Eros vs Thanatos: Whoever wins... We lose

BY : AnkhesenpaatenRa
Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > HIM
Dragon prints: 1239
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the HIM band or any personalities mentioned personally, and I do not profit from these writings.

Kill me, I begged and love said «No»

Leave me for dead and let me go

Kill me, I cried and love said «No»


Brandon woke up. 

Well… 'Woke up' might not be the right term. 'Regained his consciousness' would be more appropriate.

Damn it. Let’s start all over again.

Brandon opened his eyes and saw a beam of light piercing through a gap between dense curtains of a colour that one could call either boring official-grey or colour of a wet asphalt, depending on one’s outlook on style and fashion.

“Ok. I guess, I’m not home, ” he realized looking at the curtains. He tried to move his arm and found out, that his left arm, quite the same as his left leg had fondly embraced the folded blanket, while he was sleeping. The bed sheets were fresh and crispy, a mattress was a bit too hard and his head was drowning in a softness of a pillow. In addition, it was quiet, far too quiet – no one was stamping, rattling or shouting – “Not home, for sure”. 

However, this thought didn’t scare Brandon at all. 

Actually, the strangest thing about his awakening was the fact that he felt very good. So good, that he even rubbed his cheek gently against the blanket one more time, hugging it tenderly and moaning slightly from a strange languor that filled him from the inside. 

“What the hell did I eat yesterday? … What the hell did I actually do… last night?” 

He drank alcohol before, of course he did, and of course he realized that yesterday he must have gone a bit over the plank with the booze. That was not the first hangover he has ever had. Usually, though, in such cases he would wake up with a heavy head, dry lips and a terrible mixture of thirst, guilt and universal sense of misery that would not leave him until the end of the day.

Today, though, he felt good.

Well of course, his head did feel a bit funny, but the pleasant warmth that was covering him head-to-toe reminded him an effect of a little thing called “extasy”. Brandon did not recall taking any stimulators of such kind yesterday, and in fact - he felt far too good even for that stuff.

“Mmm… Good morning blanket,” he smiled at his pathological hangover euphoria and gave the blanket a smooch. 

“Good morning, Bammy,” he imitated in a high piercing voice the way his bedding accessory could answer him. 

He laughed at himself: what an idiot he must look like! For an unknown reason he felt ecstatic and he didn’t even get a morning wood yet. Well, now, when he actually thought of it… 

“C’mon, Bam, it’s time to get up… ouch!” 

His head answered him with a sharp sting of pain at the sudden change of position. Oh yes, he definitely underestimated his condition. It felt as if a metal hoop squeezed his head. Damn it, and he thought he might skip some of the pleasurable attributes of a hangover this time. Guess he will have to pay for the good things in life, as usual. 

Bam set up on the edge of the bed and found himself dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie. He has not even taken off his shoes. He placed his elbows on his knees, put his poor hurting head in his hands and tried to focus on the view in the gap between the curtains. 

With a noticeable delay, his toxic-assaulted brain registered his location: “London, hotel, my room.”

His head felt a bit lighter now so he stretched out to the bedside table for a half-empty bottle of water and found his pass to the HIM concert lying next to it. Brandon took it in his hands, slowly and joyfully remembering events of the past day, starting from the very beginning of its most pleasurable part. 

From the very moment he attended the gig of his favourite band. He came there all the way from Amsterdam, all by himself. Fairly speaking, in Amsterdam, where he was participating in a skating contest with his friends, he went to a gig of the very same band as well, due to the fact that he happened to become their fan. 

The first gig only worsened the situation, which is why he took his board, credit cards and passport and set off to London. The next thing Brandon remembered was the fact that he did not just attend the gig there, he actually took courage to meet the band personally, covering by the fact that he works on MTV. 

He had to see Him in person. 

Brandon wouldn’t forgive himself for blowing the chance. Of course, it was risky: the sweet and magical image of his idol ever so beautifully drawn by his imagination could turn out to be a fiction and the Idol himself could turn out to be a universal jerk and kick him out, tell him to fuck off or just ignore him completely. Actually, the scariest perspective was not even the ignoring. What if the Idol would conceive a desire to talk to him? Brandon had no idea what he could possibly tell the Idol. 

He took a few shots of vodka with Red Bull to run faster, to get out of breath and not let him change his mind. He flashed his MTV pass to the security and stopped to catch his breath only after he did the scariest thing he could:

Brandon knocked on the door.

His heart was about to jump out of his chest and his blood was pumping in his temples. Oh man, he must be red as Don Vito after a treadmill session.


The young man jerked the door open, closed his eyes, put on a Hollywood smile and barked in a pathologically optimistic voice:


Only after that, he opened his eyes.

Right near the entrance of the dressing room stood a big guy, their drummer, making a fierce impression on his kind, round face and covering most of the view with his massive figure. This must be Gas. To the right from Gas, leaning on a table stood their blond guitarist Linde. He was thin, with a pointed nose, dressed in some tight-fitting girlie shirt. Linde was elegantly holding a high glass of champagne in his hand and was languorously sipping from it from time to time, looking like a genuine wine taster. To add up to the image: the guy had magnificent Rastafarian dreadlocks. Bam could not help but cry happily:


“Jah, man,” the blond guy answered him melancholically, without a smile and continued with the champagne tasting.

Somewhere from behind Linde’s back, he heard a burst of laughter and a couple of greetings that made the guys in front step aside. Bam made two steps forward.

To his view appeared the reason he was here.

The Idol. The God. The hard story that brought him here like a complete idiot.

Bam lost the gift of speech at once. The Idol lounged on a couch, his legs spreading at least one and a half meters in front of him. The deity looked drowsy and indifferent as if he was sleeping with his eyes open. His arms were crossed on his chest, a live cigarette was clenched in his teeth and judging by the vacant look on his face, his thoughts were completely lost in the depths of the subconscious. If it wasn’t for the cigarette smoke that the deity was exhaling through his nostrils from time to time, Bam would have though the subject is not alive at all.

On the right side of the god seated the guy, who had to be Mige, their bassist, who was his friend or at least that is who he was said to be. He was drinking beer and exchanging glances with another guy from their band, who was tinkering with his bag in a corner.

“HI! I’M BAM MARGERA FROM ‘VIVA LA BAM’!” Brandon repeated cheerfully.

“I am Mikko Paananen,” the divinity said in a low, deep voice with a dead-serious, imperturbable look on his face. Mige to his right did not turn a hair. “And he is Ville…”

“…Valo,” Mige nodded and took a gulp of beer.

Bam laughed boisterously at the scene.

“Ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Nah, I’m not buying that,” he said. “You are Ville.”

“Gr-r-reetings,” said his Idol in a forced Scandinavian accent with an exaggerated “r” for a more comic effect.


“Well, now… What is it you want, my dear?” Mige asked him tenderly.

“I ran out of beer. Do you have some?”

“Of course,” to Bam’s surprise the Idol did not show any signs of irritation, quite the opposite, he promptly got up from the couch with the grace of a young giraffe stumbling over its own feet and in two steps of his long legs reached the refrigerator with a clear door, filled with bottles and cans of all kinds. Looking at that, Bam got worried for a moment that Ville will stumble and fall, but everything went just fine. The idol opened the fridge and handed him two cans of beer. The cigarette that was still clenched in his teeth didn’t seem to cause him a slightest discomfort. The idol was dressed in black shirt, a plum-coloured leather jacket and a pair of heavily worn flare jeans. He wore some peeled girly nail polish, his black sparkling eye shadows were spread all around his face and his curly hair, wet from sweat, looked disarranged and messy. His reddened lips were holding a cigarette, yet the smoke didn’t trouble him at all.

He looked like a freaking Glam-Rock God! And Bam didn’t even give a thought yet about his tall (the guy was taller than him) figure of a female top-model and his long tightly covered thighs, thin yet feminine in some inexplicable way. Oh wait, he did.

For some reason, Brandon got struck by an earnest desire to have a smoke. He left his pack somewhere in his bag, but he didn’t dare to ask the guys to lend him cigarettes as well. The Idol took his confusion for a silent proposal to continue, and passed him two more cans. Four cans of beer just wouldn’t fit into his hands, so Brandon had to literally hug the cans to keep hold of them. He could stand like this forever.

“Anything else?” the Idol inquired politely.

“I love you,” Bam said. In fact, he wanted to say that he loves the band, as in, all of them, “I love you guys, the band”, but the treacherous English language, which he forgot, despite being a native speaker, has formulated his thoughts not the best way, it seems.

The dressing room fell quiet. The only sound breaking the strained silence was a barely audible low frequency rumble transmitted by the concrete construction of the building - some band was still performing at the festival.

The Idol gracefully took the cigarette out of his mouth and quite as gracefully exhaled the smoke through his nose:

“What a peculiar pick-up line,” he said in a tender tone, a bit too kind and carrying for Bam’s liking. In Bam’s world that was the way one would talk to a retarded person. “I shall try it with ladies.”

“Damn,” at this moment Bam wished the earth could have swallowed him up at the entrance to the dressing room, so he wouldn’t have to be in this awkward situation right now. “Guys… Come on!” he shook his head in regret and despair. “I said I LOVE YOU! I’m your biggest fan on the other side of the ocean… And probably on this side as well! The gig was awesome and I came here to say you guys are fucking great, super cool, you are the shit!”

The band burst out laughing at Bam, and the situation he got himself into. At once, the atmosphere in the dressing room lightened, becoming simple and friendly, and despite the beads of nervous perspiration that Brandon could feel on the back of his neck, he knew the disaster passed by.

“Awwwww,” the Idol drawled in a very disappointed voice of a true diva (assuming, of course, the diva could have such a deep bass), puffing his lips and letting one more stream of smoke. That amused his colleagues even more, so the end of his phrase: “What a disillusion. And I thought I might have plans for the evening,” got drowned in a joyful roar of laughter.

Bam stood there hugging the cans of beer and felt that “Awwwww” tickling his stomach deeply and velvety, echoing there and resonating in a thin space between his balls and his asshole, making both of the above mentioned tighten. Getting a boner right here would be the limit, especially considering the fact that there was no way he could cover himself and hide it. And no, letting beer out of his hands was not an option.

Besides, Brandon couldn’t grasp Ville’s reaction to him. Just a moment ago, near the fridge, he was so polite and obliging, yet now he coldly turned his back on him and returned to the couch, covering the distance in two long strides. He fell on the couch indifferently, rubbed his eyes wearily, not giving a damn about damaging the remains of his make-up, yawned, moaned and set off the cigarette.

His friend Mige yawned loudly as well.

“All in all… guys…” continued Bam to fill the awkward silence. “I have your album… Like a hundred copies of it actually, and I love every single song from it, and that never happened to me before. You are super fucking awesome! Thank you! What you do is the real rock n roll! The ideal rock and roll!”

“Thank you, man,” Mige said and sneakily kicked Ville in the leg. Believe it or not, the other guy has lost the connection with the outside world in a matter of seconds and obviously was far away in his thoughts yet again.

“Ouch?” Ville started out of his unconsciousness.

“Unfreeze, you, moron…” Mige said kindly, even tenderly, in a father-like manner. He poured the remains of the beer from his can into a glass standing on the table nearby.

“Why am I always sipping from a can like a hobo?” He asked himself out loud.

“Whatcha want?” Ville asked him with a note of intimacy in his voice that only happens between old friends.

“The dude thanked you, what?”

“Oooooooooooh…” Ville moaned very controversially, either tired or self-conscious, Bam couldn’t tell for sure. Bam, personally, associated the intonations he heard in Ville’s voice with sexual experiences. Bam, however, allowed the possibility that he was the only one going through those experiences right now.

“Sorry man, he’s a nice guy, but you know, freezes from time to time,” Mige said in an apologetic tone. “And usually unexpectedly.”

Ville giggled shyly.

All of a sudden, he started looking Bam’s age. Everything was the same, the make-up was still there, and he didn’t even change the pose, but the silly giggling and confusion on his face, as well as unexpected warmth showing through in his unceremonious speech suddenly sorted things out.

“Well, yeah, sorry, Bam.”

“Well, yeah, no problem,” Brandon hoped his eyes didn’t shine with happiness in the darkness of the room. He remembered his name. “No problem… Are you tired?” Oh god, why did he sound so gay today? “I mean, of course, you must be fucking tired…” Oh, come on Bam! Don’t mention fucking! Keep it easy on your boner!

“I need to drink something!” A light of thought switched on in Ville’s eyes. “To hell with sleep.”

Mige nodded in agreement and yawned.

At his own risk, Bam made a step forward and held out a can of beer to Ville.

“Didn’t you come here because you were out of beer?” Ville giggled.

“I came here to meet you guys,” Bam said honestly.

Ville giggled again.

That encouraged Bam a little, so he decided to test his luck:

“Do you mind if I drink it here?”

“Oh come on, sit down already…” Waved at him Mige. “…Standing here like… Like you know what.”

For some reason, Ville found the joke hilarious and his laughter turned out to be so funny that Bam burst out laughing as well. He looked around for a good place to sit and was thinking to play the fool and swiftly take the place next to Ville, who sat straight back on the couch resting his elbows on his long, lean knees, leaving unoccupied most of the couch, when someone’s hand lay heavily on his shoulder:

“Excuse me,” someone said and moved him aside, tactfully yet insistently. Bam turned around and saw a slim guy with a neat black beard, dressed in a see-through top and leather pants. The character elegantly walked past him and landed on the couch right next to Ville.

Ville didn’t object. Moreover, when the fellow gloomily, without a shadow of a smile sat tight-to-tight with him as though claiming his own, Ville reacted in an original way. He smiled at the guy, and when the other put on an even more offended look and pursed his lips, he playfully blew him a kiss. An innocent, harmless gesture, but Bam for some reason didn’t like it at all. Mige seemed trustworthy and this fellow didn’t. In addition, the fellow’s nipples were sticking up provocatively, clearly seen through the fabric of his top. What a faggot.

The faggot started talking, demonstratively in Finnish, pretending Bam wasn’t there at all. Ville heard him out seriously, considered it for a moment, scratched his nose and turned away without saying a word. Here goes nothing, thought Bam and sat down right where he was standing, crossing his legs at Ville's feet in a Turkish manner.

“He-e-ey!” Ville laughed. Bam’s unexpected manoeuvre caught him by surprise. In addition, they were almost face to face now, Ville’s face a bit higher, Bam’s face a bit lower, and both of them seemed pretty happy with the matter of things.

“Hey,” Bam echoed, his greyish-blue eyes shining lovingly on his glowing face. He was looking tenderly at Ville, who was clearly fighting back a dawning smile.

Bam didn’t know what happened at this moment. Music in the hall didn’t become quieter and nipples of the nasty faggot…

“This is Zoltan,” Ville said suddenly, pointing at the guy next to him.

“Bam,” Bam said and stretched out his hand for a handshake. Zoltan leaned back on a couch and waved his hand at him from afar. Bam got puzzled, but then he looked at Ville’s face. His eyes were turned to the floor, and with his hand, he was zealously rubbing the corners of his lips and his jaw, up and down, trying to hide a sneering smile.

“He is tired,” Mige said in a friendly tone.

“Because he was working hard,” Ville’s voice was so gentle and so tender that it felt like an accident touch of a velvet fabric to lips. His indecently caring voice together with his nostrils inflating mockingly and a dark glance, which was so quick, that Bam only noticed it because he was watching Ville’s face without taking his eyes off him, told Bam a lot more than any words could.

Something was wrong here. Ha-ha-ha.

Zoltan, even though he didn’t see Ville’s expression, nevertheless glared at him, practically burning him with his stare. At least trying to do so. His attempts were clearly useless, as Ville didn’t pay a slightest attention to them - he was looking lovingly at Bam:

“Tell me about your show, Bam,” of course, Bam understood that this maternal tenderness and care was due to some internal games within the band, but losing the chance would be foolish.

He recounted his story to them, saying that he is a professional skater, and that he is filming his show called “Jackass” where he plans to do the most ridiculous, absurd, shocking and stupid stunts and tricks together with his friends. He told them that they have already filmed the pilot episode and of course, it caused a lot of racket, but they got signed with MTV and he is really happy about it.

“So you’re a skater, cool,” Ville reached into his pocket for a new cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth, then lit up and took a whiff with delight. Bam was watching the process, and for some reason was finding it highly sexual. Meanwhile, he was already two beers down, so his shyness faded into the background:

“Willah, can I have one of those as well? I left mine in the bag with the skate out there,” he waved his hand in the direction of the corridor.

“Yes, here,” Ville gave him a pack of cigarettes, - “your skate?”

“Well,” Bam said. “Mine, yeah. Why?”

“Nah, just,” shrugged Ville. “I used to skate as well, do you remember, Mige?”

“I don’t remember you at all. Who the hell are you?” Mige grinned.

They both started giggling merrily.

“And a lighter?” Bam asked.

Ville didn’t bother complying with his request, he just took the cigarette out of his mouth and pressed it against Bam’s cigarette.

“Hallelujah!” Bam exclaimed. “The first fucking communion from the Idol!” He finally dared to say it out loud. Ville giggled, and Mige as well, covering his face with the palm of his hand.

“Black Sabbath bless you, bro,” Ville spoke in a pompous bass.

Bam drew in and breathed out the smoke of the sacred cigarette.

“I’ll keep the cigar-butt,” he said. “And I will always wear it, as a talisman!”

“As an amulet,” Ville suggested eagerly. “For protection.”

“Protection from what?”

“From a personal life. What kind of a mentally stable girl would come to you closer than 5 meters?”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha. Well, I already have a girlfriend,” Bam said. “We’ve been friends since middle school. She’s already used to all kinds of shit.”

“Mmm… How sweet,” said Ville very uninterested. Bam thought that he probably shouldn’t have said that… He thought mentioning his girlfriend would dispel any possible suspicions that he would woo Ville. He had to look cool in his eyes. And concerning his not-so-clear intentions towards Ville… Well, that wasn’t written on his face, was it?

“So you said you could ride?”

“Yes, in the past tense,” Ville said sarcastically. “It was a long-long time ago.”

“Oh come on, you were into skating, really? You must be lying.”

“Who, me?!” Ville looked astonished. “I never lie.”

Mige roared with laughter, Zoltan rubbed his face.

“Wanna try? My board is right here, in the corridor!” He was a complete idiot, of course, for pulling Ville by his hand, but oddly, Ville got up and said:

“Well, yeah, why not… Mige…”


“If Seppo comes… We’ll be outside, nearby.”

“Alright,” Mige said, he pretty much understood everything already. “Anyway, I don’t think we’ll stay here for too long…”

Overwhelmed by the unexpected success, Bam pulled Ville along with him by the hand, as if he was a girl in a kindergarten. The funniest thing was the fact that Ville didn’t show even the slightest sign of resistance. They ran down the stairs towards the exit, Bam grabbed his belongings and dashed out of the gates of the concert venue.

“Look, here’s a nice place, I found it today!” He threw his skate on the asphalt, jumped on it and… turned into a higher creature, which, was apparently beyond the laws of gravity. He sped up, jumped onto the marble border, sliding it on the side of the wheel, landed with an impressive flip and went for the second lap.

Brandon always skated well, but now for a completely understandable reason he literally felt wings grow behind his back. And that was no wonder, because Ville didn’t take his eyes off him. Brandon was sure as never before that this time he won’t fall or stumble. He just couldn’t do so. He was glowing with a joyful smile, speeding around his tall, dark sun like a crazy rocket. And he managed to achieve what he wanted to: the Idol was damn impressed by his skating. He got so over-excited that he even asked Bam for his board and tried to ride it for a bit. He was quite good at first actually!

The situation looked so surreal, that Bam had to pinch himself. Perhaps, this was the way his most precious erotic dream could start: with the Him, the Ville Valo, asking him for a skateboard to ride and erotically riding the fuck off into the sunset. This would most probably bring Bam to the state of nocturnal emission.

The real Ville failed with the “erotically riding the fuck off into the sunset” part, though. Just when he gathered a decent speed, a metal railing blocked his way. Giggling and swearing, he grabbed the railing with his hands, the skateboard slipped out from under his feet and flew somewhere down the stairs. Following the momentum, Ville elegantly somersaulted over the railing and hit his back hard on the ground. He tried to get up, but bend over with laughter, enraptured by his phenomenal dexterity.

Bam almost shit his pants, but Ville’s cheerful laugh calmed him down a little, so he started laughing as well. In the end, it really looked hilariously funny. Mige, Linde, Gas, Zoltan and Seppo, came out of the door just in time to catch the scene in its culmination.

Seppo cursed loudly. Mige ran up to Ville at the same time with Bam.

“Fuck, are you alive, idiot?”

“Alive,” Ville responded suffocating with laughter. He grabbed the railing with his one hand and habitually stretched out his other hand to Mige, so he could help him to stand up, ignoring Bam’s presence completely. To cover his disappointment Bam ran down the stairs to pick up the goddamn skateboard.

“You better… stick to singing, bro,” Mige said to Ville.

“Or stick to drinking,” Linde and Gas came up to them as well.

“Naaaaah…” Ville said. “You don’t understand. I almost realized I was into sports here.”

“But your promising, turbulent career was treacherously stopped by a metal railing, that cut short your flight up the league,” Mige suggested, while Ville was trying to brush himself up. “That always happens to the most gifted of sportsmen.”

“Seppo said that if you rascal have survived, he will kill you,” Linde added.

Seppo was very busy discussing something with the promoter, and that must have saved them all. They decided to go somewhere for a drink and almost forgot about Bam, who caught up with them on the corner of the street as if nothing had happened.

“Sorry,” Ville hugged him by the way, and for that, Bam could forgive and understand a lot more than a thrown away skateboard. “Will you join us?”

“Ville, did you ever get a ‘No’ for an answer?”

“A couple of times, maybe even three times…” Ville answered him in a dead-serious tone. “But the details of those denials are far too intimate for me to discuss here. And you won’t upset me, will you?”

Brandon giggled silly, glad it was dark outside so no one could notice his face turn red. The thoughts about Ville’s intimate denials began to stir curiously in his head, so he hastened the answer:

“I won’t.”

Then Mige joined their conversation and they started discussing the other bands participating in the festival. And after that they got wasted.


That, and maybe a couple more hours in the bar were the last things Brandon could recall from yesterday’s evening. He also remembered that when the other guys went to bed, he and Ville decided to continue the evening in some other place. And after that – he could remember nothing. The most interesting part of the evening was buried in the Mariana Trench-sized Lapse of his memory.

Where is Ville? Where did they go yesterday? How did they split up? What the hell they were doing last night? Bam gulped down the rest of the water and put the empty bottle on the bedside table. To his surprise, he found there a whole lot of new objects he wasn’t aware of before.

“What’s this?” He wondered, looking at someone’s pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a beer mat from a pub. Well, the cigarettes and the lighter most likely belonged to Ville. The beer mat was folded in two, had teeth marks on one side and was all crumpled and beer-stained. Nah, he couldn’t remember this pub. Why the heck did he take this thing with him at all?


Bam took the little cardboard in his hands and his heart missed a beat. He saw there a line of strange numbers written with a dark marker, in a handwriting that he recognized at once. Brandon was sitting there looking at the line of numbers and only at the third minute of thinking it got to him that this must be the telephone number of Ville’s hotel and the number of his room. He quickly dialed the number, worried that he slept for too long and the guys had left the hotel already. Damn, please, please, please… Be there…

“Hey?” He whispered into the receiver tenderly, suddenly losing his voice.

“Good morning, thank you for calling to Human sacrifice incorporation, Satan is speaking, how can I help you?”

“This is Willah?”

“This is Migah,” Mige teased him. “Willah, someone wants you here,” with these words he must have passed the phone to the other guy. Bam didn’t do it on purpose, but sometimes he was so overwhelmed with emotions that the neat Scandinavian V-i-l-l-e just didn’t happen, so he pronounced it the best way he could. Well, at least Ville understood who was calling by Mige’s joke, so he was in a good mood when he picked up the phone.

“Hey, Bammy, how are you? Are you alive… dear?” Ville giggled.

“Oh, man!” There was so much pain in the exclamation that Ville couldn’t help but laugh boisterously. “Tell me, what happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday was Friday,” Ville said. “Where’s my lighter?” He asked with a slight lisping because of a cigarette that was already in his mouth. Ville was probably talking to himself, but Bam was the one to answer his question:

“The grey one?”


“Well… I have it here, apparently,” he said. “And your cigarettes as well. But I have no idea why I have it.”

“We’ll leave it to your conscience,” Ville giggled and said something in Finnish. He was probably asking Mige for a lighter. Then he said thank you in Finnish. Then he lit up and inhaled the first whiff of his cigarette with delight. “I got you drunk. Heh-heh-heh-heh.”

“I hope you didn’t take advantage of my virginity?” Bam decided it was his turn to flirt a bit.

“We’ll leave it to my conscience,” Ville snapped.

“Let’s go for a ride,” Bam said.


“I’ll be riding today with some guys, wanna watch? You seemed to like it.”

“Mmm,” Ville went into thinking exhaling the smoke loudly. “Ehhh…”

Bam had no idea why he suddenly decided to call Ville with him to the skater’s competition. He didn’t even know whether Ville wants to meet him ever again. Well of course, yesterday at a pub, everything was great, but who knows, maybe after sobering up Ville forgot that he wanted to pursue a career in skating sport.

“We have a promo at 2 o’clock,” Ville said.

Somewhere in the background, Mige was mumbling something loudly in an alien language.

“He says that if it wasn’t for me and my imbecile friends, who call at the crack of a dawn, we could have slept like babies for at least two more hours,” Ville translated kindly to Bam.

“I’m sorry,” Bam said in a whisper, because he lost his voice out of emotions. “I was afraid I was too late… What if you have left and me… And you…” he couldn’t speak because of a lump in his throat. He felt he could burst into tears right now because of this fear and his own silliness, for showing his emotions so quickly and obviously. The pause dragged and he almost decided to hang up and go cry somewhere in the corner like his girlfriend Missy on PMS.

“I was waiting for your call,” Ville whispered.

Brandon fell in love before in his life. He thought he did. But never before had he felt his soul ascending from the deepest depths of burning hell to the seventh heaven in just six words. He fell back on the bed, grabbing his burning face with his hand, fucking hell, he couldn’t find any fucking words…

“Heh-heh-heh,” Ville’s cheerful voice cut off his premature orgasm. “Mige just said I’m a homo.”

Bam fell flat on his back speechless.

“Ha-ha,” he said sadly.

“Nah,” Ville said. “How do you imagine me walking there with you among those skaters with my fucking make-up on and shit? I don’t really feel like explaining everyone I’m a fucking rock star from the homeland of Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer.”

“So… don’t put on your fucking make-up maybe?” Bam suggested reasonably, and then added all of a sudden. “You are beautiful anyway.”

“Ah, you just didn’t see,” Ville brushed him away. “And… there’s another thing… We’re leaving tonight,” Ville said suddenly turning serious. “The train to Nottingham is at 9:45 pm.”

“Do you have a gig there tomorrow?” Bam asked him mournfully, falling from Heaven back to Hell again.


“At what time?”

“In the evening, in a club, if there will be at least fifty idiots who would come there to see us… heh-heh-heh.”

“Then why are you going there tonight?” Bam asked in a dull voice.

“Why don’t you raise that question to Seppo?” Ville asked him in his turn.

“It’s like a two-hour ride from here…”

“Two and a half hour,” Ville corrected him.

“Then why are you taking an overnight train?” – Bam didn’t give up.

“Management moves in mysterious ways,” Ville said.

“And what are you gonna do there the whole time before the gig?”

“Huh…” Ville lit up a second cigarette it seems, probably to help himself to find the words. “Damn…”

“Damn what?” Bam dared to mock him.

“Man,” Ville exhaled in despair. “You are putting a finger into the sore.”

“Ha. Okay. I got you. Look… and what if… like… you know… for example… What if you could stay in London for one more night?” Bam had no idea where this impudence came from, he just wondered whether there was a place in his body where it all has been stored before.

“I can’t. We have to check out of the hotel today,” Ville said. “And Seppo will tear me apart for the train ticket.”

“I’ll buy you a ticket tomorrow morning,” Bam said. Then he thought a little and added: “I will accompany you to Nottingham tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have a flight to catch tomorrow?”

“I’ll get back in time.”


Bam pressed on, not to let Ville decline his offer out of politeness:

“You can sleep in my room… I have a big room… a good one…”

“A good one, indeed. I was there,” Ville said pensively. “I carried you there yesterday after you passed out…”

At this moment, Brandon began to understand the magic behind his unexpected and totally inexplicable morning ecstasy.

“Did I remember the address?” He asked softly and carefully in a gentle and tender voice.

“No,” Ville answered him just as gently and tenderly. “You were telling me a different hotel name and address each time. Three times, to put it more precisely.”

“Fuck…” Bam covered his face with his hand yet again. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind, shit happens,” Ville said and giggled to himself. “After that I decided not to trust your words anymore, searched your pockets and found a card of your hotel…”

“Oh God, dude, I owe you big time…” breathed Brandon.

“I’ll remind you of this at the suitable moment…” Ville giggled.

“This won’t repeat today, I promise,” Bam said in a plaintive voice.

Ville kept quiet.

“Well, anyway, if anything happens, you’ll have to carry me to our room,” Brandon didn’t know what got into him, he really must have been still drunk from yesterday. He didn’t have a slightest idea what exactly he wanted to achieve by inviting Ville to his room. He wasn’t even sure whether he wanted to achieve anything in particular at all. He just wanted Ville to say yes to him, to agree to pass his time with him. The very thought that he might spend the next night with Ville was driving him crazy. He didn’t even put anything sexual in the idea. Just hang out together, drink and talk to each other. It seems he was ready to cum just thinking about it, - “Oh come on, Wille, agree! Pretty please-please? Like really, what the hell you gonna do in Nottingham at 2 am? Sleep? Take a fucking bath and curl your hair before the gig?”

“Curl my hair? Bam you’re even more perverted than I am…”

“There’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me. I’m wanted in five States,” Bam said threateningly and then laughed. “So what, are you coming?!”

“I have to ask Mige,” Ville said very seriously, even sad somehow. “If he can sleep at night without me… alone… in the bed… Mige, my dear, tell me… Can you get through the night without nightmares if I won’t be there to hold you in your sleep… Heh-heh-heh-heh…”

Mige’s incomprehensible, but expressive tirade thundered in the background followed by Ville’s Homeric laughter.

“What did he say?” Bam Inquired patiently.

“He said I could go wherever the hellishly fuck I want, as long as that means that he’ll be able to sleep at least one night by himself,” Ville chuckled. “You know, we’ve been sharing a room for such a long time now… Sometimes I feel like he is planning some kind of bodily assault against me. You know, to sneak on me at night while I’m sleeping and cut my throat or something… I’m afraid to close my eyes.”

There was some unknown sound again, followed by Ville’s laugh.

“He said my suspicions are well-grounded as he has a knife under his pillow.”

Bam was lost for words. In fact, somewhere deep inside his heart… he wasn’t so happy about Ville and Mige being so close. Judging by their jokes, they were really good friends… Truly close ones. On the other hand, Ville’s frankness with Mige was tempting. So he is asking his best friend for permission to be friends with Bam, and that friend has nothing against it. This made everything that much easier for him.

“Of course, at first, everything was fine, we liked it that way, didn’t we, Mige? We were as a single whole, as a unit at those moments, do you remember, my friend? You and I… through those dark and scary nights… alone in the room… together against the whole cruel world outside… Mige, why are you telling me “Die, you prick!” I may be not so fond of some of your habits as well… No, you fucking stay where you are… no, you said you wanted to sleep so lie back and fucking sleep. I’m not disturbing you. So now you don’t want to sleep? Fuck me, you say? You know what? Fuck you! And no, I’m the first one going to the bathroom, I don’t give a shit… Oh, and yeah… You snore!.. What did you say?! What?!”

The conversation switched to Finnish it seems, so Bam, unfortunately, couldn’t understand the rest of the claims of each side, but he appreciated the show that Ville put up for him. He was trying to make him jealous… Mmm… How sweet. Brandon was lying on his back looking at the ceiling.

Tonight he will sleep in his bed. It doesn’t even matter if anything happens between them or not. He will sleep in his bed tonight whether he wants it or not.

“What time should I pick you up from your promo, Willah?”

“At 5,” ‘Willah’ said quickly.


They had spent the night together.

Exactly in that sense.

They got to know each other in the biblical sense, as Ville said. Bam didn’t really expect everything to work out so easily and naturally, so he wasn't even that embarrassed.

As a result, they both have slept no more than two hours that night. Thank God, they managed to catch the morning train to Nottingham. Ville decided to freshen the nip right away, instead of taking his usual morning coffee, and after that, they’ve been drinking on the train as well, so they arrived in the city fairly drunk. Clinging to each other, they reeled their way along the platform to the main building of the station.

Bam felt desperate, as he suddenly realized that the best day of his life is going to come to its end right now, so he spent the whole way down the platform in tragic silence. Ville didn’t make any attempts to start the conversation either, and Bam couldn’t read or understand his emotions at all.

“Well...,” they stopped at the stairs leading to the exit.


“I guess we’re supposed to bid farewell... You'll miss your train back...” Ville said.

“The goddamn train...”


He had to figure out something quickly to not let the special thing that happened between them yesterday fade away in the alcoholic haze, to make it exist today. Bam had no idea, when he has managed to become such an insidious seducer.

“I need to take a piss, let’s go find a loo...”

“Ok, let’s go.”

However, instead of quietly doing his regular routine at the urinals, Brandon rapidly pushed his mate into the depths of a cubicle, latching the door behind them with a half-broken, suspiciously-looking doorknob from the Era of Richard the Lionheart’s shithouses. What were they doing in a public toilet in the glorious city of Nottingham at noon? They were kissing tenderly. Brandon didn’t know what got into him, maybe he hasn’t sobered up yet from the past two days, but he had no idea what was happening to him.

He was pressing Ville’s body against the wall, so they were both standing there like two idiots, spreading their legs over the bowl. Actually, he was the only one who stood like an idiot, because Ville’s long legs clearly allowed him to do so without any discomfort, giving him all the necessary support. Bam felt like he was whacked out just for being able to feel his body next to him, to feel his smell, to feel him with every muscle of his own body, and to fuse with him in one special place...

Where?! In their fucking lips! They were kissing. Kissing and kissing. Slowly, gently, on the lips, holding each other tenderly by the neck. Bam run his finger through the guy’s hair, forcibly, but gently pulling out his jaw, thrusting his tongue inside… oh no, please… please don’t moan… fuck... Holy shit, his moans were maddening... So honest and deep... Ooooooh no...

Bam was afraid of himself at that moment. He grabbed Ville by his hair, pulling his head back and covered his mouth with his hand. Ville sucked his middle finger into his mouth with pleasure. Bam was drunk with lust, the only thing he could see now were Ville's swamp-green eyes with widely dilated pupils, looking at him as if he was the almighty God, the one who could give them everything. He didn’t even feel what his friend’s tongue and lips were doing to his finger, but he was sure to jerk off on it a couple of times sometime later.

Ville's legs were spread in different directions, and he hung, clasping his long arms on Bam’s waist. He groaned into his hand and Brandon realized that he is going to die right there right now.

“Ah... You're driving me crazy,” he croaked, understanding Ville’s body language, picking him up under his waist with his both hands and returning him to the upright position.

“I love you,” Ville moaned, grabbing his mouth again with his lips.

Bam simply had no reason not to believe it, or to doubt it. There was another question: from now on, his life was divided into parts: Before and After. Before this "I love you", and then after. He couldn’t have an impact on HIS life before, but now he was responsible for it. Bam didn't know how the hell did he find the strength to put his knee under the slipping down his lover`s body which was embraced by a love fever.

“What the fuck, why aren’t we in some fucking bed somewhere,” he hissed through his clenched teeth.

“Mmmm,” the bastard slid even lower somehow, kneeling on the floor, hugging his waist and burrowing his face somewhere in his thigh. Bam grabbed him under the armpits, and brought him into the previous position with an effort. It wasn’t because he was that heavy, but the whole construction was rather cumbersome by its nature and also was drunk as shit at the moment. Bam covered Ville’s mouth with his lips, feeling how HE immediately began to respond to his kiss as if one touch could bring him back to life.

“You will come to visit me, right?” Bam whispered, breaking away from the kiss.

Ville strained his face, his eyes, his lips, even his nostrils with an obvious effort to make a grave countenance. Obviously, he had to sleep at least a few hours before the work, but it was also obvious to Bam that if he had such opportunity he wouldn’t have been snuggling him right now in a smelly toilet of Nottingham station.

“Huh?” Ville asked.

“I'll do anything for you,” Bam exhaled. “Tell me what you want?”

"I want to sleep," Ville said with a painful honesty in his voice.

“I might be not the most experienced lover on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, definitely,” Bam said through his clenched teeth. “But I’m getting such a response for the first time...”

“With you.”



“It’s only noon and we are already shit faced,” Bam kissed Ville on the lips again, then again, then faster and faster until it caused them both burst out laughing. “You have to work today, are you ok? I hope they won’t kick you out,” Brandon said caringly.

And then he dropped Ville on the floor. It was Ville’s fault, because he just couldn’t hold him up after the following phrase:

“And where the hell would they find another faggot, who could work for lesser money than me?”

“Shi-i-it,” Bam bowed down laughing hellishly. He stepped back, giggling and wiping tears from his face... “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“Lift me up, arsehole,” his new friend asked him naughtily. Bam was trying not to pay attention to the fact that Ville was actually making attempts to get up by himself, but the cramped cubicle, where they both couldn’t really fit, and his long legs, and the fact that they were here together didn’t really help. He just couldn't look at it, he was crying with laughter.

“You. Don`t fucking move, relax...” Bam advised in a businesslike manner. Ville obediently went limp in his arms.

At this very moment, Bam discovered a very unpleasant thing. The unpleasant thing was the understanding that he is not physically able to lift up the construction with the proud name of Ville Hermanni Valo.

“Oops,” he said suffocating. “No, I was wrong, do something,” Heck, he might’ve coped with the situation better, if it wasn’t for the damn laughter smothering him because of whole state of affairs in general. “Shit, I dropped Ville Valo, hahaha, how epic… I dropped... The Ville Valo... In the fucking toilet...”

Ville wearily rested his head against the wall of the toilet cubicle.

“It was only worse in the Netherlands,” he croaked from the floor melancholically. “To cut off your legs or to take a crap with the door open...”

Bam howled like a wolf and bowed down:

“Oh sna-a-ap!...”

“Open the door,” Ville said.


“I’ll try to pull myself out...”

“Oh God, Ville...”


And as ill luck would have it, the door was jammed. Well of course, maybe their brains were jammed, and not the door, but no matter how hard they tried they couldn’t open neither one by one nor by uniting their efforts.

“You, old fucking cunt, do you have some vaginism or something?” Ville asked the doorknob tenderly, trying to twist it and to open the door at the same time... Bam howled with laughter again. Of course, this didn’t make him more useful to the society, but he couldn't even physically breathe.

“It got oooooverstimulated, hah-hah-hah,” Bam couldn’t take it any longer, so he slid down to the floor, landing on Ville’s legs. He bowed down and buried his head into Ville’s chest. He was shaking with laughter, because of all the mixed up emotions of this moment, because of the euphoria of their intimacy, warmth, and trust.

“You will be laughing right now, but I kinda got a crush on you truly - madly - deeply,” Brandon said eagerly inhaling the smell of Ville’s jacket and shirt.

“Rrrromantic,” Ville said in his signature accent, philosophically throwing back his head and staring at the ceiling.

The door to the toilet slammed open.

Bam sat up in fright like a gopher, as if anyone could really catch or see them.

“Sir!” Ville snarled in a loud bass from under him. “HEY! SIR!”

“I’m sorry... Are you… talking to me?” They heard an uncertain voice from behind the door.

“Please excuse me, sir,” Bam found something endearing about the polite and beautiful English of his friend and sat down with his butt on his groin. “I feel terribly sorry for bothering you with my problem...” Bam shook his head admiringly and showed Ville his thumb up. “But it seems to me that the door knob is jammed from this side... I’ll turn the lock and could you please be so kind to help me and just try to turn the knob from your side?”

“Of course, no problem, sir,” a male voice said from the other side of the door.

“I’m turning the handle, sir,” Ville said in a very polite tone, then he bared his teeth at Bam and encouraged him to do it with gestures. “And could you, please, try to twist it?”

Bam flashed his eyebrows, lifted his butt, unzipped and lowered his pants, and sat back on Ville’s hips. Ville’s face and gestures expressed the deepest approval of his manoeuvre.

The gentleman on the other side of the door was already eagerly plucking at the handle.

Bam pulled the lock and... The door opened mysteriously. Of course, the knob was jammed exactly from their side.

“Thank you, sir!” Ville said in a deep respectable voice, and Bam smiled innocently at the unknown gentleman, who was looking bewildered at his bare ass lying on top of Ville’s crotch.

Well... In fact.

In fact, they didn’t really make out the particular nuances of what he yelled, running out of the toilet, besides the obvious fact that he saw. But there was no point in taking offence, therefore they both burst out laughing at their release and at the terror they caused to a respectable innocent citizen of the capital of Great Britain, by their show.

“Let me out of here,” Ville said. Bam stood up and buttoned his pants, cheerfully giggling at Ville who was trying to crawl out of the cubicle on his all fours.

“Bro, you are the real punk,” he chuckled, staring at Ville’s exposed moving butt.

“Absofukinlutely,” Ville said. He dragged himself to the sinks and with an effort of will put himself to a vertical position. At the second try. He slipped and almost fell on the first try, but Bam was so busy buttoning his pants (and this was another problem) that he hardly would have had time to catch the slowly and elegantly falling giraffe. However, Ville managed to regroup himself in the air and eventually landed on his ass melancholically.

At this moment, Bam realized that they might have had a few. Thank God, his pants have just succumbed. Bam came out of the cubicle, swaying a little, but on his own feet, and reached out his hand to Ville. Oddly enough, it was easier to do this manoeuvre in open space. Ville turned on the tap with cold water in full capacity, lying with his belly on the sink. Bam could do nothing but catch him by his waist and press his groin into his bulged butt.

“Are you alive?” his face was extremely sympathetic. Water was gushing out, his cock was nestled into Ville’s butt, and Ville lay thoughtfully on the sink, watching the fucking running water and doing nothing. In a public toilet of Nottingham city station.

“I'm fine. Don't worry,” Ville said without raising his eyes even in the mirror, he just set his ass on his dick more comfortably. “I’ll drink coffee and be ok.”

Bam understood that he could criticize Ville’s position as long as he wanted, but he was unable to take off his own hands from his waist and, for example, stop trying to dry hump him. That is why, he suggested sympathetically:

“Maybe you should wash your face at least...”

“Mmm... yes,” Ville said and reached out his tongue to the jet of water.

“No fucking way, don’t try to blow the tap, who the fuck knows what kind of dicks were washed here!” Bam warned him. “You’re such a... All right, you bastard, you win, I nearly jizzed my pants right now...”

“Oh yeah... I can feel your boneeer,” Ville said happily. He finally coped with the stream without touching the tap and drank some water. “I feel it, ha-ha.”

“And what did you expect to find there, I wonder” Bam was surprised. “Pussy with a propeller?”


Ville leaned on his elbow and drew back. Bam had to clutch the both sides of the sink, on which his idol was lying, so to speak. He didn't want to miss a second of their interaction, he would never forgive himself.

The door opened, Ville and Bam simultaneously signaled the person at the door to fuck off with a universally known hand gesture of raising a third finger. Taking into account that one of them lay on the sink face down under the water stream, and the second one was rubbing his crotch against his ass, the passer-by hurried to get away from there as fast as possible. Bam thought for a few minutes and decided to help Ville… No, he would not dare to do so in regular circumstances, because he could get it wrong and punch him in the face, but because Ville was trying to go to sleep, sweetly sniffing right into the sanitary porcelain-faience, placing his folded hand under his cheek (lack of sleep with excess amount of alcohol obviously had its consequences)... Bam dared to wash his face. Ville didn’t understand a shit, he just quietly allowed him to wash his face. He even meowed something expressing his encouragement. Bam nearly came into his pants again, nestling in bubbled butt of his friend, when Ville tried to kiss his palm.

“Let me bring you some coffee,” he suggested.


“But don’t go... I mean, don’t creep away anywhere... Without me...”

“Hah-hah-hah, shhhhh,” Ville imitated a snake.

“Hold on. I'll be back in a flash! White coffee?”

“Fuck milk.”

“As you wish.”

Bam ran to the nearest vending machine... It seemed like it took a terribly long time for him to go there, find the money, and prepare a drink, but actually it took no more than five minutes. When he came back, Ville was smoking a cigarette, sitting on the countertop between the sinks.

“So what, Houston, do we have a problem?” Bam asked, coming in with a steaming paper cup of espresso.

“No... I guess… I think I feel better now...” Ville said in an almost sane voice.

Actually, he looked pretty alright by now. Well, except for the water that was dripping from his hair onto the collar of his shirt, and the overall bluish-white shade of his face. He thanked Bam and made a big gulp of the hot drink. He closed his eyes, drew down, blew the smoke of a cigarette and took a sip again.

Bam stood next to him, leaning on his hip, and looking at the wall with a philosophical sadness. He wasn’t that worried about his friend even, but he suddenly began to fear that the most beautiful moments of love that he experienced in his life were due to alcohol and a moment of insanity, and that tomorrow HE won’t remember him. The tears came into his eyes against his will. No, of course, he didn’t burst into tears there or anything, but he did sob a time or two rubbing his eyes as if of exhaustion. He wanted to die here and now to make tomorrow never come. He held on to Ville’s hip, inhaled his scent, hoping to keep this feeling in his memory as long as he could...

They must have looked funny from a side. Ville, as a shit faced rock star, with dark shadows under his eyes, unhealthy pale, with sunken cheeks and with gnarled body, greedily smoking a cigarette and sipping a cheap disgusting black coffee, without any confusion about the fact that he does it in the toilet, and Brandon, who was so soft, round-faced, gentle and madly in love, clinging hips and sinking his teeth into the shoulder of Ville’s leather jacket.

Bam stared at the wall, not really seeing anything, clenching his teeth on Ville’s shoulder. He remembered himself a week… or two weeks ago… when he was crazy in love, jerking off happily on his fantasies in his cosy bed in Philadelphia... He used to be free and happy, just an average lad, a bit fucked in the head of course, but as Irvine Welsh said in "Trainspotting", there are no more normal people left in this world, after the invention of microwaves... But he used to be himself.

The worst thing that had happened to him was that... His dream... Came true. It doesn’t happen like that. It shouldn’t happen like that. They immediately became friends, and got really close right away, it was impossible to describe how eagerly they had been talking all this time, as if there was no one else in the world besides them. It was like a drug, Bam thought that trying to live without it would be like trying to live without air. The pure horror. They understood each other perfectly at a glance, they could talk about the most intimate and obscene topics that were too perverted to be mentioned in a polite society. They didn’t feel any kind of awkwardness with each other. They were so close, as if they were a single whole. He was like his brother. Fuck Jess, he was even closer than his brother was to him, he'd never feel this way for his brother! And what if it all would disappear from his life now and forever... Without even noticing, he began to sob uncontrollably, heavy tears rolling from his eyes, while he nibbled on Ville’s leather jacket. And he didn’t feel ashamed. Holy shit!

"Hey," a hoarse dry voice sounded in his ears. Ville took him by his neck, lifted up his face and looked into his eyes. "What is it?" What’s wrong... Baby... Mmm?”

Brandon couldn't answer, he tried not to whine. Ville responded in a picturesque way. He licked off the both tracks of his tears from his cheeks thoughtfully and spoke in a very pompous manner, apparently quoting something from his own priceless lyrical and poetical heritage:

“I’m drunk on your tears, baby...” he grinned.

Well, he got into the mood...

“Go fucking work,” Bam drew back standoffishly. The tears in his eyes dried, leaving only a bitter feeling of disappointment about how stupid he was to trust him so quickly.

“By the way, you’re right,” Ville said, jumping off the sink. 'Work sets you free!' as it was written on the gates of Auschwitz...” he looked better already, but he didn’t notice Bam’s offence at all. “It sets you free from everything. And I mean it. It sets you free from your life. From any kind of personal life… From literally everything... Well, let's get going?”

"Let’s go," Bam said and loudly blew his nose into the sink, purposely making it look like he didn’t give a shit.

When they left the toilet, Brandon escorted Ville to the stairs leading to the exit from the station.

“Well, everything was awesome,” he said, standing stock-still, hugging his skateboard like it was his last protection. “It’s time to say goodbye, dude,” Ville stopped as well and turned to Brandon. “I still need to make the train,” Bam smiled dramatically and put his fist to Ville’s chest imitating cool rapper’s manner.

Ville caught Bam's hand on his chest. Bam tried to pull his fist out, but Ville was stronger, so Bam allowed him to unclench his hand and snuggle his palm to his chest. Bam looked at Ville furiously, fuck, you won’t fool me that easily! Actually, he would like to look fiercely into his eyes, but... Ville didn't look in his eyes. He didn’t lift his eyes to look at him at all. He snuggled his open palm to his chest, forcing him to feel the beating of his heart. He was deadly serious, and all their interactions seemed somehow unclear, as if Bam was trying to sneak into the pocket of his jacket, and Ville caught him by his hand, or suddenly felt sick. Nobody was paying attention to them. Nobody gave a shit about the fact that the heart of the creature, which made Bam’s heart stop was beating fast right under his palm.

Ville bowed his head lower and touched the tip of Bam’s fingers with his lips. Bam jerked his hand back as if scorched by fire. Funny, but it pissed Ville off instantly, and without saying a word, he turned around and walked away down the stairs. Bam folded his arms, thoughtfully gazing after this vulgar gait of a rock star:

“Hey, you!” He shouted to his back arrogantly.

“We’ll see who gives up first,” Villes napped over his shoulder, forcing Bam to laugh loudly and hysterically for some inexplicable reason. He put his hands to his mouth to depict a megaphone, and said expressly:


Ville gave him a finger and left the building without turning around.

Brandon grinned and went to find a flip board to check what time is his train to London, Heathrow. When he took his seat, he realized that the seat next to him is unoccupied, so he put his unsophisticated luggage and a backpack on the seat beside him. In addition, he found a little bottle of whiskey from the mini-bar in his backpack. Damn, he needed it like no one else.

He downed the strong drink with some effort and generously diluted it with coke. He leaned back, sticking the headphones into his ears… Listening to HIS voice... And feeling... Feeling himself... A man. As soon as they bowed out and Bam jumped out of THEIR world into the reality, he suddenly felt that he had matured in the past two fucking days. It had nothing in common with losing virginity, which was embarrassing and strange, bashful and quick, just to get rid of the humiliating cliché, as it had been with his girlfriend. At that time, he was just happy that it had happened and that everything wasn’t that bad somehow.

And now he looked at the passengers seating around, he looked at the check-taker girls, passing him hither and yon, and he felt himself superior to all of them. He wasn't himself from now on. It had happened in his life. It had happened. He was no longer the same guy who came to London a couple of days ago. That boy didn’t exist anymore. The thing that was filling him from the inside after he had experienced those moments was much bigger than him... It suddenly made him feel proud of himself and even to feel superiority over the miserable passengers around him. It got into his life... He no longer thought about himself and his own needs, he suddenly began to think in "we" pronouns... Fuck! He barely passed fourth station and already thought, how HE would spend this evening, and that he would immediately call him as soon as he gets home, and that they need to meet in the nearest future, and he would do it no matter what. Because the feeling of another person had entered his blood, became a part of him, though, he didn't even know how to understand or describe it. During these two days, Bam had matured by ten years. It had happened in his life. Love had happened to him. Real love and the strangest thing about it was the fact that... It was mutual. Bam nearly jumped on the seat to hug and kiss the passing by check-taker girl, but she didn't want his affection, she needed his ticket, so he just took out the headphones, gave her the ticket and put his headphones back into his ears. He leaned back, said to himself "Willah!” turned up the volume, and then fell asleep right in the chair, proud as ever.

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