him and cuddle him like a soft toy. And he is the softest toy with the warmest body and most nuzzable nape, singing like a bird when he’s squeezed. Liam wrote about it once, after a night of cuddles and conversations, a tune called Songbird flew into his mind. Noel already knew who it was about and told him that he never wanted to hear it again.

He still remembers it though. It always did something for him. The melody feels soothing against his lips as he hums–

“You hum worse than you speak and you can barely string a sentence together as it is!” 

And then there’s a playful pillow heading towards his funny face.

ᯓ★

If mentions counted as record sales, Oasis would’ve been at the top of the charts this week considering they’ve been the topic of every conversation that’s taken place in both flats. The irony’s not been lost on Jason who’s spent most of these days trying to guide the conversation away from conspiracy and back to the main subject of Robbie’s disappearance. None of them like the brothers but still speak about them almost as much as Robbie does, or used to do. 

Home,

Autumn of 1991

People. There are so many different people. So many different people going about their day. Their day is different from their yesterday and their yesterday is different from their tomorrow. Robbie would’ve let his mind linger on any other day but not today! For once he could actually say that someone was giving their day to him, as silly as it sounds. 

“Aren’t you going to come sit down?” Mark breaks the silence with a simple question, but telepathically it’s a command. Robbie’s been by the window so long that Gary reckons that the neighbours must think that he’s a hyperrealistic halloween decoration. He’s paid no attention to anything else. Not the TV, not the radio, not even the new issue of the Gay Times. Nothing but that damn window.

“No way!” He all but chirps. “Liam’s gonna be here anytime now!” 

“Robbie, he isn’t coming.”

“Oh, shut it, Jay. Don’t want him to walk in on us having a row, it’d ruin the romance.”

“No, Robbie, he’s telling the truth. He ain’t coming” Howard’s voice is louder than his usual buttery tone and it grabs Robbie’s attention.

“He phoned early this morning. I told him you was with a client ‘til late.” Mark admits, already wanting this to be over. It’s a tired charade, giving the same old word of warning only for it to fall on deaf ears.

“What you go and do that for? Now he’s going to think I’m—” 

“He’s not going to think anything.” Jason reckons he doesn’t think at all.

“And even if he does, who cares?” Mark pipes up, sharper than his nails. “Quite frankly I ain’t allowing him to step foot in here after all he’s done to you and you shouldn’t either. The lad's dreadful! I can’t stand him, not even his own brother can! Don’t that tell you something?”

There’s a pause. A brief silence in which the lads think, no, believe that they might have gotten through to Robbie. That after months upon months of them all saying the same exact thing, it has finally clicked for him!

But Robbie says otherwise.

“Yes, that you’re all judgmental and that he’s misunderstood, and I’m the only one who can save him.”

“Can’t even save yourself.” Gary mutters under his breath with a subtle eyeroll.

“What!” snaps Robbie.

“What’s it going to take for you to chuck him, eh?” Mark tugs at his sleeve. “When these bruises turn to broken bones?” 

“We just like a bit of rough, alright?”

“You don’t seriously think we’re going to believe that!” Gary is almost giggling at the absurdity. 

“Course I don’t expect you to believe it! You’re vanilla!” 

“I may be vanilla, love, but no bloke is going to be knocking me about just because he has a guitar and drags a high note.”

  𓇢𓆸  

“And I just know those Poundland Krays have summat to do with it, I can feel it!” Mark, now psychic, claims with all the confidence of a fortune-fortune-telling gypsy. Jason reckons it should be his new career path since he does it more than he does his makeup. Seriously, Mark’s accused them of everything including bloody murder!

“And we all know the story of Sid and Nancy.” 

Howard’s glare intensifies at the thought of Robbie meeting that same fate. He’s stayed silent, seething but silent and he’s realised several parallels between the two relationships. They mirror each other eerily.

“Two so-called lovers strung out on smack; one’s a rockstar, the other’s a prozzie. The prozzie’s beaten black and blue over and over again ‘til she’s knifed by the rockstar!” 

Gary speaks through gritted teeth, “I swear to God when I get my hands on him, I’m going to rip his bleedin’ head off!”

“OKAY, OKAY!” Jason shoots up like a firework. “I’ll go down there!”

“Alright, when do we leave?” Gary asks, back to being blasé. 

“I’m going alone.” 

“But I’m coming, yeah?” Howard’s already doing up his belt.

“No, it’s better for us if I go alone,” Jason explains. “I know this means a lot to you, my love, but I know I can keep my cool for long enough to get some sort of answer out of them.”

“You’ll bring him back to us, right?” Mark’s eyes glisten and every one of the tears that he’s refused to shed under the guise of strength are visible and it becomes so clear that his heart can’t take anymore.

“I promise.” Jason smiles with hope in his eyes and it instantly puts everyone at ease, even if he himself isn’t. 

ᯓ★

The Blue Rose attracts punters from every walk of life and Liam Gallagher is the perfect example of that. Out of all the places he could get his fix of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, he chooses a gay club that has rent boys and drag weekends. Suppose you can never judge a book by its cover.

He could’ve never guessed that that one drunken bunk-up would change his life but he’s forever grateful that he stumbled in that night, and tonight he’ll be even more grateful if he gets to hear his songbird sing. 

He orders himself a drink, nothing too strong, just a rum and coke, and sits himself down by the bar. He can see the edge of the stage where the lads are doing their standard show which consists of Gary hollering, Jason and Howard ripping off their skintight tank tops, Mark grinding upon the floor and Robbie… Well Robbie would usually be hitting some of the higher notes in between gyrating for the crowd, but he ain’t. He ain’t even there.

Liam continues to watch, expecting for Robbie to make an appearance at the end, maybe even enter from the crowd but he’s nowhere to be seen.

So Liam lets the lads descend from the stage and into the crowd so he can be absolutely sure, and when he is, he starts swimming through the sea of people and searching for his pearl. He shoves past a load of dodgy blokes, asks one of them when’s the last time he got morning glory and calls the lads’ names about a hundred times which only gets him an irked look from Gary. It’s clear he’s being ignored but he’s never been too fond of them either, always whispering things into Robbie’s ear about him like bitchy schoolgirls. Besides, there’s more important people to be ignoring and they’ve noticed him. He bets he looks like a right pillock.

“Why won’t any of you tell me where the hell he is?”

Seeing that his chance’s fading fast, Liam grabs an arm in hopes that it belongs to one of them because he really can’t be arsed to embarrass himself anymore than he already has and as luck may have it, it’s the one that literally gingers himself up.

“The lad you claim to love, Robbie, is MISSING!” 

Liam is stunned. Unable to speak until he hears a certain voice ask, “Really?”

Damon Albarn. Not enough words in the dictionary to describe him, you’d have to check a thesaurus to find a synonym for great; supreme and spectacular are all too expected and aren’t nearly enough to describe him. He’s the ace of spades of any place he walks into and has a red heart to match.

“So you’re telling me I have to learn the news beside this dickhead!” 

“You never cared for Robbie anyways.” Mark’s face is etched with distaste. “Always knocking him about and leaving him in a load of tears.”

“He’s still me boyfriend!”

“Shame because I always thought that Robbie deserved a lot better,” Damon chimes in.

“Excuse me but what the fuck did you just say!”

“All I’m saying is that my date with him at The Pearl is one I’ll never forget.” Even his smile is smug and it’s goading him, it’s provoking him, it’s spurring him into madness and there’s only so much a man can take, so much until he snaps and Liam does.

“OH, PISS OFF YOU POSH TWAT!” 

And a brawl breaks out.

Alex sticks to the background. He’s usually up for a fight, hell, he’s usually the one starting it but tonight he’d rather watch from the shadows and satisfy his own needs. He’s always been a selfish bastard. Even Tracy said so. Oh, Tracy. Funny how the past still solicits the sensations and leaves you feeling… Sane. Yeah, sane. He is sane. He just needs to unwind and they can do that for him here. This one can do it for him in there. Those arms aren’t hunky for nothing.

It’s hard to keep a smile on the job. People think it’s hard for stars who fly in private jets, dine at the finest restaurants and sleep in high-end hotels have it hard. Sure, they sometimes get the same but there’s no guarantee. Nothing is guaranteed in this world. People come and go then they come again. Come again? Your eyes can deceive you and Mark wants to believe that but he can’t, and he won’t because that would just be foolish and he never looks the fool so Mark smiles. Smiles as he’s paid to, smiles as a familiar face becomes another backroom blur and he seethes. Seethes as he pleases, seethes as the bitterest and best memories all come flooding back to him.