The Obscure Downsides of Fame

60 || existential bubblegum pop

I stayed quiet, trusting Oakley with my life as he led me upstairs. Our steps echoed through the stairwell for multiple minutes until we finally reached the top, which was once again guarded by a man.

"Why didn't we take the elevator?" I asked, slightly out of breath as I watched two men dressed in black leaving the sliding metal elevator door with a large rolling storage box.

"Suspense," he said with a grin. He too was breathing heavily, but he didn't seem to mind.

The last security guard opened the door for us, and we entered an empty room. Empty of people, at least, but filled with luxurious chairs and benches around solid marble tables. Each table could seat two to six people by the looks of it, and on the side of the room was a bar with no bartender yet in sight.

"Come on," he said, pulling me towards the large pane of glass at the very back of the room, and only then did I realize where he had taken me.

The view was of a large stage, and what seemed like thousands of empty seats, and a large open floor right in the middle. All of it far below us.

"I've never been to a concert," I admitted, a grin on my face.

"I figured," he said with a grin. "And I know you can't make it to the festival. That's why we're here."

"Wait, who's performing?"

"First this band called the Breakers is up. They're the opening act. After that is Holly Burnstock. She was the opener for my last tour."

"This place is enormous," I said, gaping at the venue.

"I know!" His face lit up like he'd just had a happy memory flooding back. He kept staring at the stage with a content smile on his face. "I remember the first time I performed here. It was my first headline concert."

There must've been tens of thousands of people here, and he was openly displaying his deepest emotions to the crowd. What people thought of him was raw and real and live. For me it was different. People could only judge my ability to do my job, and I got dozens of takes to get it right.

"I don't know how you do it," I said, shaking my head. "My feelings are mine. I've been a public figure from the moment I was born, but my feelings have always been my own. You don't have that."

"I know," Oakley said, his grin mellowing out and becoming a soft smile. "Looking back, I think it was a little triggering for me."

"You think so?" I asked, placing my hand on top of his on the railing. He looked at me, the deep brown of his eyes holding my gaze.

"Yeah. It was my first tour, I didn't sleep very well, or eat very well, the tens of thousands of people were just cheering me on. On one hand, I got a ton of shit for being rude or unprofessional or a bad performer. On the other, they praised me like I was otherworldly." He chuckled, clearly seeing the humor in the situation after all. "I hate how much sense this all makes."

"Hey, no bad thoughts today, alright? It makes sense. That's good."

He turned his hand around so our palms were now facing, and he interlaced our fingers.

The biggest grin spread on his face, and I wrapped my arms around him and he hugged me back in a death grip—just with his one arm he managed to leave me nearly breathless.