thirty five

I'm confident that Alex isn't an idiot. I believe that he knows what's going on in Luke's head, at least close to it. I know that his brown eyes watch Luke's every move with pain, hoping that he could make the next 70 years of Luke's life better.

He and I sit in an arena seat far from stage. It's weird to think that the space in front of us will soon be filled with screaming, loving fans wanting to see their man: Luke.

Alex is tapping his foot on the concrete ground as Luke tries to finish up his soundcheck set.
For the third to last song, he sits at a piano bench playing a soft melody that I'm certain he wrote and composed and produced all by himself. It's the only song on the set where I can truly hear his raw voice, he seemed so fragile. This was the only song of his that I've ever described as fragile.

Alex fidgets in his seat some more, sitting up straight. "Michael, I need to talk deep with you again," he says quickly. I question if he's been planning out our next conversation in his head for the last sixteen songs.

I let out a quick laugh, "Alright, I'm always up for that."

"You're wise with all that psych shit," he leans closer to me, trying to lower his voice in case anyone near was listening in, "what's wrong with Luke?" I know he's thinking of the last deep conversation we had on a plane.

I don't look at Alex, I continue to stare at Luke and watch him set up his pedal board. He speaks into the mic to get his sound guy to turn up his distortion. "I'm not sure," I respond, "I don't like saying anything is wrong with him, I just think he's got some issues to sort out." I look over at Alex to see his glazed eyes staring back at me. "Being a teenager is about figuring yourself out, and he never got the chance to do that. That is the real affect of fame, he doesn't know himself, he's beyond lost in his own head."

"What can I do?"

I shrugged, "Nothing, really. He's a ball of anxiety and, like I've said, it seems to be getting worse. I see a lot of sides to him and they're all getting bad." I kick my feet up to a nearby rail and cross my ankles over one another as I look forward once more.

"I'm truly unable to get him out of his contract for another six months. I'm trying, though, I'm really trying. I'm afraid that once this is over, he'll get worse. He'll suddenly have time and freedom to fuck up his life."

"First of all, it's his choice if he wants to go get high and kill himself. Sadly, we can't control that. Second of all, I know he pretends he's going to drop all of us when he's free, but he's not. He's too afraid to be alone. You are his father and mother and brother and weird uncle and drunk aunt and judgmental grandmother and senile grandfather. You are literally his everything."

Alex smiled as he looked down at his hands in his lap. "I care about the stupid kid."

"He loves you. Even after everything crashes down and turns into disaster for a while, he'll need you there. Luke will push you away, he'll yell at you and probably start a fist fight, but he needs you." I watched Luke talk to his guitar tech as they tried to figure out a non-connecting pedal. Luke had a hand on his hip as he pressed the pedal and strummed a Gmaj chord again.

"You really think everything is going to crash and burn?"

"I do," I said, a hint of sadness underneath my words. "I think he's going to finally be alone and he's gonna hate it. He's gonna be reckless and find someone to give him attention."

Alex curled his feet underneath his body as he, too, continued to watch Luke. "Do you guys sleep together?" He asked, knowing that himself and I have no boundaries.

"Yeah," I admitted.

He took a deep inhale and exhaled with a sigh. "Of course you do."

"I'm sorry," I apologized, not sure what I was apologizing for.

He laughed, "No, no, you're fine. I think you're actually good for Luke, I think you bring out the good in him."

"Sounds fake."

Alex turned to me, a smile on his lips for the first time that entire day. "I'm serious! He was a moody bitch 100-percent of the time before you got here."

"Now he's only a moody bitch 80-percent of the time," I responded, eliciting another laugh from Luke's manager.

We watched the blonde hop down from stage, opening a water bottle on his long walk over to us. He didn't look too miserable, but he still looked miserable.

"I care about him so much, Michael, I need him to be happy."

"You're gonna be around long enough to see that happen."