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Thom/Beck	By : VinylTap Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Radiohead Views: 2950 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Beck or any of the members of Radiohead. This story is a work of fiction, and I make no money or profit from it.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Somewhere in Dorset, England, seventeen-year-old Chris Martin had cursed the fate that landed his term exams exactly in the midst of the tour Radiohead was playing in. Was there no justice in the world? He sighed into his history text, where he’d marked passages brightly with post-it notes and fluorescent highlighter, and pursed his lips together tight, being a man about it.
***
In the dark room, Jonny’s eyes went big when he heard the door open. His fingers gripped slowly at the sheets, gradually bunching, he listened without making a sound. He couldn’t see with his back to the door, but it had to be Thom; with the lights off, he couldn’t tell what time it was, either.
He didn’t know how long he’d been up waiting, but there danced inside him a curious thrill of excitement now that Thom had finally come, even though it would only mean he’d go to bed and they’d all just sleep till morning.
Cozzie always had all these cool friends Jonny couldn’t hang out with. When you were a kid, even two years of age difference were a lot, you didn’t hang out with your brother at school— and even if your brother’s friends were nice to you, he’d kick you out of his room if you stayed there too long.
It was no fun, staying in your own room while you could vaguely hear everyone else from one wall away, because even if they were just mucking about being idiots, it still felt like you were somehow missing out.
Jonny felt elated when one time Thom had come over before Coz got home from school, and Jonny got to hang out with him then; but they sat in uncomfortable silence, unsure what to say and painfully aware of the age gap between them. Jonny was socially awkward. He was frightfully self-conscious and shy, and felt disappointed and angry with himself when Colin got home, and Thom had gone off with him almost in relief. They shut the door to Colin’s room after that, and then only vague voices were heard.
He’d not said so aloud, but getting to play in his brother’s band was one of the most brilliant things that had happened to him. He never thought the day would come that Colin’s cool mates would take him seriously, and that he’d get to be friends with Thom. Were they really friends? Was he really friends with everyone, or was he still just Col’s little brother?
He told himself they were his friends now. Because they spent all this time alone together, whole days feeling exhausted and disoriented and out of sorts, while on tour or recording or trying to meet deadlines or being sent off to do interviews in Japan. Thom had told Jonny he was weird, and Jonny got defensive about it. Weird how, he’d asked, but Thom had laughed it off. He’d probably forgotten altogether that he’d said it at all, but Jonny hadn’t. He’d wondered if that’s what everyone thought, and what it was that he did that had made him stand out.
Thom really hadn’t thought much of it; he liked Jonny fine, and became particularly interested when Colin’s brother turned out to have genuine passion for instruments. He really was weird. Jonny tinkered with all kinds of instruments, he was introverted and strange, and talked about wanting to find certain sounds in a way that made you wonder if he hadn’t just said so to avoid having to hold an awkward conversation with you.
But that was Jonny, and that was all right. He was ace at guitar, and he and Thom worked together well. Thom wouldn’t have minded if Jonny had spoken to him when he’d finally come into the trailer, but Jonny wouldn’t dare. He watched as Thom got ready for bed, appearing tired but in quite good spirits, and wondered if he’d been snogging the third act that entire time; he knew this feeling all too well, that of being left out.
But I’m important, he told himself, I’m lead guitar.
In his mind he carefully planned what he was going to say to Thom the next day. He had to get him to talk about what he’d got up to without sounding too interested. And why. He had to get Thom to talk about why he’d got up to what he’d got up to, so that Jonny could understand what he’d been doing wrong.
It occurred to Jonny he’d been wondering what the third act had been like. Colin said the bloke was American, was that it? Did he put on a really good show? Was he fit, Jonny tried to remember— did he and Thom just go off and get pissed together?
Jonny didn’t do that sort of thing. He didn’t drink. He made a point of it, almost too obnoxiously, of how he didn’t drink. Was that it? Was he just no fun, so Thom went off and got pissed with some American instead? No, because if Thom was gonna go do that, he’d drink with the rest of the band.
He flushed when Thom caught him with his eyes open, not asleep as he’d pretended to be, and only quietly murmured, “Ah—”
Thom hadn’t thought much of that, either. He merrily pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on a chair nearby, grinning at Jonny. You can just ask where he’d been. Really casual like.
No, he’d know you know something. Then he’d think you’re weird for asking.
Bollocks, was Thom’s hair wet?
“All right, Jon-Jon?”
Thom whispered as he walked past his bed, lightly mussing Jonny’s hair. He was in a good mood.
No matter how discontent Jonny felt before then, he couldn’t help but smile. Thom had a childlike innocence that made you like him even if he’d got irrational or moody, Jonny found himself fighting back fatigue because he wanted to stay up with Thom.
His eyes followed Thom around as he moved through the room, changing for bed. Not saying anything was so much more comfortable than saying stuff, or preparing to say stuff; but he had to say something.
“Thom,” he asked, voice low and quiet but still somehow too loud for so serene a moment, and Thom stopped partway through changing, shirt still off. He gazed up, blinking back as the call registered, “Yes?”
Jonny hadn’t said anything more, because he’d not planned this far ahead. His voice went very quiet when he asked, “Is it true you’ve snogged the third act?”
Thom regarded him for several moments, expression unreadable—like he was registering this bit, too.
“Yes,” he finally said, he may well have been asked if he’d remembered to put away the dishes or lock the front door.
Jonny’s lips went open partway, as though he were prepared to speak before he’d really thought what about; his eyes glittered in the low light washing in through the window.
“Reckon you’ll snog him again?” he asked.
Thom stopped partway into his pajama bottoms, considering.
“Don’t know.”
It wasn’t a bad answer; Jonny wasn’t sure how he felt about it either way. He was relatively certain he wasn’t going to say more, and it would have been fine if then Colin hadn’t spoken up.
“Thomas, you slag, have you got any idea what time it is?”
The reason that made things worse was that Thom seemed to come completely to life after that. His entire expression brightened, Jonny could see it even in the near-dark. Thom tossed his trousers at Colin, telling him to fuck off with a familiar sort of enjoyment that meant unmistakably that here Jonny was on the outside of something again.
It didn’t matter what they talked about after that. Whoever Thom had snogged became a trivial matter, whether he’d really snogged a lot of people or not— the fact remained that he’d never stayed up laughing like that with Jonny.
(On to chapter 7)
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Thom/Beck