i try to write you POEMS, but the words they don't make s e n s e.
the hand tries to grip the pencil, but the fingers are [ too tense. ] i try to show E M O T I O N , but my eyes won't seem to wet.
i'd LOVE to tell you stories, but I can't remember how they ( w e n t )
Moony was a little caught off guard with how quickly Benji answered his question, finding it difficult to take it as an authentic response as opposed to a rehearsed one. He continued to watch the other man’s body language as it was a hell of a lot more expressive than Benji’s words. It was hard to be anything but confused. “Well I’m glad you’ve got it figured out,” He chuckled. “Gives me a little hope since we started in similar places.” He licked his lips in thought trying to get them back to where the conversation had started. “If that’s not bothering you, what is?” He tried. “It’s not like I want to run around and air your dirty laundry, you just seem like you need someone to talk to.”
Benji took the time to breathe in a full breath of air, his lungs protesting with the effort of releasing the air slowly enough for him to mentally count to ten in every language he knew. It was a poor attempt at buying time as a distraction as he fought his temper, which evidently, still wasn’t enough. He was irrationally angry with Moony’s persistence and he knew it, but the frustration roared through his veins all the same. After a lifetime of professionally dodging personal questions and burying his own emotions somewhere deep, this consistent display of affection felt too much like a trap, and it was exhausting. “Why do you even want to know? It doesn’t affect you, how I feel.” It wasn’t much of an answer at all, certainly not the one that the other man wanted nor the one that Benji intended to give, but the question bursted out of his mouth all the same, scathing yet vulnerable enough to offer a rare glimpse into his mind, and for once, he indulged in his curiosities.
Zara scrunched up her face, “Are you okay?” she asked seeing the boy clearly struggling to come up with words. Her first thought was that maybe he’d recently sent a similar text but she really hoped not- that’d be more awkward of a conversation than she had currently prepared to enter herself in.
Benji huffed, scrunching up his face in a petty retaliation to match her own, rolling his eyes and everything. He was growing extremely tired of everybody asking him that question on this tour. “Yes, fuck. I was agreeing with you.” He explained, his exasperation clear on his face, not making any effort to bother hiding it. “Why don’t you just, I don’t know, delete the number or something?” He offered, pragmatic, as if it was the most glaring solution and he was shocked she didn’t come up with it on her own.
“Oof,” Zara said looking down at her phone before looking at the person in front of her, “That ‘I miss you’ text is really something ex’s can’t help themselves with, huh,” she asked liking to keep her past in her past.
Benji blinked twice, abruptly drawn out of his own thoughts and confused at the sudden attempt at conversation. He even put in the effort of fully turning and glancing around the space behind him, certain that he would find somebody passing by that Zara was offering the comment to, but ultimately baffled to find it was just him and her. “Oh. Uh.” He offered dumbly, studying her for a second longer as his mind buffered. As childish as it was, he always associated Zara with his hatred for all things fashion and being forced into putting even the tiniest bit of effort into his image, and as a result often struggled to find a middle-ground for small talk. “Yes. It’s... the worst.” He decided finally, as if he had any real experience with the subject matter -- the closest thing to an ‘ex’ that he had was anybody he hooked up with twice in a row.
Moony couldn’t help but feel a slight twang of discomfort as Benji seemed to scan his face, wondering what the other was looking at… or for. He didn’t move though, letting the other do his thing and at least hoping he would get whatever answer he needed. “Yeah,” He agreed, his body releasing just the slightest bit of tension he had been holding when Benji leaned back. Up until recently the only pressure he had been feeling was surrounded around the idea of messing up or other’s not liking his music, but his management had piled a bunch more on after the other night’s events. He tried not to dwell on it though, knowing it could easily swallow him. “It’s different, but I guess different is always bad,” He decided. “Is that what’s bothering you though?”
“No.” Benji responded to the accusation far too quickly, barely a second passing between them before he had opened his mouth to deny the accusation -- even he could hear how hollow the word sounded. His lips screwed into a scowl, clearly displeased with the way he had allowed the denial to tumble off his tongue, before he had the time to cushion it with fabricated indifferences. It wasn’t a full lie. He certainly wasn’t strung out like he had been on his first tour, widely unsure and still eager to please. The weight forced on his shoulders was different now, still heavy enough to threaten to crack his collar bones with each wheezing breath, but circling around the threat to keep his facade in place rather than the simplicity of inexperience and nerves. He schooled his expression away into unbothered cockiness once again, as if he was fooling anybody at this point, gesturing a hand vaguely to the space around them to reference their lives in the spotlight as a whole. “This isn’t my first tour, or first anything. I’ve got it figured out by now, clearly.”
Moony continued to watch Benji’s movement. He was almost immediately thrown into his drunken mindset from the other night, wishing he could read the other’s thoughts as he clearly had a lot of them. “You just seem very up in your head,” He tried to explain, hoping it didn’t come across the wrong way. He was ready to explain himself further, stopping only as the other kept talking. The words hitting hard, he froze slightly. Of course he had been overly stressed about the new tour experience, added in with the pressure his management was currently putting on him, but he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. “I’m nervous yeah,” He nodded. “But I think I’m doing okay.”
Frustration bubbled up in Benji’s throat, something thick and ugly and unwelcome. He’d spent years perfecting his stoic image, well before he ever stepped into the spotlight, handcrafted walls and barriers to keep himself detached and others uninterested. Moony being so persistent, even in the face of all his insults and cold apathy, was an unprecedented inconvenience, and it made him want to scream. "Hm.” He was leaning forward now, taking a renewed interest in studying Moony’s face, scrutinizing each and every detail as if he intended to commit the other to memory in his entirety, like there was some secret hidden behind his eyes that he could easily detect -- it was the most eye contact he’d bother to make since the party, and a small part of him wished it made Moony feel as uncomfortable to be watched so closely as it made him. “I guess. Just a lot of pressure.” He forced something false like pity into the words before reclining back into his seat, in an instant just as uninterested as a moment ago.
Moony hadn’t noticed Benji’s hand until the other pulled it back. He raised his eyebrow, glancing under the table without being obvious to watch the other’s hand. He wasn’t sure if he was just a fidgety person, or uncomfortable, but he was curious. “I’m sure I’m not the only person who would notice you were gone,” He told, his voice soft now trying to comfort the other instead of just conversing. “I agree,” he nodded. “I’d much rather only have to do the performing part.” Watching the other’s eyes, Moony licked his lips slightly. “…are you okay?”
Benji sighed, tilting his neck back until his head was perched on the head rest, eyes rolling up to study the ceiling, wishing very much that he were in the business of believing in some powerful being above that he could then ask for the patience to deal with this conversation right now. It was a loaded question -- was he okay? He wanted to answer Moony with a million questions of his own, ranging from the simplicity of why he even cared in the first place to a more aggressive rendition of why he couldn’t just mind his own business. He didn’t like being watched the way that the other’s eyes tended to follow him, feeling exposed in a way he hadn’t allowed in quite a while. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He answered instead, an easy lie that he had mastered over a decade ago, a grin sharp and intense on his lips, looking back down to meet Moony’s eyes once again. “I would be more worried about myself if I were you. I mean, isn’t this your first tour?” He scoffed, clearly intending to weaponize the words, a cruel first attempt at deflecting his own behavior and irritating the other into abandoning the conversation altogether.
At this point, Benji was the last person Lincoln actually wanted to talk to. They’d spent a fair amount of time together before now, but this tour was the first time they’d been trapped in close quarters together for a prolonged period of time, and it was proving to be quite the dysfunctional dynamic. She rolled her eyes at his words. It was reasonable for him to think she was going to try to speak to him of course. She had a tendency in the past to bombard him with questions about his lyrics before she had to do press interviews. But she was annoyed enough about the past weekend to throw her usual desire to get his message just right out the window. “Whatever,” she replied with a small shake of her head, though she couldn’t help herself but stop walking when she got to where he was sitting. “Maybe you shouldn’t assume that every person who sees you wants to speak to you.”
Benji was an idiot when it came to social interaction, sure, but even he could hear the layer of ice backing up Lincoln’s words. The biting words didn’t fit right coming out of her mouth, he realized, and paired with the roll of her eyes, it was clear enough that she was irritated. At what, however, he couldn’t quite piece together, and he didn’t care to ask. She hadn’t been like this the last time he saw her, after all, when they talked about the events of the party. He paused, cocking his head to one side as he thought, the action so minute it was nearly unrecognizable. “Okay.” He drew the word out, long enough to fill the air between them with static. His voice was devoid of any emotion, save for perhaps blatant confusion. He nodded once, cutting off the sound, and dug his phone out of his pocket to briefly turn his attention to instead, a poor attempt at appearing distracted. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Moony had been trying his hardest to avoid Benji, as was instructed by his management, but it was turning out to be nearly impossible. Aside from the fact that they were literally on tour together and therefore going to all the same events and staying in the same place, he found himself unknowingly drawn to the other. He wanted to see him. He wanted to talk to him. Spotting him sitting alone at a table, Moony found himself walking over before he could convince himself not to. “I think you might be needed away,” He told with a small laugh, sitting down across from the other.
Benji wrestled his hand into stilling its movement as Moony sat across from him, shoving it into his lap instead in an effort to fully conceal his bundle of nervous energy. He had a facade of indifference to keep up, after all -- he didn’t want people setting expectations. “Eh. Everybody will get on just fine without me for one whole day.” He shrugged, a spitting image of nonchalance. He forced himself into staring through Moony easily, unseeing, as if the man in front of him was a pleasant stranger, rather than somebody he had drunkenly made out with just a few nights prior. “It’s just press. Boring.”
Benji mindlessly tapped his fingers on the table before him, the rhythm stolen from one of his newer songs, yet warped into something impatient and rushed. He always hated these parts of tours – in between shows, when he was forced into press or rehearsals or anything else that wasn’t nearly as exhilarating or worth his time as performing in front of so many people. He huffed out a long breath, abruptly irritated, at the sight of a familiar face approaching, somebody from the tour that clearly didn’t understand that he was busy buried deep in his own thoughts. “I’m just going to sleep until it’s tomorrow.” He mumbled as soon as the other was in hearing distance in lieu of a greeting, as though it wasn’t early in the afternoon and like he had any control over his schedule. “And nobody’s allowed to wake me before then.”
[ FROY GUTIERREZ // 20 // CIS MALE // HE/HIM // MUSE J ] can you believe BENJAMIN ‘BENJI’ VALENCIANO is apart of the stellar world tour? the industry has dubbed him THE CHARLATAN and he has quite the reputation. sources say he is [ ENGAGING ] and [ ASSERTIVE ], but can also be [ VINDICTIVE ] and [ QUICK-TEMPERED ]. however, he is best described by the song [ SUPER RICH KIDS ] by [ FRANK OCEAN ]. i can’t to see what the stellar world tour has in store for him.
bio & pinterest
hi hi !! i'm sure you guys will recognize this as a reoccuring theme sooner rather than later, but i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing at any given moment, so i'm just gonna dive into a quick introduction to benji and hope for the best ! if you are interested in some slightly more organized thoughts i would recommend taking a look at his bio ( which i just fixed the link for because i'm dumb and it was broken this whole time haha, so let me know if there are any problems! ) & i hope you guys enjoy :)
okay so benjamin is born in greenwich, connnecticut, a town famous almost exclusively for housing some of the wealthiest families in america and not much else. his moms are both lawyers, cutthroat defense attorneys that pay for the family's summers in europe and vacation homes down south with somebody's elses blood money. he's an only child, and their scrutiny is merciless as it curates an envy for the anonymity of the shadows. their expectations pile too high in his throat, and he fears the day he chokes and lets them down, for it is inevietable. but he knows they'll do anything to get him across that finish line, walking across the stage at a prestigous law school he couldn’t care less about, which in an odd way is more terryifying than it is comforting.
music is not something that even crosses his mind until much later in life. it was never an option, still isn't, so he decides early that it is not worth the energy of entertaining, even as he finds peace only when the music is loud enough to drown out everything else. he is desperate to mold himself into somebody worth his mothers' undying affections, not just charades and party tricks. but they are patient with him nonetheless, smiles tight and forgiving through it all, and his stomach turns more often than not with the way pity flashes in a matching set of cool eyes, lightning-quick.
benji is created in just sixteen hours and thirty-seven minutes, an accident. it's a textbook definition of overnight fame, a shoddy youtube video gaining far more traction than it was ever meant to. he's nineteen and only in his second semester at college, and music was never the plan, but neither was law school, really. it's a headache, dizzying to imagine taking a life where he steps outside of his family's hold, and he is forced to make a real decision for the first time in his life. so he does.
in the same breath that he signs a contract with the label, they are prying his music from his fingers, the lyrics of missing a life that was never his to begin with are lifted away and delivered to somebody that looks more the part of soft and remoreseful. ( cue lincoln entering stage left, hello bb ) rather, he’s fitted with quick and aggressive lines, still technically his words but molded in a way that don’t fit right in his mouth. they tell him it fits his image better, and doesn’t he want to be famous? the worst part is that it works, his fans eat it up, and demand more, more, more. anger thrums beneath his skin, obvious even as he shoves it down like always, but any pr agent could spot it from a mile away, and they tell him to use that instead. he is familiar with the use of disguises, years of sneaking around in his own home make excellent practice, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth all the same. nobody has ever allowed him the vice of anger before, though. he knows a lifeline when he sees one, and he runs with it. benji realizes all too late that this is not the freedom he thought he would be granted, realizes he should have known better, that he let himself get passed over from his mothers’ iron grasp to the label’s. he decides he prefers the way disappointing others lasts longer and feels better than chasing approval, and lets this time be different.
[ H E A D C A N O N S ]
( i know this is all dramatic backstory so far lmao, let me introduce you to who this dumb asshole really is )
more than anything else, benji is all bark with no bite. he’ll curse you out for accidentally waking him up at 7:30 instead of 8:00, and hold the grudge for hours with icy stares and glorified pouting, like he’s got a personal vendetta for making himself miserable. he’s often a bit standoffish, distant in the apathetic way that you could cry on his shoulder for hours and still not hear a word out of him, look over and he’ll offer a placating grin and a shrug. he tells the truth to a fault, blunt and unforgiving and too impatient to waste time playing games with lies and faux-affection. even with all his own bouts of irritability, the kid is an absolute idiot when it comes to reading people and understanding social cues and he’s often left blind-sided when people are pissed at him without explicitly spelling it out. still, he doesn’t hold any actual distaste for anybody on the tour, floating between groups based on whoever’s personality suits him better that day, unless they are the ones to escalate the matter, in which case, good luck charlie. forgive-and-forget isn’t really in his vocabulary. once he makes a decision, it’s near impossible to get him to change his mind.
when he wants to be, or if you’ve entertained his interests in one way or another, he warms up and and indulges you with his internal monologue ( your chances are better if there’s a camera around, he doesn’t often bother wasting the energy otherwise, but still ) actually, it is not as hard as it sounds to gain his favor. crack a dumb joke about pr or offer him half a snickers bar and you’ve already got a foot in the door, baby. he reveals his friendship in odd ways — sarcastic comments and random compliments, nonchalant and declared like fact rather than opinion.
the real shortcut into his brain is alcohol. flash forward to like 11pm on any given day and the asshole is chugging fireball like it’s the first sip of water he’s had after years of dehydration, suddenly all bright grins and loud laughs, eager to collect drinking buddies like playing cards. it’s a harsh juxtaposition, from brooding and fabricated to giggling and tipsy, and his tolerance isn’t nearly as high as he likes to pretend it is, so he’s drunk off his ass and acting a fool more often than not. he’ll trade secrets easily, charming and tongue loose in a way that it never is when he’s sober. ( don’t even get me started with the amount of people he hooks up with, oh boy ) drunk benji’s a real headache for the crew, considering he’s not of drinking age yet in america and he’s got a rigid mask to maintain in order to keep up his charades and remain relevant. he refuses to be ashamed of it, though, and he’s adamant to make things difficult for them, relishing instead in impulsive decisions he never got the chance to make for most of his life. long story short, in a pinch, buy him a handle and he’ll probably like you.
when i say benji will try anything once, i mean it seriously, offer him literally anything and odds are that he’ll say yes. it’s kind of ridiculous. his self-destructive streak is always up for a good time, wink wink ( this doesn’t just mean drugs or anything, like dare him to eat an entire jar of nutella in under 10 minutes? where’s the spoon )
unfortunately he’s a stereotypical rich kid through and through, and he’s got the nicotine addiction to show for it. he won’t even smoke cigarettes out of the principle of the thing ( unless he’s blackout drunk, in which case, oh boy, watch your pockets ) but he’s got at least two juuls on him at any given moment. nobody knows how he manages it, but he’s got an extensive supply of the mango flavored pods even though they’re banned, because they’re the only ones he’ll use. he’s got lots of connections, and the fact that he uses them for this pretty much sums up his entire personality.
you would think that benji, with his reformed rich kid attitude and all his burning anger and sarcastic eye-rolling, would only drink expensive coffee, black and strong, right? no. he’ll walk up to any barista, pissed just to be awake before noon and gaze as hard and cold as hell itself frozen over, and order himself a frozen caramel frappuccino with extra whipped cream and extra caramel drizzle on top, deadpan and monotone. to add insult to injury, he’ll chase it by shotgunning a can of redbull, living off of unhealthy amounts of caffeine to have enough energy to deal with the others at all times. it’s ridiculous.
he’s grudgingly okay with the fact that his social media accounts have been sacrificed for his image, wiped clean and shaped into the public figure he is today. however, he guards his spotify account with his life, keeping it private and refusing to monitor this aspect of his life. his music taste is everything to him, and while he’s willing to plaster songs he’s never listened to all over his instagram story, his spotify is an extension of him, and he fights like a dog to keep it that way.
last but not least, benji’s fashion is atrocious. really, for the greater good nobody should let him dress himself, ever, and they usually don’t. he’s got quite the bad reputation amongst the stylists, infamous for scowling at the high-fashion look they want to stuff him in, refusing to hear reason to the fact that he has to wear makeup to the red carpet. whenever he knows beyond a doubt that no cameras will be waved in front of his eyes, he practically lives in sweats like it’s his religion, paired with genuinely whichever shirt he first lays eyes on. ( listen, he grew up filthy rich and just bought his first pair of sweatpants when he went to college, let him indulge bb ) some members will swear up and down to the fact that they saw him walk around in mysteriously stained sweatpants and a stolen back-up dancer’s skin tight, hot pink mesh crop top for a full hour into rehearsal before he woke up enough to realize his mistake. he’ll bite your head off for even bringing it up, but glance down and double-check what he’s wearing just in case.
oh wait also he’s dyslexic. words blur together in a way that makes writing lyrics a bitch, and just one song take him weeks to finish. it makes the sting of having them ripped away even worse. ( also i get to spell things wrong in the group chat and it’s in character lmao )
