He couldn’t understand why he felt uneasy that night; or the following ones. Surely he could understand the stress for what were to come – a contract, concerts, living in the same tour-bus with his bandmates he wasn’t yet accustomed to, practicing the guitar for hours on end, more concerts, more living with strangers and more practice. Chris had just joined a band that had already made a name for themselves and had already enough fame to last a lifetime. One could say that these guys had made it. They truly had, until their guitarist decided to go solo, so they now had an opening – the opening that Chris had filled up.
                Of course “going solo” was just an excuse. Constant arguments, too many drugs and unjustified conflicts being the real reason behind his departure but Chris was too naïve to catch on; and he was truly happy for this rare chance that life had thrown before him. At first he couldn’t believe it. They never believed in him. His bandmates did though, and that’s all that mattered.

                After a year and a half he’d see that man again. This time it wasn’t just for a day, but for a number of weeks on a daily basis until their new album was completely recorded.

                Their new album. Chris felt like he belonged somewhere now. The orphanage didn’t manage to find him a family but he did manage to find one on his own. At least sometimes he felt that way. Some days, perhaps. Yes, Chris belonged somewhere now. It didn’t matter if that sensation lasted only as long as they were on stage. He knew he had many flaws and didn’t want to keep his bandmates behind, despite of always being welcomed by them. Chris sounded pathetic and he knew that. He also had the tendency of feeling a kind of devastation, not being entirely sure what part of himself to focus on changing next.

                But after a year and a half, when the band began recording their new album, Chris would somehow forget all about those things that were pestering him like grains of sand on a windy day. All of his insecurities would somehow be gone, and at times he would swear that he forgot his own name as well. Nothing but that man’s eyes remained. Nothing but that man’s smell. Nothing but his smile. Nothing but his voice. There were days they needed extra time because Chris was going off-key. No one ever blamed him and all were patient with him. He was truly thankful and humbled by their approach as he knew it’d be impossible to explain how that man’s voice (even when he wasn’t talking – especially when he wasn’t talking) sounded louder than the music they played. Chris didn’t think the others would understand. He didn’t understand either though.

                That man was older than him. He was quite older, but Chris wasn’t a kid either. He was reaching his thirties. That man was reaching his fifties. Twenty years of difference would have been terrifying ten years ago when Chris was twenty. Back then he was a different person. He was still a kid. He didn’t have anyone to go to the bar with, but wanted to. He didn’t have anyone to join his rebellious nature, but still tried and made a mess out of everything around him.

                Back then Chris wanted to be noticed. Nowadays? He wasn’t so sure… Of course he had no complaints about the fame he received thanks to the band. He had no complaints, other than the usual uncivilized paparazzi chasing after him in the most random places, and asking all kinds of rude questions. He had no complaints of course, other than the phone calls asking him to sell this and that, offering him money, a contract, a membership, a prize… He had no complaints of course, other than the weird fans that had tried to touch him inappropriately, or the ones who would follow him into the shops and restaurants he went into, taking photos, recording videos and asking for his autograph as if he were some kind of alien visiting Earth for a short while.

                It wasn’t all bad though, but Chris didn’t understand these things at all. What was the point of having a paper signed by him? Was it just a memento? Was it for a collection? Did that paper hold any value? Would the fan just show it to their friends and feel a little bit conceited for having his signature on a piece of paper? Or a little bit proud? But what for? It wasn’t like Chris was some kind of intellectual that would make someone meeting him feel like they had achieved some sort of status. Damn, he couldn’t even write his own name properly. Severe case of dyslexia, they said. Surely not an intellectual trait, he thought.

                Chris couldn’t understand all these things. He had grown up in an orphanage with no electricity. He didn’t have any physical or online friends to talk with – he just had his imaginary ones. He hardly had any music to listen to, save for the festivals and concerts he could hear from afar. Perhaps he was an alien after all. He had grown too soon but wasn’t old enough yet. He wasn’t old enough to be called old and wasn’t young enough to be searching for acceptance like he was. He was too old for that. But not old enough to stop trying to be what society thought he was meant to be. Not old enough to chase after dreams that didn’t satisfy him anymore. Not old enough to stop dreaming as a whole. Not old enough to be with a fifty years old man. He was twenty years too young for that.

                Chris was alarmed by the thoughts that were swirling in his head. These were thoughts unfamiliar to him. He had never looked at a man like that man had made him look. He had never thought of a man like that man had made him think. Chris was alarmed, and dared he say… genuinely afraid. He was afraid of feeling something new towards someone he didn’t know; and Chris had literally named that feeling “new”. He didn’t dare call it in any other way. He didn’t choose any dangerous letters to describe it, and didn’t even question the depth of that new feeling.

                Gradually, he stopped calling it a feeling as a whole. It was now just something new.

                And the time eventually came when their album was completed. It was their final visit in the recording studio (their final one for at least two years to come) and all of it was a few last-minute corrections, a few last-minute comments, a few last-minute goodbyes. All of his bandmates seemed delighted to finally get it done. Chris was also happy. He was happy because he loved the band and he loved the outcome of their efforts. He enjoyed their songs and was looking forward to people’s reaction to their new album.

                He was extremely happy and devastated at the same time. He was just a boy though, he didn’t know any better. He kept blaming himself for every little thing that happened in this world, and of course he would blame himself for the things he was feeling, as well. He had come to the conclusion that feelings led to nothing but pain – so, once more, he wished he were that alien that signed his autograph to people. A small alien with no human emotion, just visiting Earth for a change of scenery.

                Mark looked tired. Why yes, that twenty-years-too-old-for-Chris man had a name. He had a name and a past – a past that Chris (or any of his clients for that matter) wasn’t aware of. That past was the reason he couldn’t make any moves on Chris. Chris was too young for him and he had tried that before; didn’t work out. If it had worked out, it wouldn’t really be in his favor.

                Back then, Mark had fallen blinded and ignored his instinct when he realized that something was off. He signed those papers because he loved him and since he knew he’d die sooner than his ex anyway, he might as well leave the rest of his money and belongings to him when that time came. He acted like he didn’t see him putting something in his coffee. He stayed at the hospital and then came back home. It was pure coincidence; he had no doubt about it.

                The second time it happened, he knew he had nothing to do with it. In fact, they were planning their summer holidays for that year. Sweet words of love and betrayal were oozing from his ex’s lips, but Mark could only hear the ones that tasted better. His coffee, however, tasted bitterer than his kisses ever would, and Mark thought he’d just have to make do with what he had.

                A sweet kiss here, a bitter coffee there – somehow he’d survive, he was sure of it. His stay at the hospital lasted longer that time and all of his work in the studio had piled up.

                The third time it happened, Mark wasn’t in the mood for drinking coffee anymore. He broke the contract, but still begged him to stay. He was regretful about this to this day. He wasn’t entirely sure if begging him to stay, or not drinking the coffee was what he regretted the most. Probably both. And he could never say that to anyone who called him a grandma for choosing tea over coffee. It wasn’t something he wanted to give explanations for.

                Of course Mark had other lovers before him. Not too many for he was cursed. He was certain of it now but back then he didn’t know any better. He’d never forget the man who kept him by his side as long as Mark kept eating. He thought it funny at first; he didn’t understand it. Eventually he gained thirty-six kilos and one day his heart almost stopped. He was shocked as to how he had gotten there so he decided to return to where he was, but the less he ate, the less love he would receive.

“I hate skinny guys” were his ex’s last words before he slammed the door to his face. How foolish of Mark, to want to stay alive!

                There was another man he’d never forget and that was a relationship that lasted two years. Everything seemed perfect and it really was if not for the empty pockets in his jeans; if not for the empty wallet of his. Everything was perfect until it wasn’t. He overheard his ex mentioning a bet and “the little rich whore” and it still took him seven damn months to admit his defeat and sink the ship he was sailing with such foolish pride and willing ignorance.

                Yes, Mark’s love life had been cursed, he was certain of it. At times he wondered if the witch behind the curse was the wife of the first man that took his virginity. Back when Mark was in high school and that man was his teacher, and was showering him with love and other things young boys liked, Mark was in bliss each moment they were together, and even believed him when he said he’d divorce his wife for his sake. He believed everything, and to this day he still did – perhaps to a lesser degree now – and if it weren’t for that car accident that took that man away, Mark’s life would have been entirely different by now.

                Would that be for the better or for the worse? He didn’t want to know.

                So, when the time came and the band’s album was practically done, both men were hoping for one thing only: just a bit more time in each other’s presence. Since both of them had had their own set of insecurities and worries, none was going to make a step forward if the perfect conditions were not met.

                And they wouldn’t meet. Logic kept shouting that these conditions were impossible to happen. Mark was hoping for the perfect opportunity to engage Chris in conversation and see if the purity and kindness in his eyes matched that of his heart. Chris desired to drink until drunk and then just cling into Mark’s arms with the excuse of feeling dizzy. They both wanted to feel each other’s touch but no perfect conditions would be able to match those of two insecure people.

                Or so one would think.

                That night when the recording was done and all album related comments and discussions had come to an end, one of Chris’s bandmates asked Mark to join them for a drink that night. It was a celebration for their recent album (the first one Chris had been a part of) so it would be extremely rude if Mark denied their invitation. In fact, it would be so rude that Mark was certain the band would never trust him with any future recordings again. That was a given. Why else would he accept their invitation?

                The two insecure people glanced at each other before Mark agreed to join them. That glimpse sort of felt like an unspoken promise: I did the first step. You do the second; and like an oath given by loyal people who remained loyal even after they met with betrayal and devastation, there was no doubt that both men would keep their word. In the end, when the smile of a person meets with bitterness and pain, that person can only go two ways. They either forget how to smile as a whole, or they keep that little treasure hidden until someone else with a similar treasure comes upon them.

                And that night, as Mark engaged Chris in conversation and saw the real side of him, Chris indeed drank a little more than usual – or perhaps was affected a little more than usual by the same amount of alcohol he always drank. His friends thought that ash must have fallen in his glass; they’d never seen him acting before and weren’t aware of that secret talent of his.

                And it just so happened that Mark would go home sooner than the others, and would bravely carry the mission of taking Chris home as well. And staying there. With Chris clinging into his arms and crying. Perhaps he did drink a little more than usual, but that was alright. After all, that night was the first two steps and there would follow a third, a fourth, a fifth… and slowly they’d start dancing.