#threads: tim.

tim had been beyond smug when his band had blown up — one of his first thoughts, bizarrely, had been something along the lines of can’t wait to see the look on archer’s face. when their publicists had arranged a meeting, he’d been puzzled but glad — what better opportunity to gloat further? except he hadn’t even gotten the chance. their teams had sprung the idea of a “pr relationship” on them before either of them could blink, all based on the online buzz over a paparazzi photo of tim and archer outside of a club. they’d been taking a smoke break, for fuck’s sake, but of course people were going insane over it. and tim’s ‘image,’ as his manager put it, was... less than stellar. he was a little too much of a bad boy, which, if you asked him, was bullshit — wasn’t that a good thing? but no, apparently not. 

so there they were, on a “date” at a popular ice cream parlor, surrounded by paparazzi and gawping onlookers, holding hands so tightly tim felt sure he might actually break one of archer’s tiny, birdlike bones. teeth gritted in a false grin, he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “smile, bitch. you’re making it look like i’m torturing you.”

it wasn’t a completely new set; most of the songs were crowdpleasers from their last album. but they also performed a song they’d never performed before — one tim had written himself. it’d been a while since he’d had a vocal solo like that, and his voice had started out slightly shaky before it reached its full power. at least he could be confident that he’d sung it well after that point, he thought bitterly, wiping tears from his eyes and glaring into the cloudy mirror over the bathroom sink. his reflection looked strung-out, like he’d tried a few too many party favors — which he had. and he hadn’t slept properly in days. not since he and gracie had gotten into their worst argument yet. 

but the song hadn’t been about that. it hadn’t been about them, or about her — like most of the songs he wrote these days were. it was about his parents. and maybe it was because his mom had sent him a cryptic text last weekend, or maybe it was because he was just a pathetic little bitch, but the words had been like knives to his heart as he sang them. hands balled into fists at his sides as he stood there, tempted to smash the mirror. tim jumped when the door opened, blinking rapidly at the girl standing there. “hey. is there a line to the girls’ bathroom or somethin’?”

based.

“after tonight, i never want to see either of you again.”

despite the way her words irked him, a grin spread across tim’s face — he couldn’t help it. she was cute. “we don’t suck, but thanks for your opinion, princess. lemme guess, you like ariana grande or some shit, don’t you? listened to hannah montana in fifth grade and never matured, yeah? it’s fine. some people just have no taste.” 

“dude, you’re like, swaying right now.” squinted at the younger male, reaching one hand out to steady him. “are you good? i thought you only had one drink.”

based.

“nice acting. almost thought that kiss was real.”