Secret Identity (completed)

It started with a follow

Hi everyone,

Thanks for reading. My grammar isn't perfect and I can't always see my mistakes so please feel free to point them out to me- hopefully it's not bad enough to make stop you reading.

I'd love to hear your thoughts so please make sure you drop me a vote and a comment:)

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He crosses the dark empty car park making sure to dodge the pools of water which have settled in the potholes and cracks, their existence the only reminder of the earlier rain. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, protecting his fingers from the chill in the air. He climbs the narrow steps of the tour bus using the last few ounces of his energy. The rest consumed by interviews, live performances and studio time, all which have filled the last 20 straight hours. 

At this point, he is so tired he can't even remember if he had lunch.

He doesn't bother to change out of his hoodie and sweatpants, or even take off his shoes, as he scrambles up to his top bunk, being careful not to disturb his sleeping bandmates who each returned from recording a few hours earlier. Laying his head on the pillow he closes his eyes and wills for sleep to take over.

They're always asked if being on the road and touring the world with your mates is the best job in the world, and it is, but there are also a lot of long days spent answering the same questions, missing out on the "must-see" experiences that everyone tells you about when you arrive in a new country, and long sleepless nights in the recording studio by yourself thinking about non-existent days off spent hanging out on the couch.

The engine of the bus rumbles to life as it prepares to take the band on to the next town where they will meet up with the crew. Just another town that they in all likelihood won't even get a chance to see. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighs and resigns himself to a long restless night because despite spending most of the past two years on Gus The Bus, as it was affectionately named by the boys after a long night of drunken FIFA, he still cannot get used to sleeping with the sound of the road moving beneath him.

Reaching across to the shelf at the head of the bunk he fumbles around in the darkness for his phone. He dims the screen and allows his eyes to adjust to the brightness before checking his notifications. There are the standard voice messages from his Mum, the Whatsapp group chat and of course hundreds of notifications from the millions of followers on both the band's and his personal social media accounts. There are even a few text messages from random girls who have somehow managed to get his number. Which he deletes without reading.

It is not that he doesn't appreciate the attention, after all, that's part of the reason why he is in the business. It is just that it is just that, business. Just like the couch days, long gone are the days where he feels people are truly interested in him for him and not what, or who, they think he is, or what he can give them.

He opens Instagram and switches profiles. He switches to his newest profile; the one that even his bandmates don't know about. The one where he feels free to be himself. The one where he feels free to post what he wants, like what he wants, and to follow who he wants. The one free from the scrutiny of his very attentive fans, cautious management or even the band. He scrolls through the feed, liking and commenting and even giving the occasional follow. He doesn't know it yet, but this action on this night, this cold Winter's night, has just changed the world as he knows it.

*********

The flash from the notification, against the blackness of her room is enough to pull her from unconsciousness. She reaches into the darkness finding a cable and tracing its length with her fingers, stopping when she finds her phone charging on the end. Squinting through her tired lids, she reads the message: "You have 1 new follower".

"Great..." she says sarcastically noting the time as 4:15 am. Placing her phone screen down on her bedside table she quickly drifts back to sleep, forgetting all about the notification.

A few short hours later she wakes to the violent sounds of her alarm. Silencing the noise, she pulls her braid free from under her arm and sits up on her bed to catch up on everything she's missed. There is nothing too exciting or out of the ordinary to see. After all, she doesn't have many friends so there are no photos to be tagged in and no funny status updates to read. There are a number of spam emails about upcoming sales and just one unread notification, "You have 1 new follower".

Opening Instagram, she looks at the username. "Hmmm TheReal_SJ, let me guess you're just another spam account."

Sighing she clicks the username to open the profile. She's surprised to see what looks to be a legitimate account. SJ is 17, likes music, fried chicken and sunsets. His location is not listed. Checking his profile picture she sees a boy with dark wavy hair that finishes between his ears and his collar. It covers half his face making it hard to see his features. The only thing she can tell for sure is that he has at least one dimple and sparkling green eyes.

Scrolling through his feed she stops and at an image of the sun setting. It is not the image that captures her attention rather the caption, which reads 'the sun is gone but I have a light'. She leans back on her bed and thinks about the words a little longer. She doesn't really need to because she's heard them many times before.

She looks at the photo again, smiling to herself and types a reply.

 "One of my favourite Nirvana lyrics of all time. Kurt Cobain = lyrical genius. By the way, thanks for the follow." 

A second later she taps to follow back, locks her phone, and gets ready for school.

She doesn't know it yet, but with this action on this morning, this regular school morning, she has just changed the world as she knows it.