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The sound of a toilet flushing woke Glam up. He kept his eyes closed, not quite ready to face the world, and waited to hear the sound of the faucet running. When it didn’t come, he opened his eyes with a sigh.
He glanced around the dimly lit room. The cheap motel they’d checked into last night wasn’t much to look at—the walls were peeling, the carpet smelled faintly of mildew, and the only working light bulb flickered in the bathroom. It had been the best the band could afford on such short notice. Luckily, it was within walking distance from the venue.
"Oh hey, good morning." Ches came back into their room with a yawn. He paused when his friend didn't greet him back. "Hands. Right." He spun around back to the bathroom.
Glam smiled to himself. Predictable.
"Yes. I used soap," he huffed as he reappeared, already annoyed.
"I didn't say anything," Glam replied, still smiling sleepily. He raised his arms above his head in a stretch, feeling his back pop. "What time is it?"
Ches grabbed the clock from the nightstand and held it close to his face. "About six-thirty. Don't panic about being late! Show starts in 15 hours so you'll have plenty of time to do your hair," he teased.
Glam rolled his eyes as Ches flopped onto the makeshift bed on the floor. He’d insisted on sleeping there for their first night, claiming Glam needed the bed more—something about 'catching up on lost sleep.' Judging by the stiffness in Ches’s movements, it hadn’t been the wisest decision. Not that the bed was much better–its lumpy mattress and creaky springs weren't exactly the luxury he was used to.
Glam winced as he watched his friend massaged his shoulder. “Floor life isn't for me. I feel like I got hit by a bus.” He rolled his neck around.
“Looks like it too,” Glam said, making Ches snort. He rested his elbows on his knees and watched his friend stretch. “You could've taken the bed.”
“And risk my best guitarist passing out from sleep deprivation on stage? Hell, no,” Ches argued with a grin. “You still look like a zombie, though. Beauty sleep not treating you well?”
Glam smirked faintly. “Something like that.” He paused, rubbing his temple before running a hand through his bedhead. Some mornings felt worse than others, and this seemed to be one. Like a soft feeling of dread, though he wasn't quite sure why. He’d learned not to question it too much. Too tired to even bother now.
Finally, “Today is the 13th?" he muttered.
"Mhm."
"Huh."
"What's up?" Ches tilted his head. "No way you forgot about the show tonight."
"Of course not," he waved his hand, “I just forgot today was my birthday," he replied casually and stood up to change out of his sleepwear.
Ches's eyes widened. "Well happy birthday, dude! Why didn't you say anything sooner? I totally would've gotten you something."
Ches glanced away quietly as Glam got dressed. He eventually sat on the bed and pulled on his socks. Ches sauntered over, slumped next to him and threw his arm over his shoulders.
"Any plans for the big day? Nothing too expensive because, uh, well..." He gestured vaguely to the room around them.
"No, I don't celebrate my birthday,” he said dryly, as if the statement was as unremarkable as noting the weather.
Ches pulled back and blinked, momentarily stunned. That made it twice now that Glam has completely dumbfounded him—he'd only been awake for ten minutes.
"Seriously? I mean, my mom usually forgets my birthday, but the rare occasion when she does remember, she at least brings home something sweet for dinner. You gotta do something for it, right?"
Glam pursed his lips and thought for a second. "My father gifted me a violin for my third birthday, and for a few years, my mother would request a cake be made. But that didn't last. Other than that, only my father celebrated his and mother's birthdays, and even then it was really just a formality for business."
Ches swallowed, the strings of the conversation tugging at something in his chest. “Man, that sucks,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Your dad’s a real piece of work.” Understatement of the century, Ches knew.
Glam’s expression didn't change—nothing Ches could decipher, at least. Instead, he leaned back slightly and ran a thumb over his wrist. “He was… efficient.” he replied evenly. And that's when Ches saw his jaw clench slightly.
"Jeez. I'm surprised you even remember the date," Ches muttered softly.
"How could I forget my own birthday?" He shook his head. "I just never thought my birth was worth celebrating."
Ches is silent. What could even he say to that?
Glam tilted his head slightly, staring at his hand as he flexed his fingers. He didn't really know why he'd even said that out loud. It wasn't something he thought about often—most years, the day came and went like any other.
“I guess,” he started again, “birthdays just… don’t feel real. Not to me. Not like they mean anything. It’s just another day, another set of hours to get through. The idea of celebrating something so arbitrary feels… strange.”
Glam studied his hand idly, letting out a casual sigh. Maybe I should paint my nails.
“People don't celebrate things unless they matter, right? Unless they've done something worth celebrating,” he continued. For a moment, his thumb lingered over his black wrist band, before he caught himself, shoving both hands in his lap and sitting up straight. “Anyway, it's not like I care. The show is what matters. Not this.”
He stood abruptly and brushed imaginary dust from pants, as if to shake the conversation off entirely. His back was to Ches now, but there was something in the set of his shoulders—just a little too stiff—and for a moment the room felt like it was teetering on the edge of silence.
Ches frowned. Strange? That didn't make any sense to him. Who just shrugs off their birthday like it's nothing? Maybe Glam was just one of those people that didn't get the point of celebrating holidays, at least any less than major ones.
Still, it bugged him. Birthdays weren't about anything complicated, they were just an excuse to relax, have some cake and maybe mess around for a while. Glam wasn’t uptight all the time, but he sure acted like he didn't know how to loosen up. This guy needs a proper party at least once in his life, he thought, shaking his head.
Ches leaned back, stretching his back with a twist as a grin tugged at his lips. “Man, you've been hanging around me all this time, and you still don't know how to have fun. Don't worry–I'll fix that.”
Glam paused, mid-motion, and glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow. “Fix it?”
“Yeah, like… I dunno, throw together a mini party or something. I'm sure Bob and Lordy wouldn’t mind an after party with a theme. But it could be something small, too. Just, you know, something.” Ches’s grin widened, his enthusiasm getting the best of him.
Glam turned away again, muttering, “It's not a big deal. Drop it, Ches.”
But Ches had already latched onto the idea, the wheels in his head spinning faster than Glam could put the breaks on.
“Come on, man, it's your birthday!” Ches exclaimed, beaming as he adjusted the candle on the lopsided, blue-frosted cupcake he’d managed to scrape together. “Just one quick song before we head out. It'll take, like, two minutes!”
Glam didn't look up from where he was tuning his guitar. His jaw tightened, his focus fixed on the strings. “I said drop it.”
“Dude, it's your day. You deserve–”
“I said no, Ches!” Glam snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Ches flinch and set the cupcake down.
His voice was harsh, it betrayed more than he wanted to show. Any sort of patience was replaced by a glare that Ches wasn't sure was meant for him or something else entirely. Ches’s grin faltered, but he recovered quickly, crossing his arms.
“Why are you fighting this? You’re acting like I’m… like I’m trying to make up for something.”
Glam scoffed, looking away. “Maybe you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ches asked, his tone softer now but still pressing.
“It means,” Glam ground out, “stop making a big deal over something that doesn't matter, enough of this pity party.”
He needed to stop.
“I'm just trying to do something nice for you.”
“It's not nice! ” Glam fired back, his hand gripping the neck of the guitar as he twisted the peg tighter, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “I don’t need you to do anything nice , and I certainly don’t need you acting like I deserve something—like there's something about me that needs fixing .”
“I’m not trying to fix you, I just thought–”
“Well, don’t. It's a distraction, and we've got a show in twenty-seven minutes. Or do you just not care if we screw it up?”
Ches’s expression hardened. “Oh I’m the one who doesn't care? You're the one acting like blowing out a candle is gonna make the sky fall. Maybe lighten up for once, huh?”
“Maybe you should stop treating everything like it's a joke!” Glam stood, his voice rising. “It's my name out there, too, and if I mess up–”
“Mess up? It takes three fucking seconds to blow out a candle, and you're losing your goddamn mind over it, you psycho! What's your problem?!” Ches cut him off, matching his energy, his frustration bubbling over.
They both needed to stop.
“My problem is you're not taking this seriously. We’re barely scraping by as is, and you're off buying shit we don't need! We quite literally cannot afford to screw up!”
“That's bullshit and you know it. You're just terrified of messing up yourself ,” he hissed. “You're not a kid anymore, Glam. Nobody’s standing there with a ruler waiting to beat you over every little mistake!”
A sharp twang cut through the air as one of the guitar strings snapped. Both of them turned to stare at it, the sound lingering through the tense silence.
Faintly, the muffled rumble of the crowd seeped through the walls—a restless, growing energy that made the small space feel even tighter. The show was starting soon.
Their eyes met again. For a moment, Glam’s expression seemed to waver, caught between emotions. Then, his lips began to curl, slowly stretching into an unnaturally wide grin. His eyes grew, unblinking and glassy.
It wasn't joy. It wasn't humor. It was wrong.
Ches froze, his stomach twisting. This wasn't what he wanted.
“Alright,” Glam bent down, picked up the cupcake, and blew out the small candle with a sharp puff. “There. Satisfied?” His voice is light, airy, and distant. He placed the cupcake in Ches’s hands like it weighed nothing, his smile unwavering.
The tonal whiplash left Ches with his mouth parted, but before he could say anything, Glam turned on his heel and walked out, his footsteps steady. His grip tightened on the door handle just before it gently clicked shut behind him, guitar in hand.
Ches stared down at the cupcake, its candle still smoking. The silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. What did I just do?
The last chord echoed through the small venue, drowned out by the thunder of applause, making the walls and ceiling shake. Glam held the guitar close, his grin still wide, as he dipped his head slightly toward the crowd. Screams erupted when he brought his hand up to wave. The house lights dimmed and that was Glam’s cue to exit the stage. He twisted sharply, making his way toward the backstage exit without a glance back.
Ches stayed behind for a beat longer, thanking the audience with his usual charm. But his eyes kept straying to Glam. The way he moved, stiff, almost mechanical.
The dressing room door swung shut behind Glam, the sound muted by the steady buzz of adrenaline still coursing through Ches. He hurried after him, weaving past Lordy and Bob, who were carrying their gear off the stage.
“Wait! Glam–”
Glam didn’t stop. He set his guitar in its case with exacting care and precision. The grin stayed plastered on his face, so fixed it was unnerving to even the other band members, who had grown used to their friend’s strange mannerisms.
Ches hesitated, his hand mid-reach toward his friend. “Uh, hey, man,” Bob piped up, straightening from where he’d been taking apart his drum kit. “What’s up with you and Paganini?”
“Everything’s fine,” Glam cut in smoothly, his voice just as light as it was before the show. Ches hated it. Glam didn’t look up, just clicked the latches on his guitar case shut and stood, straight as an arrow.
Ches stuttered, words catching in his throat. “I–uh–”
“It’s fine,” Glam repeated, this time with a firm finality that killed any hope for a conversation. He turned to Bob and Lordy. “Great show tonight, everyone.”
Without waiting for a response, Glam picked up his guitar case and slung it over his shoulders, and left the room, clicking the door shut. An uncomfortable silence followed.
“He’s acting weird,” Lordy commented. “Well, more weird than usual.”
“Tense,” Bob added.
“Yeah, that. He fussed over my bass being tuned for five minutes before we got on stage. Did something happen between you guys?”
Ches growled in frustration. “I don’t even–fuck.”
Bob and Lordy exchanged glances. Something was obviously wrong if Ches didn’t have a smooth answer to dish out.
“Alright, just tell us what happened. He’s our bandmate too, we deserve to know if he’s okay,” Bob eventually said.
Ches growled again, louder this time, and threw his hands up. “Nothing! Just—dammit!” He kicked the leg of a nearby chair, sending it skidding a few inches.
“Okay, so… definitely not nothing,” Lordi chimed in, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
“It got something to do with the show?” Bob asked.
Ches stopped and ran a hand through his hair down the back of his head. “It’s his birthday.”
“Wait—what?” Bob blinked, confused.
“Glam’s birthday,” Ches repeated. “I thought it’d be cool to celebrate, you know? Do something small. But he didn’t want to, and I–pushed him. Too hard, I think…”
Lordi tilted his head. “So, he got mad at you?”
“Yeah. But it’s more than that. He’s… different. Like something snapped; like he’s not even here anymore. I haven't seen him like this since… never mind.”
They finished packing their gear, uncertainty suspended over their heads.
“You need to go talk to him,” Lordi said firmly. “Fix it before it gets any worse.”
Bob nodded. “He trusts you the most.”
Ches stared at the floor for a moment, his jaw clenching. Eventually, he sighed. “Yeah. Alright. I guess I have to.”
“Knowing Glam, he’s probably just finishing counting the show’s earnings. I bet you could catch him before he leaves—”
Ches was already out the door.
He moved through the hallway of the venue, each step fueled by frustration. He knew where Glam would be—by the back exit, somewhere quieter and out of sight, just waiting for everyone else to be ready to leave.
Sure enough, he found Glam sitting on an amp near the small, dimly lit loading bay. He held a notebook in his hand, meticulously jotting down numbers with a pen that looked ready to snap in his grip. Ches suspected he was keeping himself busy with something practical to avoid emotional confrontation.
“Glam,” he called out, a few feet away.
Glam didn’t flinch or hesitate. He didn’t even look up, just continued writing. “Yes?”
Ches paused. The calm, airy tone in his friend’s voice still unsettled him. “I, uh… just wanted to check on you.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he stepped closer, “you’ve been… different. All day. I know you, man. This isn’t you.”
Glam finally looked up at Ches and tilted his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t?” Ches scoffed, his frustration bubbling up again. “The Glam I know would’ve chewed me out by now. Hell, you did yesterday over me leaving dirty socks on the floor!”
Glam blinked slowly, as if processing the words. Then he closed the notebook, setting it gently on the guitar case with the pen. “I don’t see the point in arguing. The show went well. That’s what matters.”
“It’s not about the show! You’re pretending everything’s fine, but it’s not. I can see it, Glam.”
Glam’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. He nodded. “If you say so.”
Ches groaned and tugged at his hair with one hand. “Stop that. Stop acting like this!”
“Acting like what?”
He gestured widely, his voice slightly breaking. “Like this! Like none of it matters. Like you’re just… some robot programmed to play the part and nod along.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“What?” Ches stared at him, stunned.
“You wanted me to blow out the candle,” he said, calmly, standing and carefully lifting his guitar case. “So I did. You wanted me to smile and perform. I did that too. What’s the problem?”
“That’s not–” Ches faltered, his throat tightening. He softened his voice. “That’s not what I want, Glam.”
“Then what do you want?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He turned his gaze away, not being able to look at his friend any longer. Why is this so hard? Why am I so… scared?
Glam didn’t wait for him to find the words. He slung the guitar case back over his shoulders, gave a small nod, then walked out the exit, holding the door open.
“Are you coming?”
Ches startled. “Huh?”
“We’re going back to the motel, aren’t we?” That fucking smile. “Unless there’s some afterparty I was unaware of.”
“No. No, I’m coming.”
“Then let’s go.”
Ches stood frozen for a moment, before squeezing past Glam through the door and into the night.
The walk back is silent, only broken by cars passing by and the occasional burst of laughter or shouting from drunk pedestrians. He kept glancing at Glam, searching for any sign that the mask might crack—that polite distance, would give way to something real.
Nothing.
He’d seen this before, not too long ago when everything in Glam’s life seemed to hinge on meeting impossible expectations. It wasn’t just a smile, Ches thought, it was armor, a brittle mask that hid something raw and fragile underneath. It protected him then..
And it was protecting him now.
He took one more look at his friend, eyeing the same steady, practiced stride he used on stage. He saw it.
The realization hit him in waves—sharp and cold. Ches had been so focused on his own need to fix things, to give Glam what he never had—the attention, the celebration, the feeling of being… loved. He’d wanted to make up for his own childhood, the years his mother had slowly forgotten his birthday, the hollow emptiness of uncelebrated milestones. In his heart, he’d carried that absence, wanting to fill it with something real, something for someone else.
But maybe it was different for Glam. Maybe it wasn’t about the day at all, but about the pressure, the expectations, the memories that he carried with him.
Ches’s frustration began to shift, replaced by something heavier as they approached the motel, the neon sign flickering above the entrance. He shoved his free hand into his pocket, the other gripping the handle of his guitar case tighter. He struggled to piece together the words he’d been turning over in his head.
They entered the building and climbed up the creaky stairs without speaking, their boots scuffing against the worn steps. The air in the hallway felt stuffy and the faint smell of cigarette smoke clung to the walls. Ches could really go for a smoke right now.
At their door, Glam unlocked it without a word, stepped inside and set his guitar case by the far wall. The faint hum of the motel’s old heater filled the room as Ches followed, setting his guitar case next to Glam’s, and closed the door behind them.
He leaned against it, watching Glam put away his things and tug off his boots. It had taken Ches far longer to piece it together—longer than he cared to admit. The signs had been there all day. The unspeaking walk back forced him to wrestle with his thoughts, each step bringing the picture into sharper focus.
He clenched his fists. Talk to him.
“Glam,” he started, his voice quiet but firm.
Glam set his boots down with a soft sigh. “Yes?” His smile had dropped a bit during the walk, but the energy it held still lingered. He turned on the flickering light in the bathroom and sat down on the bed, the squeaky noise cutting through Ches’s racing thoughts.
He fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stared down at the floor. He wanted to take his time with this. Ches was a lyricist—he should know what to say. But for some reason, he struggled to find the right words.
Finally, he took a deep breath and forced himself to continue.
“Look, Glam…” He cleared his dry throat, still avoiding eye contact, his voice low and unsure. “I pushed you too hard. I didn’t see what was going on, and I should’ve. I just… I don’t know how to say it right.”
Glam didn’t respond. Ches exhaled.
“I didn’t even stop to think—hell, I was too caught up in trying to make it right that I ignored what you needed.”
The silence dragged, but Ches kept his eyes fixed on the floor, as though if he looked up, the words might disappear. “I never meant to make it harder on you.”
Eventually, he did look up and saw Glam’s mask begin to fall. Maybe it was Ches’s words, maybe it was just the two of them, finally being alone in their own space, he couldn't tell.
One thing he was sure of, however: it was too stuffy in their room. He marched over to the window and, ignoring the broken latch, yanked it open. The crisp night air filled the room and seemed to bring a sense of calm over both of them. Like a memory of escaping into the night.
Ches dragged in a breath, rubbing the back of his neck, before making his way to the bed. He sat down next to Glam, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a while, neither of them spoke.
Ches needed to cross the bridge first. He knew this.
“I get it,” he started again, quietly. “Birthdays… can be weird.”
Glam didn't respond, but his shoulders relaxed just enough for Ches to notice. Taking that as a sign to continue, he licked his lips and leaned back on to his hands.
“When I was a kid, my mom used to actually celebrate my birthday. Crazy, I know, but when she wasn't fucked up, she really cared. She'd get a balloon and a small cake.” He let out a short laugh, more bitter than amused. “She even let me pick dinner with whatever budget we were on. It was her way of making up for the other 364 days.”
Glam’s focus was fixed on the wall in front of them. Ches saw his fingers twitch where they were neatly folded on his lap.
“Then one year, she just… forgot.” He swallowed, his throat tightened. “And after that, she forgot again. And again. Eventually I stopped expecting anything. Told myself it didn't matter.”
Ches paused.
“Guess I didn't want you to feel like that, y’know? Like it didn't matter. Like you didn't matter.”
His words lingered, the quiet interrupted by a passing car out the window and a breeze rustling the tattered curtains.
Glam’s gaze dropped to where his left hand found his right wrist, gripping over the black wristband. His lips pressed into a thin line and, finally, his shoulders sagged, as if the weight he’d been holding all day began to fall off his body.
“You couldn’t have known,” he said softly, his voice stripped of its usual airy confidence. His thumb subconsciously ran over his wrist, a movement Ches eyed.
“Maybe not. But I should have.”
“It's not about what you should’ve done. It just…” Glam sighed and closed his eyes. “It reminded me of things I’d rather forget.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he replied, carefully. “But, I guess I thought I could fix it. Make it better, somehow.”
Glam didn't answer right away. The silence was back—just as heavy as before—as Ches waited for a response. Then, he finally raised his eyes to meet Ches’s. His face was raw and almost grim, like a sad acceptance.
“You can’t fix it, Ches,” his voice wavered. “I don't even know what ‘better’ looks like.”
Glam had some towering walls, and Ches has been banging on them with a hammer like an idiot.
What do you do when someone’s hurting and you don't have the right tools? I just want him to be okay. To trust me enough to help… if I can.
“I don’t… know how you put up with me sometimes,” Glam muttered. He shifted his weight, trying to find comfort in his own skin. “You’ve always been…” he paused, biting his lip. “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever learned to believe my life was worth anything more than just… getting through. And even then…”
Ches didn’t move, his breath caught in his throat. The same words that still stung, only this time, they don’t feel like denial. They were a cry for something he hadn’t been able to say, something he’d been too afraid to admit.
He looked down at their feet, his dangling off the bed, while Glam’s reached the floor. When did he get so tall?
Seeing Ches hesitate, Glam turned to stare back down, as though he braced himself for the same kind of rejection he’s gotten all his life. But Ches wasn’t about to give him that.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been truly seen, not like this. Not by your father, not by anyone.”
Glam looked at him again, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that felt different—vulnerable, like he’d just started to trust that maybe, just maybe, he was allowed to be seen.
“I mean look at you,” Ches started, leaning forward, his hands gesturing wide, as if trying to paint a picture of something obvious. “You’re the definition of rebellion! You took all that pain that should’ve crushed you and turned it into something greater than any of that shit. You’re living proof that it’s possible to break out, to be your own person, even after–” his faltered, his voice wavering. “Even after everything.”
Glam’s brow furrowed, his posture stiffening as his hands tightened into fists on his lap.
“You’re unreal up there, you know?” Ches’s voice brimmed with admiration. “Like, you don’t just play; you own the stage. You’ve got this thing—this way of pulling people in, making them feel something. ” He shook his head slightly, a grin breaking across his face. “Pisses me off, really, I’m supposed to be the frontman!”
That earns him a muffled snicker from Glam, a faint curl of a smile tugging at his lips.
“But it’s not just that,” Ches continued, his tone softening as he leaned back. “It’s not just about the music. It’s you, Glam. You’re you.” He gestured vaguely, like he was trying to pull the right words out of the air. “Man, you’ve always been this way. You have to know this, right?”
This made Glam think. His eyes fell to the floor again as fragments of memories flickered through his mind. The complex models he spent hours building, every piece meticulously shaped and slotted together from everyday items—trash overlooked by most—into tiny structures no one ever saw but him. The intricate hiding spots in his room. When those were found, he was never discouraged from creating new ones, despite the beatings he took for them.
And then there was his diary, buried under layers of secrecy. Not just a journal of mundane events, but a labyrinth of thoughts and ideas, scribbled plans for songs, his own creative and free sketching, confessions he could never speak aloud.
When all of it was discovered and discarded, and he himself exiled, he felt like a piece of him had been left behind too. It wasn’t just objects or a home, but a reality that cut deeper than he expected.
He’d always poured himself into his creations, every line and note carrying a fragment of who he was. Losing his diary wasn’t just about losing ideas—it was a reminder of how easily his voice could be silenced, his efforts dismissed and spat upon. And yet, even as shame and anger gnawed at him, that relentless spark to create refused to die. It was a part of himself his father could never seem to snuff.
This was the need to be seen in a true and authentic way. It was the need to be free .
But he’d never really thought of it like that before, he assumed it wasn’t enough—assumed he wasn’t enough. Though, he supposed this past summer should've been enough to disprove that...
“Thank you…” he whispered, finally. He felt a smile, a real smile, grow on his face.
“Hey, Glam, your makeup’s running.”
“Huh?” he brought his hand under his eye, feeling moisture gather at his fingertips. “Oh.”
“I’ll go grab you a tissue,” Ches said, standing up and hurrying to the bathroom.
“Ches?” A hum in response. “What you said… just... thank you.”
Ches smiled, his eyes softening as he returned to the room with a handful of crumpled toilet paper, which Glam set beside him, opting to use the bottom of his t-shirt to dry his eyes.
“I think your life is worth celebrating.” Ches’s voice was low, but certain. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Glam blinked, the words catching him off guard, but they settled into his chest. Warm and gentle. He gave a small nod of recognition.
“Yeah,” his voice steadier now. “Yeah, me too.”
Ches grinned and clapped his hands together, breaking the silence with his usual energy. “Hey so, I know it’s already past midnight, so it’s technically not your birthday anymore, but is it okay if we still celebrate?”
Glam snorted. “I’d like that.”
“Cool.”
Glam raised an eyebrow as he watched Ches. “I mean, I didn’t get you that cupcake for nothin’.” He bounced to the corner of the room, where a half-empty cardboard box sat. He leaned down and pulled out a second cupcake, this time pink and glittery, slightly smooshed but still intact. “Don’t ask me why I bought two. I didn’t plan on eating both of them.”
Glam’s smirk deepened as he took the cupcake from Ches. “Somehow, I don't believe you.” His quip received an eye roll.
Ches stepped away to pull his guitar out of its case, then returned only to settle on the floor with it, the familiar weight grounding him. He patted the spot in front of himself, a silent invitation. “Come on, sit here.”
Glam hesitated for a moment, then slid onto the floor, facing his friend. He held the cupcake in his lap. Any tension left between them flipped. It was something softer, more open, in the way they looked at each other now.
Ches pulled a lighter out of his pocket. “This is gonna be… something.”
Just as the flame caught, the bathroom light flickered and then popped, while a gust of wind from the open window rushed through, snuffing out the lighter.
The two of them stared down at it for a moment before their eyes met. A quiet beat passed, and then the laughter came. It wasn’t loud, but it was unguarded, a brief moment of something like peace before the universe reminded them it didn’t care.
“Okay, let’s try that again.” Ches cracked, lighting the candle and setting it down next to him. He adjusted his guitar and strummed it lightly to check the tuning. Still perfect. He flashed a mock-serious look at Glam. “Excusez-moi if I’m a bit rusty, I only had to perform an entire show tonight, but please enjoy the encore, monsieur.”
Glam felt his face ease into a gentle smile. He cradled the pink, sparkly dessert delicately in his hands, their faces lit by the soft glow of its single candle in the dark, shabby hotel room. His mind drifted, lingering on things left unsaid. But for now, it didn’t matter.
Here, in this moment, he was enough. Just as he was.