"You've got to be kidding me." Gabe snarled as he watched Harley Stone walk out onto the stage and sit down behind the kit. "I'm missing tobacco for this."
Mark, who had followed the roadie down into the pit, slapped him heartily on the back. "That's the spirit, kid. Think of the sweet drugs and do it for them."
A loud kick up on stage alerted Gabe to the fact that Harley was waiting for his signal. Gabe stared at him, asking into the microphone, "What?"
"Are we doing this?" Harley scowled, twirling a drum stick expertly in one of his hands.
"I think the better question is, what are we doing?"
"He wants to amplify the snares more for tonight's show." Mark explained. "Plus we were having an acoustics issue that needs to be levelled out."
The distance between the stage and the pit was great, but Gabe still managed to glare at the drummer across the stadium. "And this couldn't have been worked out earlier because?"
Harley's scowl deepened. "It needs to be fixed by tonight. I also wanted the extra time to practice."
"Right. Because you didn't get enough practice during the months of rehearsal before the tour."
"C'mon Gabe," Mark said with a steel grin. "The sooner we get this over and done with, the happier the princess will be. Do it for the aftertaste."
Sighing in frustration, Gabe spoke into his microphone again. "Just play something simple and I'll adjust the sound levels. Don't stop until I give the signal."
Harley nodded once and began to play. Gabe focused on the mixboard before him and got to work. Mark had been right, there was an acoustics problem but it was a simple fix with the right mixing.
As Harley played, Gabe thought back to the previous night when Drew and Ryan informed him that no one ever touched the kit. Gabe didn't understand it. They were on tour, the equipment had to be handled and maintained and Gabe had never seen Harley do that himself. What was so special about a drum kit that no one but the owner could touch it?
It frustrated him, Drew and Ryan's revelation. They were only giving him more pieces to a puzzle he had no interest in solving. Still, part of him wondered. That was the part Gabe shut down the fastest.
Half an hour later, Harley was standing up and leaving the rise. Gabe's first time as a drum technician had gone smoothly and Mark saw no issues in Gabe working tonight's show in the pit.
Gabe turned to leave out the side door when Mark grabbed his bicep to stop him. "He wants to talk to you." Mark said, nodding in Harley's direction.
"Do you have telepathic abilities we don't know about?" Gabe scowled.
Mark held up his phone. "The boy couldn't send a text to save his life but here we are."
Rolling his eyes, Gabe turned to leave again but Mark pushed him lightly the other way. Tripping over his feet, Gabe glared at the manager who only grinned back.
The remaining crew had already left the stage to head out for their break. Harley was adjusting the stand for the hi-hat when Gabe silently approached.
He stood there, waiting. Harley's back was turned to him, a sea of black dark against the shining silver of the drum kit.
Gabe gave up after a minute. "If you're going to waste my fucking time at least make it worth my while."
Harley turned briefly to him with a raised eyebrow. "And how do you propose I do that?"
Gabe responded by taking a pack out of his back pocket and lighting up a death stick. He couldn't smoke in the stadium. He also didn't give a shit.
"Those things will kill you."
"Thanks for the concern. You can shove it up your ass."
"I never said I was concerned."
Gabe stopped mid-inhale, eyes flicking over the drummer before resuming. He exhaled and cleared his throat. "Is there a reason I'm here?"
"You tell me."
The game tired quickly. Gabe turned around and began to walk towards backstage. "I have a bottle of whiskey calling my name, if you don't min-"
"Stop."
The cigarette caught between his teeth and his upper lip curled into a snarl as Gabe turned. He asked daringly, "Or what?"
"Or I'll make you."
"I'd love to see that."
"I didn't say it had to be by physical exertion."
Gabe's eyebrow twitched. "Do you have some other way to make me stay?"
Harley held up a photograph in one hand. "And I suppose I need one?"
The spotlight from above was still focused on the rise. Beaming down, it glared off the photo and Gabe had to peer it at closely to see what it was. When he realised, his heart dropped into his stomach.
His breath hitched in his throat. Anger sparked deep in his chest but he didn't have the heart to let the flame catch. It died out in favour of cold, deep-rooted panic that he attempted to douse.
"Where the fuck did you get that?" he snarled viciously. His hands shook so he stuffed on into his pocket and kept the other firmly wrapped around the cigarette.
Harley flicked him a cool gaze. "It doesn't matter where I got it. I want to know why it exists."
Gabe swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. The photograph Harley held was a copy of his mugshot.
Not many feelings afflicted Gabe, certainly not fear, but his voice shook when he went to speak and he swallowed to keep it straight.
"It's none of your business." he managed.
"You work for me, so it is my business."
"I work for Mark. You're just a casualty."
A glare formed on Harley's face. "The reason."
"Dealing."
"Try again."
"Would you believe prostitution?"
"This only works if we don't lie to each other."
Gabe seethed in anger. There was no this between them. For some reason, Gabe had apparently caught Harley's attention and he despised it.
"Tell me why you have the photo."
"That's not an option."
"I don't remember being given a list of alternatives."
Harley waited. Gabe seethed.
"I needed money."
The drummer waited for him to continue. Gabe stared back at him stubbornly. When Harley saw that Gabe wasn't going to offer any further information, he asked, "At what cost?"
The question wasn't what Gabe had been expecting, but it didn't make it any easier to answer. He said, "Nothing of value."
Harley seemed to take that. Folding up the photo, he placed it in his pocket and stood. "It's my turn to ask you a question."
"Oh, for fuck's sake. You're not really-"
"How far?"
Gabe stopped. "What?"
"How far had you fallen when you got to this point?"
"You sick motherfuck-"
"Or should I make a call to my lawyer?"
No.
Gabe's heart stuttered but he kept his breathing even and controlled. "Far enough to need money from the streets."
Harley nodded once and backed up, turning to leave. His composure annoyed the roadie.
Nothing about this apparent game between them Gabe entertained, but he had his question ready off the bat this time. "Why do you let me touch your kit?"
Harley stopped walking, though he didn't turn back around. He was waiting.
Gabe swallowed. "Drew and Ryan told me you've never let anyone handle the drum kit before. Why me?"
Harley did turn then, but not without a questioning look of his own. "Is that really what matters to you?"
"Yes."
"You're the drum technician."
"I wasn't before."
"Maybe you didn't have to be."
Gabe scowled darkly at the drummer. Harley retained his calm composure.
"I've seen the way the others handle the equipment. I'd prefer you do it."
"That can't be the reason."
"Why not?"
"This only works if we don't lie to each other." Gabe mocked, throwing the drummer's words from earlier back in his face.
A hint of a smile, but it was gone between a flash of teeth and a deepening scowl. "It's not their handling that concerns me. It's yours."
"Meaning?"
"You handle things without delicacy, as if you can't lose it. I want to know why."
Gabe hadn't expected that. He wanted to take a step back but instead, he stepped forward. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"Has no one ever told you that you learn better through close observation? I want to know why you act like nothing bothers you."
"So you're spying on me? I'm not your voyeuristic fantasy."
"No," Harley said with a dark humour. "You're not."
Gabe glared harshly. "Why does it matter to you?"
"If you had something to lose, you wouldn't be here."
"Mark has my profile." Gabe said suddenly. "Do you just prefer being a stalker?"
"Mark has facts. He doesn't have the reasons."
"I thought you said the personal stuff isn't what matters to you."
"It's not. It's your version of them that does."
Gabe inhaled another drag. "That's some fucked up shit right there."
"As opposed to the other overwhelming sense of purity just drowning in this place?"
Gabe scowled. "Stay away from me."
"You're on my stage."
"And I'll gladly walk the fuck off it."
"That's why." Harley said.
Gabe raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Harley watched him, neither with interest nor disdain. "Gabe, if you'd walked away from this conversation earlier, I wouldn't have stopped you."
"You did just before!"
"I only showed you a photo. You stayed on your own accord."
Gabe clenched his fist in his pocket. "This is all just some big game to you. I'm not buying into it."
"You already did." Harley pointed out. "And that, is exactly what makes you so interesting."
"Go to hell." Gabe snarled.
"Being in a rock band is close enough."
And didn't that just spark a curiosity inside him that Gabe loathed. He had no desire to stay and keep talking to Harley but his mouth got the better of him.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "I've worked in this job for two years and you've never given a shit. Why now?"
Harley raised an eyebrow. "Do you like being invisible?"
"That wasn't the question."
"But it was still an answer."
Gabe huffed in anger. "God, you are so infuriating."
He turned on his heel, ready to storm off backstage when Harley said, "I'm fascinated by you."
Gabe turned sharply. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
Harley shrugged. "I'm not normally interested in people."
"So you've said."
"But neither are you."
Gabe said nothing. Harley had him there, he normally didn't care what other people did. It didn't concern him.
"You have a reputation. I'm curious to see if the personality matches it."
Again, Harley was right. Gabe knew of his reputation but didn't care about it in the slightest. In this industry, there was no such thing as a pure image. You either harboured an addiction, had become a colossal fuck-up, or just didn't give two shits about anything. Gabe could have been all three if addiction came in the form of permanent anger.
Gabe's reputation had been crafted by everyone but him. He'd earned it within three months of working with The Seventh Affliction and despised it's entirety.
The phrases were thrown around as easy as lies. Gabe is so dark and mysterious. Gabe is the best in bed. Gabe is the tough and brooding guy in the shadows. He was the man who didn't take anyone's shit.
In a matter of months, he was branded as the dark and brooding young adult he was. It wasn't just the band who had voiced the desire to sleep with him, though Gabe rejected any advances he wasn't getting paid for. Or just because he would rather kill himself then sleep with someone like Jordan or Ryan.
"So," Gabe retored. "I'm what? Your little social experiment?"
"Don't look at it that way." Harley said, but that's the only way Gabe could see it.
He glared at the other boy. "Are we done?"
"Nothing's keeping you from walking away."
Gabe opened his mouth to speak but decided against it. With nothing more to say, he turned and stalked off the stage.
***
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