Chapter Twenty-Eight. Lights, Camera, Chaos
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lights, Camera, Chaos
Ever since Sunday, Lachlan’s been sullen and pensive, like a scorned suitor from an effin’ Victorian-era romance movie. Currently, he’s brooding in another fashion brand’s swanky photo shoot studio.
It’s inside a corporate building, and with its stark white walls and no windows, it almost resembles a horror movie escape room. I half expect a creepy little puppet to come riding in on a tricycle.
I watch from a remote corner as a short, plump photographer proudly shares the vision for the ad campaign before the boys change. One by one they emerge in unbelievably outrageous outfits that someone somewhere considers “fashion.”
Will’s in a velvety magenta suit; Calum wears a fuzzy red trench coat; Mateo dons a fluorescent green cropped hoodie and shorts combo; and Lachlan steps out in a CLUELESS-esque yellow plaid two-piece suit. I snort and take a mental snapshot of the group.
My amusement fades and pulse speeds up when Felix makes an appearance. Black boots, iridescent black pants that shimmer like fish scales, and a neon orange mesh top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I try to calm myself the hell down as he walks over. Halfway across the room, he tucks hair behind his ear and wets his lips, and all my calming-the-hell-down progress is erased.
This boy is going to be the death of me.
“Whaddya think?” he asks after stopping in front of me. “Not my typical style but—”
“You look hot.”
“—it’s alright.” After I interrupt, he cocks a brow and smirks. “Oh?”
“Um. You look good in orange. That’s what I meant.”
“Right. Easy mistake to make.” He plays along. “But … you’re hot, too,” he signs, then darts off, leaving me to murder the butterflies aggressively flapping inside my stomach.
The butterflies increase tenfold as Felix poses. One leg in front of the other, thumbs tucked into the belt loops of his reflective pants; chin down, eyes up.
For the entirety of Felix’s solo shoot, I ogle him. Luckily, nobody notices. The members, save for Lachlan, are busy cheering and catcalling.
The photographer finishes after a few minutes. Felix is rushed to the changing area, and someone passes him a silky white suit.
Will has his shoot while Felix changes. Once Will’s done, he also changes into a white suit. The pattern continues as each of the members do solo shots—their bandmates holler at and flirt with them like fans in the background, and then they change into white or black.
Finally, they’re posed together. In their contrasting light and dark outfits, they look like chess pieces.
“Good!” the photographer booms. “Gorgeous! Beautiful! Lachlan, Felix, relax please.”
They stand together in the far back. Instead of relaxing, Lachlan’s forehead puckers and he works his jaw, and Felix’s shoulders hike up.
“You’re so tense,” the photographer tuts. “You need— —relax and— —okay?”
Lachlan forces a smile, and Felix loosens his shoulders.
The photographer studies them and frowns.
They squeeze past Will and Mateo, who crouch on the floor in front, and grab Lachlan’s arm.
With annoyed movements, they place his arm around Felix’s shoulders, then scoot Felix closer to Lachlan, until their sides are pressed against each other.
The pair look wildly uneasy, their bodies stiff, but the shoot continues. After two minutes, they tailspin back into looking like mortal enemies. Lachlan’s light eyes clash with Felix’s dark ones, and it reminds me of the battle between Darth Maul and Qui-Gon Jinn.
The photographer finally loses their temper and storms over to Necktie, flailing their hands around while complaining.
Immediately, Lachlan wriggles out of the pose and runs fingers through his middle part. Felix takes a huge step away, creating an icy, palpable space between them.
Will and Calum engage mediator mode, but Lachlan stalks off before they can problem-solve. He heads for the directors’ chairs marked with each member’s name and slumps down in his.
Felix grabs a bottle of water, staring blankly at the wall while he chugs it. I walk over. He swallows another huge gulp, then signs, “Why didn’t you tell me until now?” He inconspicuously gestures to Lachlan.
“Your relationship was already … complicated. I didn’t want to make things worse,” I explain.
“It’s not your fault. I just dunno what to do. There’s not exactly a ‘How to Proceed After Learning Your Best Mate Fancies Your Girlfriend’ handbook.” Felix signs “your girlfriend” so nobody can understand him.
Except for Lachlan, of course. But he’s preoccupied by hiding his head in his hands while Mateo gives him a consolatory side-hug.
“Yeah. It’s not someth—wait, hold on, your girlfriend?!” I sign back to him.
The worry momentarily slides off his face, replaced with an impish smirk as he says, “I mean, if you’re ready to admit you actually ‘connect’ with me.”
I realize he’s referencing what I told him about being demiromantic. I’m about to reply with something undoubtedly super clever and funny, but movement in my peripheral vision distracts me.
I turn to see Necktie dragging Lachlan toward us by the sleeve of his gaudy black suit. Calum, Will, and Mateo follow, grimacing.
When he reaches us, he shoves Lachlan next to Felix so he can look at both of them. The others maintain careful distance.
“What the hell is wrong with you two?!” Necktie bellows, then lowers his voice to an inaudible hiss.
I can only see the side of his mouth, making lipreading impossible. Judging from Lachlan’s flared nostrils and Felix’s teeth grinding, whatever he’s saying is worse than usual.
Finally, Will steps in. “Andrew, we’re just tired. This tour has been taxing.” He glances at Felix and Lachlan.
“Yup. We’re fine,” Felix insists, voice hoarse.
Gears churn in Lachlan’s head. He’s been a wild card recently, so it’s anyone’s guess if he’ll accept the nicely wrapped excuse Will concocted.
His rib cage slowly expands and shrinks again. “All good. Just exhausted,” he replies persuasively, like a politician lying about a potentially career-ending scandal.
Necktie laughs bitterly. “I don’t give a shit if— —tired, or homesick, or miss your mommies! I don’t care if you two hate each other! As long as— —not obvious. Nobody— —going to pay to see this DAYDREAM. Pull your shit together. Now.”