25. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
Leif
The later it gets, the more people show up. We’re standing shoulder to shoulder, and I can’t be sure they aren’t over capacity. Not my problem, I’m just saying.
By the time it’s Aliko’s turn to go up on stage and sing, we’re on our fourth round of beers, and I’m sweating. No matter how much AC is blasting out of the vents, there are too many sweaty, drunk, dancing people for it to make a difference.
Aliko gets onto the stage, walking up to the microphone like he’s done it a thousand times before. He was made for the stage. He just has the presence. The people paying attention clap and cheer him on. A few people catcall him, which makes me laugh.
I get it. He’s hot.
But then that first note hits. That familiar crash of the cymbal, the low thrum of the bass and the strike of the guitar and something in me changes. My stomach gets hollow. Twists into knots, even.
Of all the songs in the world to pick…
Aliko, of course, is right on point with timing, leaning into the mic and singing the words to a song I used to feel way too deeply. His voice is… haunting. In just a few words, I already feel the loneliness. He sings it almost better than Thom Yorke himself. Almost.
Aliko’s voice has more rasp to it, giving it a different feel. Sadder, I think.
Regardless of who sings it or how, when you choose to sing “Creep” by Radiohead, we’re all getting the point.
Well, maybe I get it just a little bit more than everyone else in the room, because I’m the one who’s spent the last few weeks in Aliko’s arms and his bed.
I don’t know if I should be concerned about this or honored. It’s clear he’s singing this song about himself, and I hate how fitting it is. But there are other parts of the song—parts that could be about me. It hurts in a way it shouldn’t. Because it shouldn’t hurt at all.
But for some reason, I feel like shit. Like I haven’t done a good enough job letting Aliko know the way I feel about him. Like I haven’t let him know that he isn’t alone.
I haven’t, though. I know I haven’t. We’ve both avoided it, too worried about the band and the tour.
No one said we couldn’t date. I never signed anything and I don’t think he did either.
So why have we made such a big deal about keeping this a secret?
I don’t want to be a secret anymore, and more than that, I don’t want Aliko to feel like he has to keep hiding.
Because he deserves to be in the light, in every form he takes.
The song comes to an end.
The crowd cheers and claps.
And just like that, the next person is on stage, singing some upbeat pop song.
“Aliko,” I say, grasping onto his shirt, right at the chest, when he reaches me. He meets my gaze and his eyes look empty. “Aliko,” I say again. He blinks, looks at me and finally sees me. I hold that gaze and speak my words firmly. “I do notice when you’re not around. Always.”
He blinks again but doesn’t move otherwise.
So I lean up to kiss him, yanking him toward me by his shirt.
He sucks in a sharp breath, but kisses me back, his hands coming to grasp my waist. I pull back, resting my forehead against his shoulder, but refusing to let go.
I don’t want to let go. I never want to let go.
Even with the people staring—because people are staring.
I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. It never has before, so why should it now?
Aliko’s arms come around me and he pulls me close, holding me tight. We stay like that all through the Olivia Rodrigo song, and then the next song starts.
“I Want to Know What Love Is.”
I huff a laugh. “Fuck.” I shake my head, unable to hold back the smile.
If this isn’t a fucking sign, I don’t know what is.
Aliko holds me tighter, and we stay like that for the duration of this song—like he doesn’t want to let go. Like he doesn’t care that we’re seen like this.
Once it fades off, he finally loosens his grip.
Neither of us says a word, we just go back to watching the stage, singing along to whoever comes on.
But something feels different. Lighter. Like we’ve gotten past something we both didn’t know was blocking us from moving forward.
But now we’re here and there’s no going back.
When we get back to the house, Aliko is melancholy.
He hardly said a word to me, only responding in soft grunts when I asked questions during the walk back.
I can’t tell if he’s upset or just thinking about…
stuff. I’m trying not to take it personally because I want to make this better.
One of us needs to make the first step, and though I thought that’s what happened back at the bar, I could be wrong. Maybe he needs more.
Because maybe he isn’t as confident as I thought he was. Maybe he’s been feeling some type of way this whole time. I never really considered that. Not with the band and the fame and the way he acts with me.
But I think Aliko is lonely. He’s away from his family, choosing a life that could get him banned from there for life, and he’s in an unfamiliar and not-so-friendly place. I can’t imagine that feeling good.
My family doesn’t understand my life, but they accept me. They’d never tell me I couldn’t go home due to my choices. Unless those choices were murder, of course, but I would never do that.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I follow him into the bedroom.
I don’t feel like he’s mad at me, I just feel like maybe he doesn’t want to talk. Like he’d rather hide away and ignore everything around him.
This was supposed to be a fun night, and I feel like my suggestion of karaoke ruined it. Well, maybe not the suggestion, but what happened while we were there.
“Yeah,” he says, giving me a tired smile.
“I don’t believe you.”
He sighs, running a hand over his head.
I walk over to him and stare up into his eyes. I take his hand, holding it between my two. Looking down, I see how big it is—even in his human form.
“Aliko,” I say, the word coming out almost a whisper. I look back up at him. “It’s okay if you’re not okay, and you can tell me. I want to help.”
“I should be okay, though,” he says, sounding frustrated. He looks as if he wants to say more, but pulls his hand away, shakes his head, and steps toward the bathroom.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He disappears into the bathroom but doesn’t close the door.
I follow.
“Aliko, what does that mean?” I repeat.
He whirls to face me. “It means I have everything I wanted, and yet I’m still not happy.”
“Fame is never what people think it is,” I say, the words coming to me automatically.
Because they’re true. You hear it all the time.
He scoffs. “I’m not talking about fame, Leif.”
“Well, it goes for anything.”
He makes another sound in his throat, letting me know that he doesn’t believe me.
“Look, I know life was very different for you under the ocean, but up here, disappointment is something we deal with all the time.”
“Disappointment?”
“Yes. That’s what you’re feeling, right?
Like you have everything you want but it’s not good enough?
It’s not filling the holes that you expected it to?
The physical stuff never does.” I move closer to him, taking his hand again.
“When you feel like that, usually there is something more going on. Something deeper.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re trying to fill holes with things that they can’t be filled with.”
“Then how do I fix it?”
“You need to heal yourself. Inside. What made you want these things in the first place? Think back. All the way to the beginning. What started all of this?” I hold my hand up when he opens his mouth to speak. “You don’t have to tell me. You can if you want to, but you don’t have to.”
He sighs, his shoulders loosening. “I’ve always felt like I didn’t fit in.”
Something in my chest settles. Relief, maybe. Because that’s something we can work on. That is something I can help him with, and something he can fix, if he tries.
I give him a soft smile. “I know exactly what that feels like.”
“But you… you’re always so… you have friends, and you do your job, and you’re happy, and—”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not feeling those things inside. I had no idea you were feeling that way until tonight, until you let it out via Radiohead lyrics.”
“I’ve always felt that song in my chest.”
I step closer to him. “So have I.” Aliko watches me carefully. “You need to talk to someone. Let them know how you’re feeling. Work out ways to fix this. I promise, you will get better.”
“I want to talk to you.”
“I’m not a therapist.”
“I don’t care.” He steps forward, taking me into his arms. “You, Leif, are the one I want to talk to. As long as… it’s not too much.”
I squeeze my hands up between us, resting them against his chest. “You’re never too much.”