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[Trigger Warning: References to child abuse]
For Nexus Prompt: 2. "I wonder if they would be proud of me."
Rik sat there in the back room away from the media and the preparations to take pictures. The framed platinum record was in his lap, pristine in it's new frame. The album looked so unreal in the frame, like something that belong to someone else. There was joy around the edges of his feelings because of a song on this album that featured a harp solo where a guitar solo should have been. He loved that piece of music and adored Hunter and the others for weaving a song together that could accommodate his passion for the instrument.
He ran his fingers over the glass, around and around the hammer portion of the band logo in gold foil on the dark image. It made his heart pound to think he was part of this, part of something more than a million people owned. As a teen he would have never imagined this would happen, nothing even close to it, and he cried.
The Danish guitarist folded over the frame in his lap, buried his face in his hands and wept. The crying took his breath and trembled his body. The tears were like nothing before, raw as fresh wounds though their source was years ago. Words ringing in his ears, roared at him, that he would never amount to anything, he was a failure, no good... that his parents would be better off if he died in the streets because sending him to music school was a waste of their money and everyone else's time. The sting of words that later turned to black eyes and broken bones when he was a teen. It hurt, all of it hurt, like those years of wounds had all opened at once.
The platinum framed album in his lap was a testament to his success and skill. He could hear the others laughing beyond the wall where they were all preparing to have photographs taken to commemorate their first platinum album. For Rik there was only pain and the surging trauma of 13 years of struggling, working until his hands bled, screams and physical contact until he cried and begged to be allowed to do better.
“HEY!”
Aarne's chipper voice caused the guitarist to cringe and he dare not look up even when he saw the black high heels through the mass of hair covering his face.
“Come on Rik!”
He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard the rustle of leather and belts as the drummer sat down in front of where he was doubled over on the floor. Hands thrust into his hair, cradling his cheeks to pull his face up.
“It's only a couple of......”
Aarne's words trailed off and Rik watched the cheer and color drain out of his friend's face. The Dane's cheeks burned hot from crying and he absently wiped at them with the sleeve of his shirt. The drummer had set his own matching album aside to tend to Rik. Seeing it brought a second wave of anguish and tears, though these were silent. Aarne's family would send cards and call, celebrate. His own, would they even care if they saw it? His father would probably scream about how the album would have got here faster if Hunter had choosen a better guitarist instead of the lazy, selfish, boy he had.
“Hey! Why the tears, babe?”
Aarne's worry finally found words and Rik limply let the Fin set his record aside and pull his smaller frame into the drummer's lap. The crazy drummer was gentle as a mother now, brushing Rik's disheveled hair out of his face and wiping tears with his thumb. Rik fell into his embrace like he had when the band first formed, when all this pain was new and he still wore the cast from the last wound his father ever put on his body.
“You can tell me....” Aarne was staring at Rik's face but he couldn't hold the drummer's gaze. “.. or I'll tickle you.”
“Don't.” Rik's voice came out small and broken which brought arms around him as the Fin started to rock him gently. Rik always felt so tiny, small and safe in Aarne's arms.
“Serious, what is it, rådyr?”
Rik felt Aarne's chin on the top of his head, the Fin had basically wrapped him completely up while they sat on the floor. He sighed out a jagged breath, knowing Aarne would never relent. The drummer would take care of you whether you liked ot or not, pretty much how he went about everything. The tiniest flicker of a smile passed the Dane's expression before it fell away.
“My parents...” It was all he could say.
“Did they call you?” Aarne's voice was cold. He knew more about his past than anyone here, aside from Ollie who had lived it, more or less, with him.
Rik shook his head no against Aarne's chest, feeling the angry tension in the drummer's body. He wiped at his face again, absently trying to dry the tears smudged across his cheeks. “I thought... what.. I don't know.. what they would think of this.”
“That sperm donar and heartless incubator can go fuck right off into a frozen lake.” Aarne hated very few people, but Rik's parents were among those he would not and absolutely could not forgive. “Your real family is out there waiting to take a family photo with our awards.”
The aggression from the usually cheerful Fin somehow got the Dane laughing. He couldn't place why, maybe it was just the relief of knowing someone cared, or that he belonged. Rik wrapped his arms around the thin drummer, pulling close to his chest for a moment of warmth before sitting up. His wild hair was now worse off, wet in spots from tears and sticking up from his hands when he first buried his face.
He finally met those concerned hazel eyes, bright with concern, when Aarne stroked his cheek and tried to arrange his hair out of his face. He watched the drummer pull his shoulder bag off and press a warm kiss to his forehead.
“Let's fix you up or people are going to think you rolled out of a hangover bed.” Aarne's smile caused Rik to grin until a small laugh esscaped. Nothing would stop his thoughts, but this would stop them from mattering.
For Nexus Prompt: 2. "I wonder if they would be proud of me."
Rik sat there in the back room away from the media and the preparations to take pictures. The framed platinum record was in his lap, pristine in it's new frame. The album looked so unreal in the frame, like something that belong to someone else. There was joy around the edges of his feelings because of a song on this album that featured a harp solo where a guitar solo should have been. He loved that piece of music and adored Hunter and the others for weaving a song together that could accommodate his passion for the instrument.
He ran his fingers over the glass, around and around the hammer portion of the band logo in gold foil on the dark image. It made his heart pound to think he was part of this, part of something more than a million people owned. As a teen he would have never imagined this would happen, nothing even close to it, and he cried.
The Danish guitarist folded over the frame in his lap, buried his face in his hands and wept. The crying took his breath and trembled his body. The tears were like nothing before, raw as fresh wounds though their source was years ago. Words ringing in his ears, roared at him, that he would never amount to anything, he was a failure, no good... that his parents would be better off if he died in the streets because sending him to music school was a waste of their money and everyone else's time. The sting of words that later turned to black eyes and broken bones when he was a teen. It hurt, all of it hurt, like those years of wounds had all opened at once.
The platinum framed album in his lap was a testament to his success and skill. He could hear the others laughing beyond the wall where they were all preparing to have photographs taken to commemorate their first platinum album. For Rik there was only pain and the surging trauma of 13 years of struggling, working until his hands bled, screams and physical contact until he cried and begged to be allowed to do better.
“HEY!”
Aarne's chipper voice caused the guitarist to cringe and he dare not look up even when he saw the black high heels through the mass of hair covering his face.
“Come on Rik!”
He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard the rustle of leather and belts as the drummer sat down in front of where he was doubled over on the floor. Hands thrust into his hair, cradling his cheeks to pull his face up.
“It's only a couple of......”
Aarne's words trailed off and Rik watched the cheer and color drain out of his friend's face. The Dane's cheeks burned hot from crying and he absently wiped at them with the sleeve of his shirt. The drummer had set his own matching album aside to tend to Rik. Seeing it brought a second wave of anguish and tears, though these were silent. Aarne's family would send cards and call, celebrate. His own, would they even care if they saw it? His father would probably scream about how the album would have got here faster if Hunter had choosen a better guitarist instead of the lazy, selfish, boy he had.
“Hey! Why the tears, babe?”
Aarne's worry finally found words and Rik limply let the Fin set his record aside and pull his smaller frame into the drummer's lap. The crazy drummer was gentle as a mother now, brushing Rik's disheveled hair out of his face and wiping tears with his thumb. Rik fell into his embrace like he had when the band first formed, when all this pain was new and he still wore the cast from the last wound his father ever put on his body.
“You can tell me....” Aarne was staring at Rik's face but he couldn't hold the drummer's gaze. “.. or I'll tickle you.”
“Don't.” Rik's voice came out small and broken which brought arms around him as the Fin started to rock him gently. Rik always felt so tiny, small and safe in Aarne's arms.
“Serious, what is it, rådyr?”
Rik felt Aarne's chin on the top of his head, the Fin had basically wrapped him completely up while they sat on the floor. He sighed out a jagged breath, knowing Aarne would never relent. The drummer would take care of you whether you liked ot or not, pretty much how he went about everything. The tiniest flicker of a smile passed the Dane's expression before it fell away.
“My parents...” It was all he could say.
“Did they call you?” Aarne's voice was cold. He knew more about his past than anyone here, aside from Ollie who had lived it, more or less, with him.
Rik shook his head no against Aarne's chest, feeling the angry tension in the drummer's body. He wiped at his face again, absently trying to dry the tears smudged across his cheeks. “I thought... what.. I don't know.. what they would think of this.”
“That sperm donar and heartless incubator can go fuck right off into a frozen lake.” Aarne hated very few people, but Rik's parents were among those he would not and absolutely could not forgive. “Your real family is out there waiting to take a family photo with our awards.”
The aggression from the usually cheerful Fin somehow got the Dane laughing. He couldn't place why, maybe it was just the relief of knowing someone cared, or that he belonged. Rik wrapped his arms around the thin drummer, pulling close to his chest for a moment of warmth before sitting up. His wild hair was now worse off, wet in spots from tears and sticking up from his hands when he first buried his face.
He finally met those concerned hazel eyes, bright with concern, when Aarne stroked his cheek and tried to arrange his hair out of his face. He watched the drummer pull his shoulder bag off and press a warm kiss to his forehead.
“Let's fix you up or people are going to think you rolled out of a hangover bed.” Aarne's smile caused Rik to grin until a small laugh esscaped. Nothing would stop his thoughts, but this would stop them from mattering.
