THE ROCKSTAR AND THE GAY (BXB ENGLISH)

Chapter 5

The adrenaline from the performance still hummed through my body like an electric current as I stumbled off the stage, my chest heaving with each breath. The crowd’s cheers were fading, but in my head, they kept amplifying in stereo, pushing my confidence into overdrive. I’d nailed it. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. I was convinced it was one of the best performances of my life.

But there was one thing that really mattered. The real prize. And that was whether Kennan had noticed. The way he looked at me, the way his eyes lingered on my every move. Did he feel the connection too? Or had he been too busy watching the girls in the front row squealing over my every note?

"Nice recovery," Anthony muttered, barely glancing at me while he packed up his guitar with the same nonchalance as if we hadn’t just finished a bomb performance. "You really should warn us next time before you decide to pull a move like that."

I nodded absently, trying not to show that I was already drifting towards the far end of the room. My mind was elsewhere. To be more specific, it was on Kennan. The guy had that perfect, aloof, ‘I’m cooler than you’ vibe that made my insides twist. You know the type. The one that somehow looks better just standing still. The one that makes you want to trip them while they’re walking, just to see if they’ll fall. Yeah, that was Kennan.

I glanced over at him. There he was, near the bleachers, arms crossed, with that signature “I’m judging you” expression. His face was unreadable, but that only made my stomach knot tighter. If he wasn’t looking at me like I was the second coming of rock ‘n’ roll, was it possible he didn’t care? Or worse, did he think I sucked?

"Why isn’t he smiling?" I mumbled, under my breath.

"Who?" Timmy asked, not even sparing me a glance as he fiddled with his bass.

"Kennan," I said, my eyes still locked on him. "He’s not even—"

"Maybe he’s just constipated," Timmy said, holding up his bass like a shield. "I think it’s a vibe."

"Or he’s just pissed I did a backflip off the speakers in the middle of ‘Animals.’ You think that’s a turn-off?" I asked, finally allowing the nervousness to bubble to the surface.

Timmy gave me a blank look. "You’re overthinking it. You’re the frontman. Just be cool."

"Yeah, I’m cool," I muttered, even though I wasn’t sure anymore. I wasn’t cool. Not when it felt like Kennan could crush my entire ego with a single well-placed sentence.

I started walking toward him, trying to hold onto the cool, calm, collected persona that I prided myself on. But as I got closer, I noticed a slight narrowing of his eyes, and I realized, this wasn’t going to be easy. I had imagined this conversation a hundred times, but none of those times had involved the intense amount of self-doubt that I was feeling now.

"Hey, uh... did you like the song?" I asked, trying to sound casual, like I hadn’t just gone into full performance mode on stage. But the slight c***k in my voice was enough to betray me.

Kennan tilted his head slightly, his arms still crossed, but his posture screamed ‘I am unimpressed.’ His expression didn’t soften, didn’t do anything I could latch onto. He studied me like I was some kind of test he was waiting to fail.

"It was alright, I guess," he said finally, and my heart did an awkward little flip. "A little over the top, though."

"Alright?" I asked, hoping I hadn’t just heard what I thought I’d heard. "That’s it? Over the top?"

He shrugged, his face an unreadable mask. "I mean, Styx? Really? Who still does that?"

I felt a sharp pang in my chest. Was he seriously calling my performance ‘over the top’? I’d just given them everything I had! What did he want from me? A humble rendition of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ next time?

I forced myself to smile, my teeth probably showing a little too much. "Well, you know, versatility. I like to show I can do more than just yell into a mic and look pretty," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Kennan raised an eyebrow, his expression far too amused. "Versatility? Or desperation?"

Desperation? That stung. Like a bee in the ass. I opened my mouth to retort, but instead, I ended up chewing my bottom lip, trying to hide the frustration bubbling inside me. What did he mean, desperation? This was just my style, my way of keeping things fresh. So what if I pushed the envelope a little?

But then, a thought hit me. Maybe I could work with this. Maybe I could turn this into a chance to get under his skin, make him see that I wasn’t just some clueless i***t trying too hard.

“Look,” I said, swallowing down the irritation in my throat, "I thought you might appreciate the effort. After all, I am the guy you kissed last weekend." I let the words hang in the air like a challenge, watching his face carefully, looking for any sign of change.

Instead, his face remained annoyingly cool. But his eyes… those beautiful, cold eyes… flickered just for a second, and I swear I saw something. Annoyance? Pity? I couldn’t tell, but I had to push.

“About that,” he said, his voice flat. “Don’t get any ideas. It was a mistake. I had too much to drink, alright? Happens to the best of us.”

Mistake. The word hit me like a wrecking ball. A bloody mistake? That was the kiss that had kept me up half the night, replaying it over and over, hoping it meant something, anything. But now he was throwing it away like it was a drunken hiccup at a party? My stomach dropped, and my confidence evaporated like fog under the sun.

“Well, if that’s what you need to tell yourself,” I said, my voice coming out a little too snarky. "But that’s not how I remember it."

He snorted, as though he couldn’t believe how far I was stretching this. “Yeah, I bet. But I’m not some damsel in distress, Wayne. If you think you can impress me with your singing skills, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

I was about to open my mouth and unleash the sarcastic genius I’d been working on in my head when he just… turned. Like a freaking ninja.

“You really think you can impress me with… this?” He gestured at the stage behind me, where my bandmates were wrapping things up. “What are you trying to prove, Wayne?”

I blinked. That was… well, that was rude. But before I could even respond, he turned and started walking away, his back to me, his footsteps deliberate, his disinterest almost palpable.

A cold wave of panic spread across my chest. I wasn’t ready to let him walk away. Not like this. I couldn’t let him just shrug me off and disappear into the crowd. My pride wouldn’t let me.

“Wait,” I said, stepping forward, my voice softer now, almost pleading. "Let’s just talk. Just for a minute. No crowd, no performance. Just us."

Kennan paused, his shoulders tensing like he was about to break into a run. Then, slowly, he turned around, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I thought he might actually say something remotely nice. But nope. Instead, his face twisted with a touch of pity, as if he had just realized he’d accidentally tripped over an awkward, overly enthusiastic fan.

“You really think you can impress me?” he said, shaking his head as if I were the most hopeless case he'd encountered all week. "You’re wasting your time."

And then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, he walked off, leaving me standing there with my mouth half-open.

I couldn’t believe it. There was no way I could let this go. I wasn’t going to let him walk away and act like I didn’t matter. Not after everything. Not after that kiss.

So, I made a decision. I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

I was going to make him notice me, no matter how many ‘mistakes’ he thought I was making. And the next time he looked at me, I was going to be the one he couldn’t get out of his head.

I was Wayne Ralbovsky, after all. And I didn’t give up that easily.