It was strange, indeed. Very, very strange. I was in the worst mood possible one second, sitting on a bench after dropping my ice cream cone on the cold pavement of the New York sidewalk and next second, I was bumbling around all flustered like an idiot because I felt a weight on the other side of the bench and when I looked to see who it was. I saw that it was none other than Vic Fuentes, long curly hair, tan skin, signature snapback on his head and all. He looked bored, his eyelids heavy, back leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers interlocked. Should I say hello? Maybe not. I might be bothering him.
"Hey," he greeted, catching me staring at him. My breathing hitched. This was going to be awful.
"Uh..hey," I said, mentally cursing myself for the stupid 'uh.' I probably sounded dumb.
"I'm Vic. Vic Fuentes," he said, holding a hand out for me to shake and so I shook it, his fingertips rough and calloused and his grip firm.
"I know," crap, I probably sounded like a creep, "I mean...I'm not a stalker, I swear! I just...I love your band, I'm a big fan and...okay, I'll shut up now. Sorry." Real smooth. I wanted to kick myself for my awkwardness and I will, once he gets up from this bench and leaves me alone because he realizes that I'm not worth talking to.
"Calm down, I'm not gonna eat you or something," he says and inside I'm saying, 'please, please eat me because I'm making such a fool out of myself.'
"No you're not. It's alright, I'm not that good with people either," he tells me and wait...did I just say what i said in my mind out loud?
"What do you mean you're not that good with people? You're in a band touring the world meeting lots of fans and other bands. You're all about people!"
"Well yeah, but I can be super awkward too. That's all I'm saying," he said, on the verge of smiling.
"So uh...what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be busy or something?" I asked, truly curious.
"No. We're still touring," I knew that, of course, I stalk this man, "but we have a stop here and a day off."
"And this is what you chose to do with your day off? Hang out with some sad kid you saw sitting on a bench?"
"I didn't know it would end up like this. I was just walking around, really, all bored because everyone else in the bus decided to go out and drink. I don't have the stomach for alcohol right now so...here I am," he said shrugging carelessly, "We can hang out for the rest of the day if you're not doing anything.
Right then and there I swear I couldn't function. But I did.
"Yeah, yeah, that'd be good. Great, even!"
He stood up, dusting the dirt that wasn't there off of his pants. "Where do you wanna go?"
I stood up and beside him, the height difference was quite noticeable. He was considered short, as I've seen through several posts on Tumblr mocking his height but really, he wasn't. It's just that my height really is too freakishly minimal in number. "I don't know. I've only been in this city a couple of days."
"I've been here lots of times. I know a great coffee place," he said and I followed him down the sidewalk, making sure not to bump into strangers. I fell into step beside him quickly. A three minute walk later and I could smell roasting coffee and freshly baked bread, the aroma filling the air gradually. We walked in the quaint little shop and I noticed there weren't much people.
We went to the counter and ordered our coffees and he offered to pay for mine. I accepted because hey, I'm a freeloader and if Vic Fuentes asks to buy you your coffee, who would say no?
After getting the coffee, that thanks to my carelessness I almost dropped, we sat down on a table by the window, the chairs facing each other and the faint chatter of other coffee-goers in the background. "So, what do you want to know?"
"Hm?" I asked, peering up from my coffee cup.
"I mean, I'm sure you want to ask me some things. Not to sound like, conceited or anything, but you are a fan so..." he trailed off, elbow resting on the table just like what my mother told me not to do on the dining table.
I laughed, "You're right, you're not good with people either."
He chuckled and nodded, "You get ten questions. Go."
"What's it like being hit in the face by puberty so hard?"
He laughed heartily, "You saw it, didn't you? The high school picture?"
"Uh, who didn't see it? You had it on Twitter, for Pete's sake. Of course I saw it!" I was starting to get comfortable with him. He was just a normal guy, really.
"Being hit by puberty...hmm...it sort of made me dizzy at first because I was hit so hard," I roll my eyes at his cockiness, "but you know, it's pretty cool. Makes me not hate myself completely every time I look at a mirror."
Something he said caught my attention. "You hated yourself? Actually, uh...how do I say this without it being too awkward? I, uh, heard a few rumors about you, um, self-harming or something. It's okay if you don't answer but...is it true?"
Vic sighed, frustration clear in his face, "I can't believe someone would even start a rumor like that. It's not true. I've always been on the depressed side but I've never tried to do that. I mean, I thought of it...but I never did it."
I nod slowly, tracing my finger around the rim of the cup. "Yeah, yeah, it's messed up but well, someone thought you did because of that one picture of you with like, something that looked like scars on your wrist. What's up with that?"
"That was...I wear lots of bracelets. Those weren't scars," he said quickly, glancing away nervously. I raised an eyebrow, doubtful and I guess he caught on. "Okay, okay, once. I did it once. That's it. Let's not talk about it, okay?"
I nod in agreement. I wouldn't force him into talking about something he didn't want to. "Okay. Next question. What's it like practically being a one man band?"
His face contorted into one of confusion. "What?"
"You write the songs and you sing and you play the instrument. I-I worded the question wrong. It's just that you do most of the work so-"
"Oh, yeah, I get what you mean. I don't mind, really. I'm happy with it and the guys are happy with it so I don't really dwell on that issue. I like to write songs and face it, if any of the other guys tried to write with me, it would be a complete disaster. We have creative differences when it comes to that but they're cool with it. They like my lyrics," Vic said, leaning back into his chair. This action made the light catch him just a smidgen more. I notice how his hair was actually light brown, not dark like the absence of light led to believe me. Speaking of hair...
"What made you decide to get long hair?" It was a ridiculous question to ask. But what the heck.
"I just thought it looked cool. Besides, all the punk kids were doing it," he joked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Okay, next. The people who are ignorant who say you have such a squeaky voice and basically just your haters...how do you deal with them?"
"I have haters?" he asked and I thought he was being cocky again so I just rolled my eyes at him. But he was genuinely asking. "No, really? I do?
"Yeah, you don't know?"
"No, I don't. Maybe it's because I'm too engrossed by the fans and my friends and family. I guess I don't notice because...I care too much about them and not letting them down," he shrugged, putting his cup down.
"Well, that was overtly cheesy," I pointed out.
"When you're a band member who always does interviews, you'll learn to be cheesy in time," he said, smiling widely. All I could do was smile back.
"Okay, so, how did you learn to play so well? Like, literally, man. I hear your songs and I'm like, wow is that even real?" I ask.
He shrugged, "I don't know. Practice, I guess. Although I don't think you're getting anywhere with those stubby fingers."
"Oh, shut up," I roll my eyes at him, reaching over the table to slap his arm playfully. I thought of a silly question to ask next. "Next..."
"What is it?"
"Don't laugh when I ask you this, okay?" I said, smirking.
"Yeah, yeah, just spit it out," he said before bringing his coffee cup up to his lips to drink.
"Okay. What's going on between you and Kellin Quinn?" I asked and I swear, I swear, he would've spit out his coffee if he didn't choke on it instead. He coughed almost violently and I was about to go over and perform the Heimlich maneuver on him or something if he didn't compose himself before I did.
"Answer it."
"No, I don't want to," he said defiantly, shaking his head and putting his cup down to fol his arms across his chest.
"Fine, I think I know the answer anyway," I said, a playful smirk on my face and I swear I saw a shade of pink dust over his cheeks.
He just pouted bitterly, muttering something that sounded like, "Let's just get to the next question."
"Aren't you getting sick of like, when you're on tour, don't you get sick of playing the sames songs over and over again?"
"Sometimes, yeah, it sucks. But really, I'm too invested on not messing up each song to care about how sick I am of playing the song."
"I do recall you saying you always mess up."
He rests his head on his hands. "I know, I know," he groans, "But it's hard to sing and play at the same time, you know?"
"No, I don't know," I say, sticking my tongue out at him, "Anyway, next question. How did you make such an amazing album with only you and your brother recording?"
"Our first album? Really? You liked that?" He looked at me incredulously
"Of course I did! It was brilliant!"
"It was garbage to me. We didn't know what we were doing. We were trying to be all cool putting in complicated solos and stuff, thinking that maybe people would notice and stuff but it sucked. We always ended up messing up every show. Last question."
"Okay, for my last question...what will the new album be like?" I asked. Best case scenario: he gives me a copy of the album.
"Different, I'll tell you that," he said, throwing in a wink before his phone rang. He held up a finger to excuse himself.
"Hello? Yeah, okay...are you all done? Ugh, go ask someone-- but...ugh, fine. I'll be there in ten," he said into the phone before putting it down and slipping it back into his pocket.
"Hey, I have to go. They're all wasted and they need someone to drive them back. I'll see you again sometime..." he trailed off, hanging a question mark in the air and making a gesture with his hands.
Oh yeah, I haven't told him my name.
"Aina," I said. He took out a napkin from the table and took a pen from his pocket, writing down a series of digits on it.
"Here. Maybe you'd like to ask me about me and Kellin Quinn some other time so...yeah," he said awkwardly, leaving the napkin on the table and waving at me as he walked away and I was left there to contemplate.
Was all of that real?
I pinch myself.
Yes.
"Hey," he greeted, catching me staring at him. My breathing hitched. This was going to be awful.
"Uh..hey," I said, mentally cursing myself for the stupid 'uh.' I probably sounded dumb.
"I'm Vic. Vic Fuentes," he said, holding a hand out for me to shake and so I shook it, his fingertips rough and calloused and his grip firm.
"I know," crap, I probably sounded like a creep, "I mean...I'm not a stalker, I swear! I just...I love your band, I'm a big fan and...okay, I'll shut up now. Sorry." Real smooth. I wanted to kick myself for my awkwardness and I will, once he gets up from this bench and leaves me alone because he realizes that I'm not worth talking to.
"Calm down, I'm not gonna eat you or something," he says and inside I'm saying, 'please, please eat me because I'm making such a fool out of myself.'
"No you're not. It's alright, I'm not that good with people either," he tells me and wait...did I just say what i said in my mind out loud?
"What do you mean you're not that good with people? You're in a band touring the world meeting lots of fans and other bands. You're all about people!"
"Well yeah, but I can be super awkward too. That's all I'm saying," he said, on the verge of smiling.
"So uh...what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be busy or something?" I asked, truly curious.
"No. We're still touring," I knew that, of course, I stalk this man, "but we have a stop here and a day off."
"And this is what you chose to do with your day off? Hang out with some sad kid you saw sitting on a bench?"
"I didn't know it would end up like this. I was just walking around, really, all bored because everyone else in the bus decided to go out and drink. I don't have the stomach for alcohol right now so...here I am," he said shrugging carelessly, "We can hang out for the rest of the day if you're not doing anything.
Right then and there I swear I couldn't function. But I did.
"Yeah, yeah, that'd be good. Great, even!"
He stood up, dusting the dirt that wasn't there off of his pants. "Where do you wanna go?"
I stood up and beside him, the height difference was quite noticeable. He was considered short, as I've seen through several posts on Tumblr mocking his height but really, he wasn't. It's just that my height really is too freakishly minimal in number. "I don't know. I've only been in this city a couple of days."
"I've been here lots of times. I know a great coffee place," he said and I followed him down the sidewalk, making sure not to bump into strangers. I fell into step beside him quickly. A three minute walk later and I could smell roasting coffee and freshly baked bread, the aroma filling the air gradually. We walked in the quaint little shop and I noticed there weren't much people.
We went to the counter and ordered our coffees and he offered to pay for mine. I accepted because hey, I'm a freeloader and if Vic Fuentes asks to buy you your coffee, who would say no?
After getting the coffee, that thanks to my carelessness I almost dropped, we sat down on a table by the window, the chairs facing each other and the faint chatter of other coffee-goers in the background. "So, what do you want to know?"
"Hm?" I asked, peering up from my coffee cup.
"I mean, I'm sure you want to ask me some things. Not to sound like, conceited or anything, but you are a fan so..." he trailed off, elbow resting on the table just like what my mother told me not to do on the dining table.
I laughed, "You're right, you're not good with people either."
He chuckled and nodded, "You get ten questions. Go."
"What's it like being hit in the face by puberty so hard?"
He laughed heartily, "You saw it, didn't you? The high school picture?"
"Uh, who didn't see it? You had it on Twitter, for Pete's sake. Of course I saw it!" I was starting to get comfortable with him. He was just a normal guy, really.
"Being hit by puberty...hmm...it sort of made me dizzy at first because I was hit so hard," I roll my eyes at his cockiness, "but you know, it's pretty cool. Makes me not hate myself completely every time I look at a mirror."
Something he said caught my attention. "You hated yourself? Actually, uh...how do I say this without it being too awkward? I, uh, heard a few rumors about you, um, self-harming or something. It's okay if you don't answer but...is it true?"
Vic sighed, frustration clear in his face, "I can't believe someone would even start a rumor like that. It's not true. I've always been on the depressed side but I've never tried to do that. I mean, I thought of it...but I never did it."
I nod slowly, tracing my finger around the rim of the cup. "Yeah, yeah, it's messed up but well, someone thought you did because of that one picture of you with like, something that looked like scars on your wrist. What's up with that?"
"That was...I wear lots of bracelets. Those weren't scars," he said quickly, glancing away nervously. I raised an eyebrow, doubtful and I guess he caught on. "Okay, okay, once. I did it once. That's it. Let's not talk about it, okay?"
I nod in agreement. I wouldn't force him into talking about something he didn't want to. "Okay. Next question. What's it like practically being a one man band?"
His face contorted into one of confusion. "What?"
"You write the songs and you sing and you play the instrument. I-I worded the question wrong. It's just that you do most of the work so-"
"Oh, yeah, I get what you mean. I don't mind, really. I'm happy with it and the guys are happy with it so I don't really dwell on that issue. I like to write songs and face it, if any of the other guys tried to write with me, it would be a complete disaster. We have creative differences when it comes to that but they're cool with it. They like my lyrics," Vic said, leaning back into his chair. This action made the light catch him just a smidgen more. I notice how his hair was actually light brown, not dark like the absence of light led to believe me. Speaking of hair...
"What made you decide to get long hair?" It was a ridiculous question to ask. But what the heck.
"I just thought it looked cool. Besides, all the punk kids were doing it," he joked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Okay, next. The people who are ignorant who say you have such a squeaky voice and basically just your haters...how do you deal with them?"
"I have haters?" he asked and I thought he was being cocky again so I just rolled my eyes at him. But he was genuinely asking. "No, really? I do?
"Yeah, you don't know?"
"No, I don't. Maybe it's because I'm too engrossed by the fans and my friends and family. I guess I don't notice because...I care too much about them and not letting them down," he shrugged, putting his cup down.
"Well, that was overtly cheesy," I pointed out.
"When you're a band member who always does interviews, you'll learn to be cheesy in time," he said, smiling widely. All I could do was smile back.
"Okay, so, how did you learn to play so well? Like, literally, man. I hear your songs and I'm like, wow is that even real?" I ask.
He shrugged, "I don't know. Practice, I guess. Although I don't think you're getting anywhere with those stubby fingers."
"Oh, shut up," I roll my eyes at him, reaching over the table to slap his arm playfully. I thought of a silly question to ask next. "Next..."
"What is it?"
"Don't laugh when I ask you this, okay?" I said, smirking.
"Yeah, yeah, just spit it out," he said before bringing his coffee cup up to his lips to drink.
"Okay. What's going on between you and Kellin Quinn?" I asked and I swear, I swear, he would've spit out his coffee if he didn't choke on it instead. He coughed almost violently and I was about to go over and perform the Heimlich maneuver on him or something if he didn't compose himself before I did.
"Answer it."
"No, I don't want to," he said defiantly, shaking his head and putting his cup down to fol his arms across his chest.
"Fine, I think I know the answer anyway," I said, a playful smirk on my face and I swear I saw a shade of pink dust over his cheeks.
He just pouted bitterly, muttering something that sounded like, "Let's just get to the next question."
"Aren't you getting sick of like, when you're on tour, don't you get sick of playing the sames songs over and over again?"
"Sometimes, yeah, it sucks. But really, I'm too invested on not messing up each song to care about how sick I am of playing the song."
"I do recall you saying you always mess up."
He rests his head on his hands. "I know, I know," he groans, "But it's hard to sing and play at the same time, you know?"
"No, I don't know," I say, sticking my tongue out at him, "Anyway, next question. How did you make such an amazing album with only you and your brother recording?"
"Our first album? Really? You liked that?" He looked at me incredulously
"Of course I did! It was brilliant!"
"It was garbage to me. We didn't know what we were doing. We were trying to be all cool putting in complicated solos and stuff, thinking that maybe people would notice and stuff but it sucked. We always ended up messing up every show. Last question."
"Okay, for my last question...what will the new album be like?" I asked. Best case scenario: he gives me a copy of the album.
"Different, I'll tell you that," he said, throwing in a wink before his phone rang. He held up a finger to excuse himself.
"Hello? Yeah, okay...are you all done? Ugh, go ask someone-- but...ugh, fine. I'll be there in ten," he said into the phone before putting it down and slipping it back into his pocket.
"Hey, I have to go. They're all wasted and they need someone to drive them back. I'll see you again sometime..." he trailed off, hanging a question mark in the air and making a gesture with his hands.
Oh yeah, I haven't told him my name.
"Aina," I said. He took out a napkin from the table and took a pen from his pocket, writing down a series of digits on it.
"Here. Maybe you'd like to ask me about me and Kellin Quinn some other time so...yeah," he said awkwardly, leaving the napkin on the table and waving at me as he walked away and I was left there to contemplate.
Was all of that real?
I pinch myself.
Yes.
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