Sorry for being so inactive!! Been working madly on my vampire novel. About half way finished now.
Palaye's new songs are sick!
In which Palaye are world famous and fans can get a little intense. (Inspired by the scenes in Punching Bag mv when the crowd was grabbing Remington)
Trigger warning: Panic attack
The show is fine. They always are. How could they be anything but incredible with the team they have behind the? Light technicians, sound engineers, makeup artists, hair stylists. Anything you could need, they have. The shows have to be perfect or they're doing something wrong, and in this industry, that isn't okay.
The show is fine. Remington wouldn't describe it as anything more or anything less. He doesn't enjoy it, per se, but that isn't anyone's fault. It's just the way it is sometimes. He does his job perfectly. He sings, he dances, he jumps into the crowd. He acts.
The show is fine.
It's the part after that isn't.
The part where they fight their way through obsessed fans and into the tour bus, which is large and comfortable and safe.
That part, Remington always hates. The grabbing, the screaming, the phones thrust in his face. He longs for just one night where he could walk out of a building without somebody shouting for his attention.
Tonight is no different.
Remington is the last out of the venue, having taken time in the green room to cool off and prepare himself before facing the public once again. His bandmates left just ten minutes earlier. A security guard positions himself either side of the famous singer at the door, muscled and tall and threatening.
"Okay," Remington says. He can hear the screams of fans from inside. After a breath, he nods, and the man to his left opens the door. The noise gets considerably louder. Maybe it's a curse, maybe it's not, but he knows being the frontman brings him the most attention.
The singer walks quickly, head down, security guards close by. He looks up for a moment, wanting to smile so they wouldn't call him rude, and as he does so, the crowd closes in around them, phones in his face, hands desperate to get a feel, a prod, a pinch. Remington has no choice but to slow. The bus is still a good distance from them.
He shields his face with his hands, looking down again and stumbling when somebody practically runs into him, and though the guards do what they can to make everyone move back, there's not a lot two people can do against thousands.
Remington closes his eyes and pulls his coat around himself. A woman with his name in eyeliner across her face begins begging for a photo. He does as his job requires and looks into phone as it's held up. Then everybody is begging for photos and he has no choice but to start pushing the more insistent fans back gently, in a hope that they'd get the message. It seems they do not.
Now, the singer grabs the security guard nearest and leans in to say something into his ear. "I'm having a panic attack."
He feels it's a fair warning. It's better he says than to just expect them to know what's happening.
The man doesn't let go of him after hearing that. He and the other security guard shout for people to give him some space, to back off, and Remington stumbles again, pressing his hands to his ears. He wants his husband or his brothers or just someone who isn't paid to protect him.
Hands start pulling at his jacket and some find his belt loops. He steps away and is faced with the same from the other side, like a plague of wasps that won't leave until they have stung him.
"I've got him from here," comes the voice of Andy, who managed to push his way through from the bus by wearing a large trench coat, a face mask, and a pair of gloves to hide is tattooed hands. He knows how quickly fans can detect those they adore.
Remington is passed from the security guard who's holding up and into his husband's arms. Andy supports him as he walks behind the security guards who force a path through the crowd.
"You're okay," he says, once they're nearing the vehicle. "I got you, you're okay. Here we are." Andy helps him up the metal steps and into the bus. The door is slammed closed by a security guard and Andy locks it quickly. "You're okay," he says again.
Remington sits on the couch and tries to calm down. "I hate it so much," he mumbles.
Andy sits beside him and plays with his hair. "I know, love. It's okay. You're safe in here. I'm sorry I took so long."
"You're not meant to come back out."
"Like I was gonna watch them do that to you from inside here."
"Thanks for saving me."
Andy smiles. "Any day, my love. Come on, come to bed." He gets up and brings Remington with him. "You okay now?"
Remington nods and rubs his eyes. "Now you're with me," he replies, crawling into the bunk and beginning to undress. "You're so brave."
"Mm, only for you."
"You even put gloves on."
"Better safe than sorry," Andy says with a shrug. "They're washing up gloves."
"I got that when I saw them."
"They weren't even out of the packet, so I don't think much washing up has been going on in here."
Remington waits for Andy to undress. "It's called a dishwasher, dad."
"Ooh, sorry."
"Fuck off and lie down already."
