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Zack Erra is Waterpark’s most well-loved photographer. Not only by fans and venue staff, but the band themselves. Otto, Geoff and Awsten love this man like he’s family. But to Awsten…Well. To Awsten, Zack is the sweetest man to ever live; he is caring, considerate, and even once helped a fan who passed out in the pit by letting her lean against him and giving her his water bottle. There was nothing he wanted to gain out of that, other than helping a fan who was unconscious at the concert. Sure, he was flirted with by her friends, one of them handing him a paper with her number on it, but he promptly threw it away after the show.
Anyway, that’s not the point. Awsten has mega gay feelings for Zack, if that isn’t obvious enough, even though he can’t help but feel ashamed by his feelings.
Ever since he was a toddler, it was instilled in him that homosexuality was a sin. Something to turn away from and pray to God for it to go away, but it never does. He spent 30-odd years praying for these feelings to go away. If there’s a God up there, then He should be ashamed for all the turmoil Awsten’s faced in his life. Maybe that’s why he’s been skipping a meal as punishment for every time he thinks a less-than-straight thought about Zack. It’s starting to happen every day, and the weight loss has become so sudden that even Geoff and Otto have noticed. They’ve seen the long sleeves under t-shirts, the aversion to eating in front of people (if eating at all).
They’ve heard the retching from the tour bus’ back bathroom from when Awsten thought everyone was asleep. The way each gasp and sob sounds from being forced out around his scrawny fingers down his larynx. The whispered string of curses whenever his puke would land anywhere but the pristine porcelain bowl. Otto and Geoff know about the whole thing, but Zack feels it 10 times more severe. Zack’s known about Awsten’s feelings for him, ever since he woke up at midnight on the bus to go to the bathroom and he passed Awsten’s bunk, hearing soft moans from the other male’s lips, as well as a name.
He remembers it like it was yesterday…because it was only last month. He had gotten out of bed, bare feet pitterpattering as he slowly began the descent down the bus’s hallway. A soft sound stopped him in his tracks; a soft moan of his own name. Zack paused, looking over towards the origin of the noise expecting to see Awsten tiredly staring at him, about to ask why he’s up so late. But that’s not what he sees. Instead, Awsten’s curtain is still closed, but the moans don’t stop. “Zack…Fuck, yes.” The photographer felt his heart leap. It took a second, but the realisation hit hard; Awsten is thinking of him in an intimate setting. If the singer’s simply having a wet dream, or if he’s behind those curtains with his pants around his ankles, Zack didn’t know, and didn’t feel like finding out just yet.
A bump of Zack’s elbow on the wall when the bus jolted is what alerted Awsten of another person’s presence. Zack vividly remembers the silence that followed, except for the heavy, terrified breathing that came from Awsten’s bunk. By the time the singer’s curtain was hesitantly pulled back, Zack was back in his own bunk, curtain pulled closed to make it look like he never left. That was before everything went sour.
“Zack? Can I climb in with you?” Awsten whispers, voice wobbly. Zack stirs, and without even asking or checking his phone, he knows it’s well after midnight. The show last night finished on time, but packing up and getting back on the bus took forever. He rolls over, cracking an eye open to glance at the singer. That is not the man Zack once knew. This tear-stained, hollowed-out man is not the Awsten Knight he once adored. However, instead of calling him out or arguing, Zack shifted his body to make room, lifting one corner of his blanket as an invitation. The other man realises this quickly, climbing in and curling himself up into a ball.
“What happened?” Zack asks, rolling onto his side to face Awsten properly. His cheeks are hollow, and his eyes are sunken in. And his body, god, he hasn’t seen it in ages. Zack used to see it almost every day, since the other man was fine to change in front of everyone, but now he disappears into the bathroom to change. Everyone knows why, and it angers the photographer that no one is doing anything about it. Why are they all watching their singer – the main piece of their puzzle – kill himself on the daily with the excuse of “he’ll tell us when he’s ready”? It’s bullshit at its absolute finest.
Awsten sighs, curling in against Zack and burying his face in the other man’s chest. Zack never rushes him, never forces him to talk. Awsten loves him so much, so why does it feel wrong? Why does his skin start burning every time he thinks about pressing his lips against the soft skin of his photographer’s throat, licking a stripe up it before sucking a dark mark into that pale skin. He’s doing it again; he’s thinking about being intimate with a man. There goes breakfast in the morning. He sighs shakily, bottom lip quivering as he tries to voice his thoughts without breaking down, “I’m having bad thoughts, Z.” Oh, that wakes the photographer up in an instant.
He’s halfway over Awsten and halfway off the bed, ready to grab Otto and Geoff and Lucas and– “Like what? Tell me, Aws, I’m not playing.” He doesn’t want to threaten the singer, but can’t sit idly when his best friend is potentially talking about suicide.
“No! No, not those. I’m not suicidal, Zacky. It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
There’s a pause, Awsten looking at the other man for a solid minute before shaking his head, “Can we talk about it tomorrow? All you need to know for right now is that I’d never leave you. Or the band.” He says the last part like it’s an afterthought, like Zack is the only thing he’s truly thinking about. He seems almost relieved as the man above him nods and lowers himself down so he’s lying on top of the singer. “You don’t need to restrain me,” Awsten jokes, burying his face in that dark mop of hair he’s grown fond of.
“Not a restraint, just love.” Love. Guess Awsten won’t be having lunch either, since all his brain does is flicker to images of such domesticity. Zack and Awsten kissing the other goodbye before a show. Them sharing little winks and glances during a show. Them cooking their meals together and burning half of it in favour of making out. Zack pinning him down to the bed and–
The photographer wakes up to an empty bunk and a pounding head, which he surmises is from stress. Of course it’s from stress, when the last thought running through his head when he fell asleep was “am I going to find a dead body in the tour bus bathroom in the morning?” Luckily, Awsten is just in the tiny kitchenette, watching Geoff and Otto play Mario Kart on the Nintendo while he eats blueberries straight from the packet. Zack wishes it was something more filling, but he’s grateful for small victories.
Approaching the singer, Zack wraps his arms around his waist from behind, “I’m glad you’re eating. You look pretty when you’re eating.” It was a weak attempt at convincing him. Awsten, however, tenses, before closing the lid to the blueberries. Zack panics, shaking his head and snaking a hand around to keep the packet in the singer’s grasp, “Please eat. Please, Aws, please.” He’s begging, voice broken and eyes glossy. They’re lucky the two other men are too busy focusing on their game and chirping at each other to take any notice of the scene behind them. “I need you here with me, Awsten”
Those seven words were enough to make Awsten nod, opening the packet and eating a couple more blueberries. At one point, he holds a few in his fingers, holding them to the other’s lips. Zack smiles softly, leaning forward and eating the fruit straight from his singer’s finger, “I like it when you feed me,” he teases.
The blonde-and-pink haired man smiles weakly, before looking away. There’s a lingering tension in his body, and Zack can’t work it out. Is he making him uncomfortable, or nervous? He doesn’t want to hurt the singer, not when he’s already unstable enough as it is. He doesn’t get a chance to question it when Awsten’s turning around, so their chests are pressed together. Zack’s cheeks grow crimson, the same colour as the blood flowing in his body, the same blood that keeps his loving heart beating a mile a minute. “I’m having bad thoughts about people,” the singer deadpans, placing the blueberry packet open on the counter in favour of rubbing his palms over Zack’s forearms. Such an intimate act for a man who’s almost repulsed by the thought of dating another man.
“Like…what? Harming someone?” Zack presses, shuffling an inch closer so they can whisper softer (even though Otto and Geoff are in their own little world). Awsten flinches at those words, nose turning up and eyes crinkling behind those black-framed glasses that sit atop his perfectly sloped nose. Zack wants to kiss that expression away.
“No! I’m in love with someone I’m not supposed to be in love with,” he blurts out, looking away and scowling out the tiny window. The bus is moving, but they’re faced with traffic at the moment so it’s only inching down the highway. His scowl turns into a frown as he finally lets the emotions wash over him. Admitting it aloud actually made him feel…strangely calm, like it was no longer ripping his heart apart at the seams, killing him slowly. After a minute, he turns to Zack again, chewing on his bottom lip in shame, “I don’t want to sin.”
Ah, Zack thinks, there’s the issue. Awsten’s in love with a man. The photographer sighs slowly, thumb brushing against the fabric of the other’s shirt on his lower back. The singer tenses again but this time, it doesn’t deter the other man. He pulls him closer, “Who is it? Do I know him?” He doesn’t drop it, even when Awsten flinches at the pronoun and very clearly looks like he could start crying. “C’mon, who is it?” He presses.
But Awsten actually starts crying. Zack pulls away at lightning speed, looking over at Geoff and Otto, who have now paused their game to see why their best friend is sobbing. Awsten shakes his head, pulling the photographer back against him, clinging to him like he’s a stuffed animal. All Zack can do is wrap his arms around him, looking at Otto and Geoff with a confused expression. “Please don’t hate me. I already hate myself, I can’t have you hate me too.”
“Zack? What’s he talking about?” Otto asks, standing and crossing his arms over his chest. The photographer sighs shakily before gently brushing his hand through Awsten’s dyed hair.
“He has feelings for a man, and he doesn’t want to…’sin’.” He looks down at the crying man, gently smoothing his hair, “Is that right, Aws?”
“Yes.”
The photographer ignores the looks he gets from Geoff and Otto as he leans down and presses a kiss to the singer’s temple, “None of us care, you know that, right? We don’t care as long as you’re happy and safe.” Awsten nods against his chest, tears stopping but still emotional. His pupils are dilated, glassy with tears unshed. When he pulls away, he looks at Zack with a frown.
“You don’t care?”
“No, Aws. You’re already unique as hell, what’s one more thing about you to love?”
That only serves in making him cry harder, hugging Zack as tight as can be. The photographer presses soft, reassuring kisses to the top of his head, carding his fingers through the blonde and pink strands, “We have a photoshoot today, remember?” Awsten nods. “Maybe we can hang out after, get ice cream or something? Antwerp’s show’s tomorrow night, so when we stop, we can chill for a while, if you want.” Awsten nods again, the sobs quietening down into soft sniffles and bloodshot eyes. He still looks absolutely stunning like this, Zack reckons.
It’s cold in Antwerp. Zack’s wearing a puffer jacket that makes him look tiny, while Awsten’s in his designer jeans and a long sleeve shirt under a short sleeve. Both men think the other is hot as fuck in their outfits, but God forbid they tell each other that. Awsten’s already decided that he’s not eating for the next two days because of his thoughts. The photoshoot is in the venue they’re playing in tomorrow night, something about it being artistic and high-end, Zack wasn’t really paying attention, too focused on the too-boney wrist that became visible when Awsten’s long sleeve shirt lifted up. He’s going to kill himself if he’s not careful.
At first, it goes well, Zack getting a few really good shots of Awsten while they occasionally chat about unrelated things. However, it doesn’t last long before Zack’s done, walking over to Awsten to show him the photos he’s taken. The singer rests his head on the photographer’s shoulder, looking over at the photos on the camera. They all look amazing, making him look so much…fuller than he actually is. The weight loss is barely noticeable on the camera, which is both a good and bad thing. On one hand, people won’t be suspicious, but on the other hand, all the progress Awsten thought he was making isn’t working. He isn’t starving himself enough. He laughs weakly, “Woah, the camera really does add 10 pounds, doesn’t it?”
“Hm? I dunno. You look amazing in all of these…I’m jealous,” Zack replies, burying his nose in the mop of blonde hair. They stand there in that same position for ages, basking in each other’s warmth. The venue is cold, even though tomorrow night Awsten will walk off stage drenched in sweat and in need of the cool breeze of Belgium. Zack turns the camera off, pulling away from the singer so he can place the equipment back in his bag. Awsten obviously follows, watching him like an innocent puppy.
“Z?”
“Yeah?”
“...”
Zack stands, looking towards the singer to see what’s wrong, but as he does, that same man catches him by the neck, pulling him into a kiss. It’s deep, loving, full of tongue and denied feelings. Zack melts into it, while Awsten remains tense. You wouldn’t believe them if they told you Awsten initiated it. They pull away a moment later for air, faces only inches apart. “Woah,” the photographer whispers, hand lifting to caress the hollowed out cheek of the man he’s oh-so in love with. But good moments never last long, especially when one of them is stuck in a cycle of religious guilt. He runs off without a second glance, right in the direction of the bathroom.
Stunned, Zack watches for a moment before running after him. He runs into the men's room after him, but he’s too slow, Awsten running into a stall and locking it before the photographer can catch up. The singer watches the shoes at the bottom of the stall stop in front of the one he’s in, “Aws? C’mon, don’t do this.” His voice is so soft that it almost cuts him in half; it’s deadly. All Awsten wants to do is throw up in peace, even though his stomach has nothing left to release.
“Go away,” he manages to whisper, kneeling down in front of the toilet. He cards a hand through his hair, pushing it up and out the way for when he pukes his guts out. A thud disrupts him before he’s able to push his fingers down his throat. He glances over his shoulder, seeing that the shoes at the bottom of the stall have been replaced with a body; Zack’s sitting down with his back against the door, not letting Awsten be alone. You’d think that this would deter the singer, but it doesn’t. If he’s going to purge, then he’ll do it no matter what. He barely manages to push his fingers past his uvula before a voice speaks up.
“I know you think loving me is bad…but I promise you it’s not. There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Awsten, just let yourself feel things. Please…”
Silence. Until “Then why does my skin burn?”
The photographer sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand. Truly, he doesn’t know how to reply. So, he opts for the truth, “I don’t know. But there’s nothing wrong with you, I can promise that. Let me help you.”
Awsten thinks about it for a moment, he really does. He knows he’s not only hurting himself, but his crew and band. How many more shows and days of starvation until he collapses? He doesn’t want to find out, but this pain he’s feeling is excruciating. “You’ll help me?”
“Every step of the way. Open the door now, Awsten.”
The click of the door against his back makes Zack stand, watching as a frail looking Awsten pokes his head out. The photographer moves before his brain catches up, wrapping his arms around the boney man and dragging him out of the stall, “Don’t do that again,” he begs, pulling away only to grab his shoulders, meeting his two-toned gaze, “I don’t want to lose you before I even get a chance to have you.”
Awsten stares at him, eyes hollow and lifeless. Is all this damage reversible? Will he ever go back to his lifeful self? Zack hopes so, because that’s the man he fell in love with, not this skeleton in front of him. “I’m hungry,” he whispers, before pressing his face against Zack’s chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Just as he says that, his stomach rumbles, eliciting a shudder and groan combination from the singer, “Can we go eat?”
The photographer sighs, nodding as he presses a warm kiss to the other’s clammy forehead, “Of course,” he whispers, leading Awsten out of the bathroom. He picks up his camera bag on the way past as they exit the venue, “What’re you craving? I’m paying so choose whatever you want.”
“Let’s walk around for a bit, I’m sure we'll find something,” Awsten replies, smiling weakly. They walk around the streets of Antwerp for a while before finding a Five Guys. They order before finding a seat right at the back corner. Awsten presses his knee against Zack’s under the table, looking for a semblance of safety and comfort. “Thank you,” he whispers, looking at the other man with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Maybe with Zack by his side, as well as Otto and Geoff, he might be able to get better. Just maybe.
Yeah, fuck that.
It’s midnight, they’re all back on the bus after the show, and there’s that terribly familiar sound of retching in the bathroom. Zack lays on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, absolutely seething. He truly thought he got through to Awsten. They ate Five Guys last night, chatted, came back to the bus and slept together – literally slept. Awsten was very clear that he’s currently repulsed by the idea of removing his clothes. Today, Awsten seemed happier, he even ate a little more than usual.The show went amazingly, and Awsten even interacted with Zack while he took photos. Everything went well, so why is he purging in the bus bathroom again?
He’s had enough. Zack gets up, steadying himself under the moving bus before making his way to the very back. He barely gets past the last bunk before there’s fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling him back and away from the bathroom, “Leave him,” the voice harshly mutters. Zack immediately recognises the voice to be Otto’s. He turns around, looking at the drummer with a sigh.
“He’s going to kill himself.”
“And until he talks to us, there’s nothing we can do.”
“Yes, there is!” Zack’s yelling now, which wakes up the others on the bus. Otto glares at him for a moment, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
He shrugs, looking around, “Like what? You can’t force him to open up, Zack. He’s struggling, don’t you have any fucking empathy?”
Zack looks over towards the bathroom, “Do you care about Awsten? You don’t act like it–”
“You take that back,” Otto starts, but he barely manages to take a step forward before there’s a hand on his chest, pulling him back away from the photographer. It’s Geoff, who had gotten up at all the commotion. “I’ve been there for him way longer than you have, Z. Keep that in your head, next time you accuse me of something like that.” Geoff pulls him further back, a large distance between them. Lucas pokes his head out from his bunk’s curtain, eyes squinted to see what’s going.
“What’s going on?” He asks no one in particular, looking at Otto, who’s arguing with Geoff in a hushed whisper. When no one answers him, Lucas looks specifically at Zack, “What happened? Is it Awsten?” In reply, Zack shrugs, unsure whether to nod or shake his head. Getting increasingly more frustrated, Lucas scoffs and looks between the three men, “Someone fucking answer me!”
“Zack’s trying to intervene with Awsten’s…issues.” Otto snarks, looking over his shoulder at the photographer. In any other context, Zack would laugh at Otto’s outfit; his hair’s a curly mess, he’s wearing shorts that are way too short, and a shirt that’s hanging half off his shoulders. But they’re arguing right now, so the last thing on Zack’s mind is teasing the drummer over his outfit. Not when their singer is shoving his fingers down his larynx as they speak. In fact, now that the photographer really thinks about it, it’s eerily silent in the bathroom.
A hinge creaking alerts the four other men of another presence. By the looks on Otto and Geoff’s faces, Zack immediately feels sick. He turns to see Awsten, swaying in the bathroom doorway, “You guys are talking about me?” He slurs, eyes bleary as he grips the doorframe for stability. He looks horrible, so pale and sickly. Zack could cry as he looks at the mess this man is.
“Holy shit, Aws,” Geoff mutters, staring at the younger male before sighing and approaching him, “Are you o–” He pauses as he touches Awsten’s forearm, and feels a warm liquid seep through the fabric of his long sleeve shirt. The air on the bus feels stale, especially when Awsten voluntarily lets Geoff pull his sleeve up to show a long cut from his wrist to his inner elbow. Someone murmurs a soft “oh fuck,” while someone else retches. Geoff doesn’t bother to look, especially when Awsten’s legs give out, collapsing into Geoff’s arms. “Someone go tell the driver to go to the hospital!” The guitarist yells, brushing Awsten’s bleach blonde hair out of his face. His hands get covered in blood as he tries to splint the bleeding, though it’s tough, as the blood keeps finding cracks the seep out from.
“Hey, uhh…Geoff?” Lucas calls out. Geoff turns his head to see Lucas cradling Zack’s head on his lap. He’s unconscious, “Passed out when he saw the blood,” the animator murmurs, one hand gently rubbing Zack’s sternum, a gesture of comfort and safety. “But uhh…” Lucas trails off, glancing over to his left. Geoff follows his gaze, fixing on the panicked Otto, who’s shaking and crying and throwing up into a trash can. It’s a given, considering they’ve all just witnessed their best friend try to kill himself.
“Fuck,” Geoff whispers.
Awsten groans as he lets his eyes flutter open, adjusting to the fluorescent white lights above him. He goes to lift his lead-felt arm, only to be gently pushed back down, a voice above him speaking oh-so softly, “Relax. You’re okay.” It’s Otto. Awsten cracks his eyes open further, looking at the curly mop of hair he loves so much. He lifts his head slowly, realisation dawning over him as he sees the black stitches across his left arm. He glances towards Otto, who nods slowly, hand reaching out to hold Awsten’s. “You really scared us, Awsie.”
“I didn’t…I just wanted it to stop,” the singer replies, eyes tearing up as he looks at his best friend, “I just wanted my skin to stop burning. I want to love him without feeling guilty.” At the admission, Awsten breaks down, letting himself crumble completely. If he kept going any longer, bottling up his emotions, he’d crack…and he’s just about reached that part. “I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over, clinging to Otto as he wraps his arms around him, cradling him against his chest.
Otto’s always been his rock. He’s known him the longest, even if only for a few years or so, which means that Awsten gravitates more towards him during times like these. “I’m here, Aws,” he whispers, pressing comforting kisses to his best friend’s cheek and temple, “Zack’s just outside. I know you’re in love with him.” Awsten snaps his head up, but the drummer stops him before he’s even able to speak, “He told me everything. The kiss, the venue’s bathroom, the Five Guys run, all of it. Awsten, you love him! I’ve seen it; I see it every time you look at him,” he sighs, grasping the singer’s shoulders so they can look each other in the eye, “D’you want me to go get him?”
When Awsten nods, Otto smiles, ruffling the blonde and pink mop of hair before turning to leave the hospital room. The next time that door opens, it’s Zack running in, pausing for a single second as he sees the hollowed out man laying on that pristine white bed. He looks like an angel still, even when he’s frail and barely holding on. Maybe Zack’s sick for thinking that, but so be it, because he promises himself that he’ll nurse his singer back to health. He’s fought too hard to have him, only to lose him to religious guilt. “Oh, Awsten,” he whispers, the words leaving his lips in a soft puff of breath. He frowns, approaching the singer and sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, “Why would you do that? I thought we were going well,” he whispers, slipping his hand into Awsten’s own.
“The thoughts wouldn’t go away. The ones saying I’m gonna go to hell, or the ones that say you’ll die because I’ve sinned.”
“But you haven’t! Loving someone isn’t a sin, Awsten, you need to understand that. I don’t know what you’ve been taught, but it’s wrong.” He cups the singer’s cheek, caressing the cheekbone with his thumb’s gentle touch, “I told you I’d help you, and I meant it.” Instead of waiting for the other man’s reply, Zack leans down and connects their lips. They slide together so naturally, like their lips were made for each other and only each other. The singer lets out a sound, something akin to a whimper, before his hand’s gasping a chunk of Zack’s dark hair, pulling him down closer.
They pull away when oxygen becomes mandatory, their lungs thanking them as they both pant. Awsten’s two-toned eyes look at Zack wearily, like he wants to trust him but there’s still a part of him that’s hesitant, “I won’t get punished?” He asks, like he needs one last confirmation before he falls into the arms of the man he loves. He loves Zack like he loves oxygen; he needs him to survive.
“No, Awsten. You’re not going to get punished. Not by God, not by your parents, and not by me.” The photographer reassures, sighing softly before he squeezes Awsten’s hand, “You need to eat. Starving yourself every time you think about me isn’t going to help you.”
“How did you–?”
“I’m not an idiot, Awsten. You jerked off in the bus and moaned my name, for fuck’s sake.” Awsten’s face turns a dark red, eyes widening before darting away, not able to make eye contact as memories resurface. He remembers someone walking around the bus while he was in the middle of his little…session. He never thought it was Zack, however. The photographer continues, far from done in his little spiel, “You would flinch every time your eyes wandered to my lips or my body. It doesn’t take a genius to know that you’ve had feelings for me, and decided to punish yourself because of it.”
Silence falls over the room, Awsten’s face still bright red and unable to make eye contact. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed. “I have this fear, and it’s deeply rooted inside me. I want to get better for you, but I– I’m not sure if there’s anything left of me, underneath all of this pain. What if I bore you?”
“Impossible. You could never bore me,” he responds.
“Yeah, but– I’ve already fucked up so much! I can barely stomach food anymore, I have scars all over my arms, and I’ve almost scared everyone away. I’m useless, a burden to all of y–” He’s silenced by lips against his own, a hand buried in his hair, effectively silencing him. They pull apart only for air, Zack looking at Awsten like he hung the moon and stars by hand.
He smiles weakly, a huff of laughter escaping his trembling lips, “Just trust me. We all love you, and I will make this work. Got that, Awsten Knight?” The full name, which usually makes Awsten anxious, only makes him smile. He sniffles, looking away and pulling his lip between his teeth again. It’s a bad habit of his, Zack notices. He’s noticed a lot of things about the singer lately. “Look at me?” The photographer prompts.
“Just kiss me,” Awsten laughs weakly, leaning up to kiss the love of his life again. It will take some time, but things will get better. Awsten will get better, he’s sure of it, because he knows he wants to be with Zack; he wants to make music with his two best friends. He wants the life he has.