Intellectual Property Ch 2: Real Super Dark (Patreon)

Afterwards, when they would lay in bed together naked and sweaty with their chests heaving in ragged breaths, their legs tangled, Awsten and Ash would speak in hushed whispers to each other. They would rest their heads on the same pillow, turned to face each other, practically speaking into each other’s mouths, their breath tied in knots.

The endorphin rush always helped, but it wouldn’t take long for anxiety to wend its way through Awsten’s body again. Ash had the uncanny ability to always call when Awsten was feeling his most stressed. Or maybe he was just perpetually stressed. Perhaps that was worth examining further at some point.

But they would lay in bed, and as that creeping sense of dread started to overcome him once more, Ash would prod him to conjure outlandish scenarios. Ridiculous ways to blow off steam that he would never actually do in real life.

“C’mon, what do you wanna do to them?” Ash had asked once, a smile cutting across his stubbled face. He bore a scar on his left eyebrow that Awsten had noticed the first time they met, but never asked him about. Now it was too late to ask where it came from.

That day, Awsten had huffed and tried to think of something. The them who Ash was referring to was a globally-renowned music magazine called Wavelength. The magazine had given his third album a middling review when it came out, saying that it was derivative of his old work and that he seemed to be running out of ideas. But that album turned out to be the biggest success of his career at that point, and now that his fourth was coming out he was a hot commodity in the scene, and Wavelength had reached out asking him to do a cover shoot.

Of course he was going to say yes. He’d be an absolute fool to refuse it. His manager wouldn’t let him, even if he wanted to. It would be his first magazine cover, and it’d bring a ton of publicity to the new album. He couldn’t pass that up.

What irked him about the situation, though, was that it would also bring a lot of publicity to the magazine. Now that he was more popular, his name a bigger draw, his fans would eagerly snap up copies of the magazine. If they did variant covers, then all those fans would even buy multiple copies, net Wavelength even more money. He hated the idea that these people who’d written him off less than two years ago now wanted to use his name to promote themselves.

Ash’s proposed scenario for him was truly a fantasy, because it involved him first becoming a highly-skilled Jekua Summoner. Buying the kayet, imprinting wild beasts onto memory cards, honing his mana and becoming a world-class battler. Then he would stomp into Wavelength’s office and summon his Jekua to wreak havoc. In Ash’s opinion, he should imprint a Korbir. They were enormous wildcats with six legs and a two-pronged spiked tail. They had four beady black eyes, and their fur was green with sharpened edges, looking much more akin to leaves than actual fur, which made the creatures look like living hedge sculptures. He would bust in with his Korbir in tow and use its Growth-Type magical powers, tossing employees around with meaty vines and pelting them with razor-sharp leaves.  Even without its Growth abilities, a Korbir could destroy the hell out of the Wavelength offices with just its raw strength. Those meaty claws could obliterate a desk in seconds, send a computer crashing through a window.

Admittedly, it sounded kind of fun. If only he were a Summoner.

Finally, Awsten answered Ash’s question. “I wanna drive a jetski through their office,” he muttered, then laughed at himself. “Just tear that shit up. Crash it into the receptionist’s desk, bust through a wall, I dunno. Ride it into whatever shitty little office their reviewers sit in all day every day with their shitty little headphones plugged in listening to music and just rip ’em all a new one.”

Ash was chuckling too. “Is that even possible?” he had asked.

“What do you mean?” Awsten asked, mock-offended. Admittedly, maybe some true mild offense slipped in there. “Are you ragging on my revenge scheme?”

“Can a jetski be driven, like, not on the water?”

“I dunno,” said Awsten. “But it’d look cool, right?”

Ash nodded and leaned forward slightly to kiss him. He pulled back and said, “I like it. It’s unconventional, but I like it. One more question, though.”

Awsten exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, pretending to be tired of Ash’s shit. “Alright, fine, go.”

“What color jetski are we talking about here?”

“Oh, wow. Actually a good question for once,” Awsten teased. Ash gave him a light shove and he thought about his answer. Eventually, he said, “I’m imagining…something vibrant. Something that really pops, really says ‘Look the fuck at me, I am here now, fucking your shit up.’”

“A color that says that even more than the fact that you’re riding a jetski through the office.”

“Exactly.”

“Got it. Which is…?”

Awsten pouted his lips, then said, “It’s gotta be red, right?”

Ash considered that for a moment, then nodded. “I think red’s good,” he had said. “Does red really go with your hair, though?” He rustled Awsten’s already-disheveled multicolored hair.

It was in those moments, when he felt his muscles finally relaxing, the tension in his body disappearing, that he allowed himself to believe for just a moment that maybe there was a future with Ash. Only for a moment, though.

Now, almost a year later, Awsten found himself laying alone in his childhood bed in his childhood room in his childhood home, staring up at the ceiling and letting out a deep sigh. No way would he want to fuck someone in this bed—that would be way too weird—but he longed to feel Ash beside him. The softness of his skin grazing him, the warmth of his breath on his neck as he dozed off.

Trashing his whole afternoon, spending it in bed with Ash. He missed that.

His linkpad was in the bed next to him. When he clicked the screen on, he saw that it was a little past noon. He never got to sleep this late usually, especially not on tour. It was a luxury. The first few times he’d visited his parents after moving away, his mother would wake him up either by banging around downstairs or literally knocking on his bedroom door and waking him up, but after several irate conversations she got the message and now let him sleep to his heart’s content.

He swiped away a few notifications, none of which were texts from Ash. Sure, he hadn’t really been expecting anything from the guy, but still. It was irritating.

That sense of yearning was swiftly replaced by anger. Maybe it was Ash’s apartment that he wanted to ride a jetski through now. Smash apart that bed, reduce it to nothing but fabric and splinters.

He’d love to see the look on Ash’s pretty face when he realized a person could drive a jetski on something other than water. Although he still didn’t actually know if such a thing were possible. Maybe he’d look it up. Probably not. But maybe. If he got bored.

He’d woken up in a good mood after getting such restful sleep, and now he was already feeling sour. Classic.

At least there was no reason to get out of bed yet. Aside from answering a few emails, there was nothing on his docket today. Nothing except for stewing in his anger about the whole Ash situation, which was best done under the covers.

The one bright side about his latest breakup was that he never got around to writing any songs about Ash. That was always the fucking worst. By now, you would think that maybe he’d learned his lesson, and maybe the fact that he hadn’t written anything about Ash was proof that he had. He’d noodled with a few ideas in his head before, sure, but they had remained mere melodies. Never anything with concrete lyrics. He had definitely never written a romantic bridge about the guy.

Roughly half his discography comprised of songs written about old boyfriends of his, and half of that half was about one man in particular. A man whose name was never to be spoken, yet who Awsten had thought at one point he might even marry.

That was a long time ago, yet the trust issues remained. He loathed thinking about the damage that Nameless had wreaked upon his life.

Despite all that, he had numerous songs about how in love they were. Because they had been in love, once. Or at least Awsten thought so. But either way, he’d written the songs and put them on albums, and now the fans loved them. They loved Awsten through those songs, sending him virtual love through their linkpad screens that—in retrospect—he never really got from Nameless.

He couldn’t just abandon the songs. He couldn’t let all those people down. But getting up on stage each night, singing his heart out about Nameless, it reopened the wound every single time.

It was what his therapist told him when he’d inevitably bring up Nameless again. His therapist would ask him stupid questions like how he thought that was affecting his new relationships and blah blah blah. As he thought about it, he suspected that maybe that was part of the reason why he never felt he’d fully recovered from that breakup. It was the most earth-shattering breakup of his life, the ruination of his most serious relationship, but it was years ago now. At a certain point, people got over shit like that. In his head, he could tell himself that over and over and over and over and over and over again, but it didn’t make it easier to actually achieve it.

Perhaps that was worth examining further at some point.

Luckily, it wouldn’t be the case with Ash. There were no love songs about Ash that he would have to get up in front of thousands of people and perform. No lyrics describing their lazy afternoons together, nor any about their first meeting, some bullshit metaphors about the two of them for fans to apply to their own contexts and get tattooed on their arms. None of that.

Ash could easily be erased from his life, just like the guy before him. And the guy before that.

Next to him, his linkpad’s screen lit up and he snatched at it immediately. Part of him hated how much his life revolved around the damned device, but at the same time he couldn’t tear himself away from it.

It wasn’t a text from Ash. Of course it wasn’t. He was an idiot for even letting his heart skip a beat, thinking that it might be.

Ash was supposed to be erased from his life already. He would be soon, Awsten was sure.

Instead, it was a text from his friend Travis, who still lived in Makanuele. No matter how many times Awsten insisted that he move to Aya Toske, Travis utterly refused. He said that it was a fun place to visit, but that never in a million years could he see himself living there permanently. One time, Awsten had gotten so desperate, he offered to find Travis an apartment and pay the rent for six months while he job hunted and got on his feet. He was still met with a resounding no.

Yo, what are you doin tonight? asked Travis.

He didn’t really have any plans that night. It was lunchtime, but it was too early in his day to think about what he might be doing.

Nothing, he replied.

Dope, said Travis. You gotta come over tonight. Party’s on.

Awsten nearly rolled his eyes. The text shouldn’t have surprised him.

If there was one thing everyone knew about Travis, it was that he absolutely loved to throw parties. He also loved to attend parties. If he had it his way, Travis would either be throwing or attending a party every single day of his life. Very quickly he would probably die of alcohol poisoning if that were the case, but he wouldn’t let some measly liver disease stop him from having a good time.

Awsten waited a minute, formulating his response to the invitation. In truth, the last thing he wanted to do was go to a party and be surrounded by people having a good time. Not when he was feeling this irritable. When dark thoughts swirled around in his mind, being around cheery people was never the solution. It only pissed him off more.

But it had been a little over a week since he’d gotten back to Makanuele, and he had yet to see Travis. He hadn’t seen Jawn yet either, but that was a whole other story. Jawn would for sure be at the party, as would every other acquaintance he had in town, and he did feel somewhat guilty about blowing his two friends off for so long. They would appreciate seeing him, and even with his dark mood, he would admit that seeing them would be nice.

Is that one guy gonna be there? he asked, assuming Travis would know who he meant. The person’s name eluded him.

Who?

Dammit. He combed the annals of his mind, trying desperately to find the creep’s name. It was a failed endeavor.

The one who looks and sounds and acts like a serial killer, he said.

Oh you mean Matano? Yeah he’ll be there why

I really do not like him, said Awsten.

Oh no worries dude he’s cool, said Travis, putting forth the least convincing argument ever conceived.

Fine, Awsten typed. What time?

After a string of both appropriate and also highly irrelevant emojis, Travis gave him the details. So that was tonight sorted out, then.

He spent a while mindlessly scrolling through his linkpad, pointedly ignoring the messages from his manager and accountant that he knew he needed to respond to soon. Maybe after he got some food in his stomach. That might make him less prone to snapping at people even if they said something moronic to piss him off.

Against his better judgment, Awsten found himself veering toward Ash’s social media. He pulled up the most recent photo he’d posted of himself, which was actually from the beginning of Summer, almost six weeks ago. Ash wasn’t one to post very often.

It was a photo of himself taken by somebody else, standing in a doorway that Awsten didn’t recognize.

Should he really be recognizing that many doorways, though? There were thousands of doorways in the world. Millions. Billions, even, maybe. Why should he recognize this one?

Still, it made him wonder where Ash was when the photo was taken. Was it some guy’s apartment? Had he already found someone else? Was it serious?

Awsten knew that he should exit out of the app and turn of his linkpad’s screen. He knew that. He knew it would be better for him to drag himself out of bed and trundle downstairs to eat an extremely late breakfast. He knew that.

But the choice he made was to spiral.

He pinched the image and zoomed in, desperately seeking out any identifying information in the photograph. Was there a reflection of the photographer somewhere in some shiny surface?

Is it serious? he asked himself again, automatically assuming that whoever took this photo was Ash’s new boyfriend. The assumption was based on absolutely nothing, but he couldn’t help his mind latching onto it.

Is it serious? More serious than we ever were?

Back when he was with Ash, Awsten would try not to let himself get too wrapped up in his emotions. He would let himself relish those moments when they felt like a real couple, not just two people fucking and generally enjoying each other’s company, but that was all. Deep down, he knew it couldn’t last. And besides, Ash always kept himself at arm’s length. Awsten might not have ever asked about his scar, but he never asked about Awsten’s, either.

After checking the time on his linkpad and seeing the flurry of notifications, constant reminders of bullshit he had to go do, he would hop out of Ash’s bed and scurry around the room in search of his underwear. As he pulled it on, Ash would sit up, his chest still slightly gleaming with sweat. Faint sunlight poured through the window as the sun set behind the Aya Toske skyline, basking him in orange light.

“You really gotta go?” he would ask Awsten.

“Yep.” Next would begin the search for his pants. It was never the case that any of his articles of clothing ended up near each other. Funny how that worked. “Too much shit to do,” he’d say by way of vague explanation.

Ash gave him that grin again. “Is there really, though?” he’d say. “C’mon, you can take one night off.”

“I really can’t.”

“One more hour, then,” Ash pleaded, his smile widening. He patted the empty spot on the bed beside him. “C’mon. Stay.”

That flash of a smile was always the thing that hooked Awsten. Made him feel like maybe this was more than it actually was. But if there was even the slightest possibility, shouldn’t he grasp it before it got away?

He would reciprocate that cheeky grin and say, “Double dare me.”

Ash laughed. “I double dare you to stay.”

And with those words, Awsten would cease the search for his pants and bound forward, leaping onto the bed. He’d tower over Ash, who was laughing at him as he placed his hands on his hips, posing stupidly.

“Is this how I should do the cover shoot?” he had asked, striking different poses and offering his best supermodel facial expressions.

“I think that could work,” said Ash. “Lose the underwear, though.”

And so he did.