Chapter Text
After Wildwood's photoshoot, the band was expected to go to dinner to discuss a potential touring schedule for the end of the year.
Sylvie declined her dinner invitation — less of an invitation, and more of a demand, really — and took off alone. She had other plans for the night.
If all went well, there wouldn't be a tour. Avian would drop them and any future funding would be void.
Farrah and Yosef might expect them to pay for a much smaller tour out of their own pockets. It might be an idea worth considering, if only to make enough money to tide them over until they could sign with a new label. If they would sign with a new label.
The ride to Julian's was packed. It was a Friday evening, nearing six o'clock, and everybody and their mother seemed eager to get home or go out or do whatever else a Friday night was good for.
Sylvie noticed a group of girls staring at her from the opposite end of the traincar, over the heads of a hundred others. She was careful not to lift her own head and meet their eyes. Perhaps they were fans; perhaps she was being looked at for another reason. Judged.
Even though the train car was air-conditioned, she was still sweating by the time she got off. She had made the walk between this particular subway station and Julian's apartment what felt like a million times. This time, it was Albert who opened the door for her.
"Sylvie. Hey," said Albert, more warmly than she was used to.
"Hi. Jules still in his room?"
"I'm right here," said Julian from their little kitchen. He was standing over the countertop, bracing himself with his arms, pale and sweatier than even she was. Albert hadn't lied about the state of Julian's sobriety.
"Julian," she began, "Jules. I came to talk. To apologize for yelling about you... that night."
"Jesus Christ, don't apologize," said Julian curtly. Albert took that as his cue to retreat into his own room. "I'm the one who fucked up."
"Albert told me why you did what you did. Maybe I shouldn't admit it — but I'm more flattered by your defending me than anything"
Julian looked up. She noticed he'd begun to grow his hair out again. It was so long it covered his eyes, and the black box dye had faded to the ends.
"I hear you think I'm going to break up with you."
If Sylvie didn't have his attention before, she certainly did now. He said uncertainly, "Aren't you?"
"No. If I was, I would have done it by now."
"You got a real fuckin' funny way of showing it. " He leaned against the wall behind him, as if he had no way to hold himself upright. "You kick me outta your hotel room, then don't talk to me for, like, two weeks. What else am I supposed to think?"
"Need I remind you that you didn't call me either?" She crossed her arms. "I figured you were mad at me — or sulking — and I'm not gonna deal with that."
"I've been trying to get fuckin' sober for you!" He hadn't really meant to raise his voice, but his control over himself was hanging by a thin thread, exacerbated by the pain of withdrawal. He hated that Sylvie saw him that way — expected him to behave like a spoiled manchild — except shamefully, Julian knew she was right to think that way.
He wasn't good enough. He'd known it all his life, and gotten used to the fact. Until Sylvie came along, there was nobody who could hurt him by saying so.
Irritated, she said, "Don't do that. If you're gonna get sober, do it for yourself. And for the love of God, don't do it cold turkey with no intervention."
Julian was some shade of grey in the face. His under-eye bags were deep. "Jesus, Sylvie. I drink too much, and now that I wanna quit you're saying I shouldn't?"
"I'm not saying that at all. I'm saying, your own wellbeing should be a good enough reason to quit. You're putting this on me as if I ever asked you to put down the bottle — did I ever want you to change yourself for me?"
"Well it fuckin' isn't." The words were true, even if they weren't meant to slip out. "I could give a shit if I live or die, but I'm not gonna drag you down to my miserable level."
There it was. Sylvie had anticipated a similar sentiment. She held back the venom on her tongue, and paused, looking directly at him. Challenging him to explain himself.
"It's not... I mean, I don't wanna change myself for you. I wanna change myself back. Alcohol isn't me. Drunk Jules isn't me. Er, actually, he is. Like an evil twin or something." He laughed nervously, easing some of the tension between them. "It sounds like I'm trying to pin the blame on someone else, doesn't it?"
"Keep talking."
"I'll try," he said. "So, uh, I guess what I'm getting at... I hate drunk Jules. I hate who I am on that shit. Most people like me better drunk, 'cept you, but I could give a fuck what anyone else likes... 'cept you, again."
"You're an idiot," she said, for lack of anything better. Her heart seemed to literally swell beneath her breast.
"Guilty," he replied, daring to smile a little bit.
They had finally found level ground.
"I hate drunk Jules, too, by the way. Screw that guy." She sighed, running her hands through her hair. "I'm sorry for making you think I was gonna break up with you. That was immature. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you — I just didn't know what to say."
"You'd be smart to leave me. Justified," said Julian softly.
"You know, I've thought the same thing about you. Many times." She sighed.
Julian was baffled.
Sylvie pictured herself the way Julian was seeing her in that very moment. Tired, dressed in too-edgy clothes, makeup smudged from summer sweat and heat. Fat. If he could look at her like this, and still want her, then she had to talk. For him, but more so for herself.
"I love you, Julian. I don't want this to be the end. I think... we're not so different. You're fighting something you can control in theory but not in practice. I am too." This was the first time she had ever . "We're a couple of chucklefucks, ain't we?"
"You're not the one makin' a fool of yourself," said Julian wryly. He wanted to say that he loved her too. He loved her so much it made him afraid of her judgement, of him and herself. He loved her so much it made him forget his long held self-hatred. It made Julian wonder if there was something worthwhile about him, which he did not deserve to believe.
The two of them were united in absolute self-hatred. Only Julian could dispute Sylvie's image of herself with any efficacy, and vice-versa.
"So... we're good?" Sylvie asked. The whole thing had been rather anti-climactic.
"Not yet."
"What do you mean, not yet?"
"I gotta actually do it," he murmured. "I gotta get sober. And you gotta stop believing all that stuff about yourself. I know you can't help it, but it's hard to hear. For someone who loves you."
Despite herself, Sylvie brightened. She impulsively reached out to embrace him. "I love you too."
Julian caught her in his arms and marveled in the way she fit against him; soft, plush and perfect. He never wanted to feel another woman's frame against his, never wanted to let another woman's love cradle him. He opened his mouth and forced out the truth. "I only wanna be good enough for you... so that maybe you'll consider keeping me around."
"I already told you I wasn't going to leave you," she said.
"Yeah, but I mean, like, permanently. Er, for the foreseeable future, I guess."
She peered up at him, resting her chin on his clavicle. Julian couldn't help himself; he had to cup the side of her face in his wide palm. "I told you I love you. What about that says 'impermanent'?"
"Personal experience." He laughed sardonically.
"Fuck you," she said, with some degree of seriousness. "You don't trust me enough to take me at my word?"
"Of course I trust you." Julian met her gaze, taking in features that were so familiar to him. He was getting used to the idea that he had a long time to admire her. Forever didn't usually exist for rockstars — but then again, he didn't like to think of himself as a 'rockstar.'