closed starter for julien hart ( @hartattck ) -> fight club dressing room, saturday, 9:45pm
"Sounded like you missed four notes in Stars."
Sweat, rapidly-cooling and well-earned, leaves streaks of shine down Noa's neck, behind his ears, across his furrowed brows. It isn't glistening the way it was under the heat of the stage lights, but Noa isn't thinking about how he looks right now - not with Julien, who has seen him through everything, including the parts of him he learned how to keep very, very well hidden. Noa tugs his tank top (also drenched with sweat) over his head, uses it to wick away what's left on his face before balling it up and tossing it on the dressing table.
Tension had long ago seeped it's way into the tour bus, wrapped its tendrils around the members before they'd even hit city number five, and though Noa might pretend like he doesn't feel the sting of its grip, he's starting to suffocate like the rest of them. It squeezes around his chest, makes it hard to breathe; Noa reaches for his bag so he can root around for something clean to wear.
"You gonna' tell me what the fuck is wrong with you tonight or are you going to make me ask?"
