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Asa Fell could hear Muriel squealing even before they reached his dressing room door. "Did you see the crowd?" they demanded as soon as he opened the door on their knock. "Did you see them out there?"
Asa accepted their bouncy hug with equinamity. He wasn't a very touchy person as a rule, but he'd learned to make a few exceptions for his closest friends. "No, but Michael told me that we've sold out. I wasn't expecting that to happen here in the states."
"It's the video you posted." Muriel took out their phone and opened the link as though they'd had it cued up and ready to go. "I told you it was going to go viral, and I was right, wasn't I?"
Asa sipped from his water bottle and watched the video with them. He'd decided years ago that he wasn't going to think too much about what audiences wanted or what would get the most clicks. Songs that he felt strongly about and thought would resonate with people sometimes only streamed a few dozen times, while a little ditty about gay foxes that he'd tossed off in an afternoon became a TikTok sensation. Eventually he'd given up on SEO and market trends altogether; he would let audience reach be one of the uncontrollable variables in the life of a poet-slash-musician, along with the weather and the availability of clean toilets at a music festival. If a song hit that was good, and if it didn't that was okay. He was happy making music and earning enough money to live on. It was more than a lot of artists got.
He was pleased, however, to see that his latest video had attracted such a crowd here in the middle of the United States. "Swan Dance" was an achingly personal tribute, and he'd spent weeks editing the video with a lump in his throat. Mia's mother had even sent a few photos to add to the collage at the end, and Asa had barely held it together when he'd finally watched the finished product and clicked POST. He was glad that other people were also touched by Mia's story, and he hoped that her family would find it comforting.
"It's so beautiful," Muriel sighed. "I think your friend would have loved it."
"You never even met her." Asa sat down at the vanity and patted his face. He didn't wear much in the way of makeup, but there were a few lines trying to make an appearance around his eyes that he tried to conceal. The joys of being a blond: fair hair, fair skin, no natural sun protection.
"I feel like I have, after hearing you talk about her. And after watching this on repeat." Muriel looked at their phone for another long moment before putting it away. "I like your outfit."
Asa tugged at his sleeves self-consciously. "It's not too much? I don't usually wear this sort of thing onstage. I like to let my music speak for itself."
The jacket in question was thigh-length, cream-colored, and embellished with large gold buttons that made Asa feel like a 19th century aristocrat. To add to the effect, he'd added a white shirt with ruffled sleeves and a cravat.
"You need some stockings and high heeled shoes to complete the look though," Muriel added, and Asa laughed.
"I would look ridiculous!" He stood up and brushed at his khaki dress slacks. His shoes had gold buckles, and that was more than enough.
"Yeah, but you'd make it work." Muriel hopped up to sit on his vanity table and grabbed a handful of chocolate candies out of the nearby bowl. "Do you ever wonder what the kids at your school think of the song?"
"I try not to think about them at all," Asa said shortly. Muriel immediately looked apologetic and nudged the bowl toward him.
"Sorry. Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain."
Asa chuckled and accepted a few candies. "I know the feeling well. My appearance and bookishness weren't the only reasons I was always getting in trouble with bullies."
"If you were anything like you are when someone dog-ears a library book, I can only imagine."
Asa laughed again as he walked Muriel to the door. It was almost showtime, and unlike certain artists he'd enjoyed as a teenager, he would not willingly give himself a reputation for being rude to his fans by being late.
He sat down again and looked himself over one last time. Every thread and hair was in place, and he looked as good as he was ever going to. He looked over his set list; "Swan Dance" would be his final number. Good; he was probably going to cry during one of the choruses, and he didn't want to finish the show with a runny nose.
A sold out concert in America. The venue only held a couple hundred people, but all the same, it was a start. He had to finally admit to himself that he was actually a successful musician.
He'd told Muriel that he tried not to think about his former classmates, and that was true. But he did spare a moment to hope that they had all heard "Swan Dance," and that they would know what it meant.
Then Michael the stage manager was at his dressing room door, and just like that it was showtime.
The stage was dark, except for a single spotlight in the center which Asa stepped into. He picked up the microphone, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
His poems tended to get mixed reviews online, as opposed to his much higher-rated songs. But Asa didn't care very much. He liked his poems, and he knew from the messages he got through social media what they meant to the people who understood them. So he always opened his shows with his most recently published poem. This time it was "Lover's Hand," an unusually sentimental work for him. He hadn't written a love poem since his school days, but something had spoken to him once while walking in the park.
"Flowers open overhead," he began, "and your eyes turn toward me…"
The crowd was always respectful during the opening recitation, but this time they were downright somber. There wasn't a single whisper or cough until the last echoes of his words, faded, then the crowd exploded into applause. Asa chuckled, delighted and a bit embarrassed, and he took his seat at the grand piano behind him. With a flip of his coattails, he settled down and cleared his throat.
"Thank you all for coming," he said as he adjusted the mic and arranged his sheet music just-so. "I've been informed that we've sold out of tickets this evening, which is quite an accomplishment for a little scribbler like myself."
"We love you, Asa Fell!" a female voice cried.
Asa chuckled. "I never know how to respond to that."
"Will you marry me?" another female voice shouted.
Asa's chuckle became a belly laugh. "I'm afraid I'd be a pretty disappointing husband on many levels," he said. "Something tells me we wouldn't be quite compatible."
Before anyone decided to take things to the next level and get downright embarrassing (which had happened several times now) he launched into his first viral hit: "Only Spins Forward." It usually doubled in streams every June, and this year had been no exception. He'd donated a good portion of the proceeds to a local homeless shelter for queer youth; though he hadn't advertised the fact, word had gotten around nevertheless. As soon as the opening chords began, the crowd was already dancing along. Asa opened his mouth, and as soon as the words started coming he could hear hundreds of voices joining his.
It was a good show.
He sang at the piano, walked around and teased the crowd, read a few more poems, and talked a bit about his creative inspirations. He didn't like to dwell on his personal history, but he'd found that audience members liked hearing little tidbits about what had inspired his work, especially if it was funny. He was in the middle of an anecdote about his grandmother's flatulent boxer when a large white rectangle near the back of the crowd caught his eye.
The venue he was performing in was far from the size of a stadium, and he hadn't seen many handmade signs at his shows. That sort of thing was more for superstars who were played on the radio and got interviewed by the Radio Times. So when he glimpsed a white sign with stark black lettering printed across it, he paused to take a closer look.
The sign stopped waving; the holder must have seen him trying to read it. Asa squinted into the gloom of the crowd and finally made out a few words. "Remember me?" he read aloud. "Sorry dear, I can't see you, so I have no idea who you are."
The sign disappeared and reappeared. I PUT GUM IN YOUR HAIR. Asa frowned.
"Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?" he said, half-joking. "I was perpetually bullied as a child. Mum had to keep my hair in a military style buzz for several years because of all the foreign substances that found their way into it."
Another sign appeared. I TAPPED YOUR WRONG SHOULDER ALL THE TIME.
"That's a pretty common prank. Unless you were doing it every single day, I probably wouldn't remember."
The sign disappeared and reappeared again. I SAT ON YOU AND CALLED YOU A SOFA.
Asa breathed in and let it out slowly, thinking. "That does ring a bell, actually. I had a tartan bow tie that I was very proud of, and let's just say that it didn't do my popularity any favors. Loads of people told me I looked like their grandmum's sofa."
The sign disappeared again, and there was silence for almost a full minute. Had the stranger given up?
But no, another sign appeared. I TRIPPED HANK STERN DOWN THE STAIRS.
Asa's jaw dropped. "Anthony?"
The crowd erupted into cheers, and the sign vanished from sight. Asa shook his head. "Anthony Crowley, is that you? Goodness, I hated you for years. What are you doing here?"
The crowd quieted again, and yet another sign popped up. How many of the bloody things had he brought?
I WANT TO SAY SORRY.
Asa chuckled. "Well, I suppose I must forgive you. You did pay for a ticket, after all."
The last sign waved back and forth, and Asa smiled softly. "Yes, Anthony, you're more than forgiven. And thank you for this, you've made my night." The audience cheered, and someone shouted, "Go Anthony!"
There was a flash of a thumbs-up as the sign disappeared, and Asa finally finished his story about the farting dog before sitting back down at the piano and beginning his next number. Two songs later there was a short break in the performance and he was able to sneak offstage and grab Rob, the head of security. "Try to find Anthony Crowley for me, please?" he said, handing the bear of a man a backstage pass and a fifty pound note. "He'll be near the back, in section F. Probably a bit gangly, with red hair."
"The bloke with the signs, got it." Rob accepted both items with a grin. "If this works out for you, it might make another hit song, eh?"
Asa mumbled something about "oh he's just an old friend," but his accompanying blush only made Rob laugh.
"Right. Well, no rest for the—ah—good," Asa said at last. He hurried back to his piano and thanked the audience for their patience, and it only took a minute or two for him to remember his place.
Asa tried not to think about anything as he wrapped up his show and launched into a melancholy rendition of "Swan Dance." He wondered if Anthony remembered Mia. He wondered if he would know what the song was about. He wondered if Rob had managed to track Anthony down, and if he was inclined to come backstage to talk to him.
Perhaps not. Perhaps he'd come just to get Asa's attention and apologize in a way that would likely go viral. He might have left before Rob looked for him. Asa tried not to get his hopes up, but then he remembered his therapist saying that maybe he should try getting his hopes up once in a while, because hoping felt nice and that was a good enough reason.
Anthony hadn't been the worst of the bullies; in fact he'd barely qualified as such. As for the "sofa" incident, Asa had been sprawled out on the floor in the library and taking up more than his fair share of space, so sitting on him had probably seemed a legitimate criticism. Aside from that—and the gum incident—Asa mostly remembered Anthony as a shadow of the more aggressive boys, hanging around the edges of the crowd but rarely making a spectacle of himself.
He wasn't sure if Anthony had ever known Mia. Asa was the only real friend she'd had at school, and they'd all gone their separate ways by the time she passed. There had been a memorial poster for her at the Tesco where she'd worked, but it had gotten her name wrong. Asa was the only one who'd come to the funeral.
Asa closed his eyes, took a long, slow breath, and launched into the final chorus.
And still I can watch you dance
In the theater of my mind
And you tell me not to worry
Not to worry…
Asa's voice broke. Shit. He took a ragged breath and forced himself to finish.
You tell me not to worry
That everything is fine.
His last words were shaky and off-key, but nobody seemed to mind. The faces in the front row were rapt, with eyes gleaming with emotion.
"Thank you," he half-whispered. "You've been a wonderful audience. Have a good night, and see you soon. Stay safe."
The wild cheers of the crowd carried him off the stage, and he barely made it back to his dressing room before he burst into tears. He collapsed onto the sofa and covered his face with a small throw pillow as the sobs overtook him.
This was the first time he'd completely broken down while performing that song in months. He'd thought he had gotten past the worst of his grief. Was it ever going to stop hurting?
Somewhere close by, there was a small clearing of throat. "Erm. Is this a bad time?"
"Oh God." Asa sat up quickly and scrubbed his face with his pillow. He prayed there wasn't any snot on his lip. "I'm so sorry. I just—" And then he was crying again, which was the opposite of what he wanted to do.
Anthony smiled at him awkwardly from the chair across from the sofa. There was a bouquet of flowers on his lap. "If it helps, this is exactly why I skipped your last number. I knew it would make me cry, and I didn't want to come see you with a blotchy face."
Bubbles of mirth swallowed his tears, and Asa managed a chuckle. "So now you get to see me blotchy instead. Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. I should have waited outside, but I thought it would be more romantic this way. Here." The bouquet was an explosion of yellow and purple, and he picked them up and held them out to Asa.
"Oh, they're lovely." The flowers were tulips and irises, two of Asa's favorite flowers. He held them up to his face and sniffed, even though he was completely clogged and couldn't smell anything. It was just something you did when presented with flowers. "I love the bright colors. Let me put them in something."
There was a water pitcher on the vanity next to the bowl of colorful chocolates, and he unwrapped the flowers and dropped them in. Asa opened a drawer and pulled out a fistful of wet wipes, then he attempted to attempt to repair his appearance while asking, "So what brings you to middle America? Bit of a drive from Oxfordshire."
"I actually live in London now," Anthony said, which Asa filed away for future reference. He lived in London and was thinking about moving, but perhaps he ought to think again.
Perhaps he needed to calm down. Yes, Anthony had been the cutest boy alive, and he'd grown into a handsome man, but they'd only just met.
"I was in Chicago for a conference at the Adler Planetarium, and I saw an ad on Youtube for your show. Wasn't sure if that was really you at first, until I heard your voice. And then, when I heard that song. Swan Dance."
So Anthony did know about Mia.
It suddenly felt very thick and intense in the room, and Asa was mentally unprepared. "Say," he said, "I'm rather in the mood for a late supper. Would you like to join me? We can catch up. You can tell me about the planetarium, as I've never been to one."
Anthony's smile was like a warm fire on a chilly day. "That sounds lovely. I'll wait for you outside. Where are we having dinner?"
Asa would have liked to take Anthony to a classy restaurant for dinner: give him a proper treat for being so kind and also show off a bit. Unfortunately the best they could do at midnight in a midwestern suburb was a small diner that seemed to cater to recovering partiers. Anthony didn't seem to mind, though; he flipped through the sticky menu as though perusing a wine list at the Ritz.
Asa sipped his coffee and contemplated the arbitrary nature of touring. Sometimes he found himself at a Michelin-starred restaurant where Beyonce had once been spotted. And sometimes… he was in a place like this.
The food actually wasn't terrible, though. Anthony only had a muffin and a coffee and seemed to enjoy both, while Asa decided that banana pancakes and bacon were probably safe. The pancakes were fluffy and sweet-smelling, and they'd remembered to put his whipped cream on the side. That meant a lot, especially this late at night when the servers were likely just as tired as he was.
"I really am sorry about Hank and the rest," Anthony said as he buttered one half of his muffin. "They didn't really like me, but they let me hang around because I did their homework. Sometimes I think I could have done more to stand up to them, but. I was a kid. I was stupid."
"It's not stupid to do what you must to keep yourself safe." Asa nibbled a banana slice. It was the perfect texture. He might need to reevaluate his opinion of the place. "What could you have done? They would have hurt you much worse than they ever did me, because they'd think you'd betrayed them."
"Yeah, fair." He paused. "I did do a few things to them. Don't know if it helped, but it made me feel better."
"Like pushing Hank down the stairs?" Asa arched an eyebrow. "I'd heard rumors that you did it on purpose, but I didn't believe it. What were you fighting about?"
"Nothing." Anthony's eyes were focused on his food, and he refused to look up at Asa. "It was payback for what he did to Mia's locker. When he ruined her new jacket."
Asa dropped his fork. "How did you know about that?"
"He bragged about it after school. Thought it was a genius of engineering to use an old lemon juice bottle to spray food coloring between the slats. He never mentioned her by name, but I could guess. She didn't come to school the next day."
"She and I spent the entire weekend bleaching that jacket back to white. She was scared to wear it again because she didn't want to to get ruined permanently, but our maths teacher let her keep her valuables in his storage closet for a couple of weeks. And then Hank mysteriously fell down the stairs in the middle of a crowd and was out for three days with a concussion."
"It wasn't much of a punishment, as I didn't have the guts to tell him why I did it, but it made me feel better. Hopefully it brought Mia some joy as well."
"Oh it did. I'd never seen her smile so much."
Anthony's smile fell away. "I'm sorry about what happened to her."
Asa sighed and picked up his coffee cup. "Yeah, me too," he mumbled as he took a sip. He normally didn't drink coffee, but he knew better than to ask for tea in America.
Anthony took a deep breath and let it out. "So, uh. Do they know? If it was, you know, on purpose?" He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry, it doesn't really matter, does it?"
Asa shrugged. This part of the conversation barely hurt these days. He'd been over and over this topic with Mia's parents often enough that he could recite the talking points from memory. They wanted badly to believe that the overdose had been an accident, and that all the support they'd given her had made a difference. They wanted to know that Mia had been happy. "I don't think we'll ever know. And you're right, it doesn't matter. All that matters are our happy memories of her."
"And the song. Swan Dance is beautiful." Anthony reached across the table and took Asa's hand.
Asa squeezed his hand gently. "Thank you. I hoped that the song would help people get to know her better than what was in the news and that poster they put up."
"I know I feel like I know her better. Did she really ride her bicycle across her roof to piss off the neighbors?"
"Oh yes. I have photos if you want to see them."
Anthony laughed. "We definitely need to keep in touch. In fact—oh no." He pulled his phone out and looked at it with an expression of panic. "It's after midnight."
"Yes?" Did Anthony have someplace to be in the morning? That was disappointing.
"I needed to check into my hotel before eleven. All my stuff is still in my car. I didn't have time before your show started."
"Oh." Asa paused. "You could stay at my place, if you like."
Anthony responded almost before the words were out of his mouth. "Could I? That would save me a lot of trouble."
Asa thought about it, and he smirked. "You know, if this is your sneaky way of asking if we could spend the night together, you needn't go to all the trouble."
Anthony's jaw dropped. "No, of course not! I would never! I don't do that sort of thing."
Asa felt his face fall. "Oh."
Anthony caught his expression and shook his head. "I was dismayed because I was about to ask you to come to mine. It was a really nice suite, too."
Asa laughed too. When Anthony reached for his hand again, he took it and brought it to his lips.
Asa's hotel room wasn't particularly fancy; he was moderately successful but not at the "only the best lodgings for me" stage of his career. He hoped that Anthony wouldn't be too disappointed as he opened the door and turned on the nearest light.
Asa turned to Anthony and opened his mouth to say something along those lines, but the words died in his mouth. Anthony had taken off his glasses, and he was staring at Asa with the deepest expression of longing that Asa had ever seen. He wasn't looking at him as though he were just an old friend. His eyes were large and dark, mouth partly open as though he were about to say something. He stared at Asa as though he'd crossed thousands of years and hundreds of deserts to see him again.
And somehow, Asa knew that expression. This version of Anthony was new, far from the quiet boy who had worn all black and hung around with the wrong crowd to avoid getting beaten up by them. His hair was a lighter shade of red, with a streak of white near his forehead. And yet Asa knew that face, knew it as well as he knew his own. Looking into Anthony's eyes felt like coming home after a long journey through the cold. He licked his lips.
"You look beautiful," Anthony said.
Asa felt his face warm. "Don't be ridiculous."
Anthony reached out and stroked Asa's arm. "Shut up. May I kiss you?" he asked softly.
"Please," Asa said. His voice barely trembled.
Anthony's lips were soft and a bit dry. Asa tilted his head back and reached around the other man's waist to pull him closer. Anthony made a soft little noise and dove in harder, deepening the kiss with a hungry mouth.
Asa's grip on Anthony's slender waist tightened, and he pulled back long enough to whisper, "I've missed you."
Anthony's slender fingers found his blond waves and dug in. Asa moaned. "Missed you too," he hissed. "Never stopped thinking about you."
"Nor I you."
"Where's the fucking bed? I need you on it yesterday."
Asa whimpered. Anthony's voice was ragged, his hands trembling as they guided each other in the bed's general direction with their lips locked and hands exploring. Asa felt completely filled, almost overwhelmed by the needy desire in Anthony's eyes.
There was a sensation of falling, oh good we found the bed, and Anthony's trembling hands were frantically tugging at his buttons. "I hate buttons. It needs to be velcro. This okay?" he murmured, before diving in for another kiss.
Asa managed a "M-mph" and a shaky nod as his own hands found Anthony's trouser flies. He helped Anthony wrestle him out of the jumper and button down he'd changed into after the show, and they managed to get most of their clothes off before Asa ran out of patience and rolled over to open the bedside table drawer and rummage around for condoms and lube. "You want this?"
"Um." Anthony drew back and looked a little embarrassed. "Actually—" He stopped and looked down.
Asa caught his chin and kissed him. "It's fine, everything is fine," he murmured. "What do you want?" He dropped the supplies onto the bed beside them and stroked Anthony's face with both hands.
"Could—could we just touch each other? For now?"
"Of course." Asa put the condoms back into the drawer and held up the lube. "This?"
Anthony visibly melted with relief. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, perfect." He kicked his trousers off his ankles and grabbed the lube out of Asa's hand.
Their legs slotted together like the pieces of a puzzle, and Asa groaned with relief as Anthony's weight settled on top of him. It felt so right to have him here, holding him, kissing his neck and shoulders as his slicked up hand wrapped around them both and began to stroke. Anthony was still mostly wearing his shirt, and Asa slid his hand up under it to grasp one shoulder as his other hand slipped between them.
"Ohhh, oh fuck," Anthony moaned. "Fuck, this is so good." His hips rocked against Asa, and his slick cock slid smoothly in Asa's grasp.
Asa could barely manage a shaky nod. "Good," he agreed breathlessly. "Don't—"
Anthony hesitated. "Don't?" He sounded worried.
"Don't STOP!" Asa burst out, and his fingers dug into Anthony's shoulder.
Anthony laughed and started moving again. "Sorry," he said in Asa's ear. "Won't happen again."
Harder and faster they thrust together, and the wet sounds of their bodies slapping together was like sweet music in Asa's ears. Anthony's moans turned to rhythmic grunts as his cock twitched and grew even harder in his tight fist, and the thought of I'm doing that to him, he wants me, this is for me, sent Asa barrelling over the edge in a white-hot flood of divine ecstasy. Faintly he heard Anthony's grunts turn into a shuddering moan, and his stomach was drenched in warm wetness.
Anthony collapsed onto the slippery mess between them, and Asa wrapped both arms around his shoulders. They lay together, panting quietly, hearts pounding in synchrony, and Asa's nibbling, squirrel-like anxiety, a nervous tickle that never completely left, actually fell silent. He marveled at that, and he wondered what it meant. As if he didn't already know, deep down.
"When you sat on me in the library, I was a little turned on by that," he admitted quietly.
"When I sat on you in the library, I was a little turned on too," Anthony responded. He was completely limp in Asa's arms and seemed completely disinclined to move. They would want a shower eventually, but Asa decided there was no hurry.
"I suppose we just weren't ready at the time," Asa said. "Human hearts and minds are rather—"
"Don't say ineffable."
"Why not?" Asa asked. "Wait, how did you know—"
"Just don't like the word. Or the concept. Anything in the universe can be understood, given the time and the tools. Saying something is ineffable feels like giving up."
"Fair enough." Asa sighed, and Anthony nuzzled his soft chest. "You know what's not ineffable?"
"What's that?"
"Breakfast tomorrow. I have to be on the road by noon, but that gives us plenty of time. As long as you have nowhere to be."
"Nope. Free as a bird, me. Flight's not until tomorrow night."
"I'll give you my number before I go."
"Blessed right you will."
They dozed together in comfort, as the darkest part of the night spun into morning.