mars world

That kind of raw reaction was everything Willow craved. He loved creating music, but when his creations were truly enjoyed, the feeling of satisfaction was indescribable. It was better than sex.

I need you.

They were his own words repeated back to him, but the desperation tugged at his heart in a way that had him gripping his own shirt above his chest.

"Good—" he paused, having to clear his throat as his eyes followed Conrad's pacing figure.

"I don't need your words. I want your art," he elaborated, finally getting to the point of his invitation. "I want you to design the cover art for our next album. If you need materials or a place to work, I can arrange that."

He pulled off his guitar as he listened to the others' impression of him. When he looked away from him, something about the action made him want to do something to force him to look at him. Before the thought fully formed, he had set his guitar back against the wall and moved forward so he was standing directly in front of the taller male.

"My music will be your muse." It sounded like a demand, but it was really a plea. A plea for devotion, no matter how temporary.

Hawkins was not as bad as it sounded, but small town thinking had never meshed well with him. He knew the worst parts were born out of ignorance and fear, so he tried not to be too harsh about people who would probably be alright if they just traveled more.

He was interested in hearing more about what had brought Conrad to Hawkins, but he would have to wait on that deep dive. He sensed he might never know if the other was anything like he was about his personal life.

Rolling his eyes playfully at the continued groupie conversation, he finally took the pick out of his mouth and held it in place. He knew there were definitely fans out there already who would give anything to be in Conrad's place right now. If he ever got to witness their devotion firsthand, he was definitely the type to be moved by intense emotions. He hoped Conrad was too.

In response, Willow started playing, fingers moving along the neck of the guitar with a practiced ease.

After a few introductory chords, Willow began to sing.

It was a new song, still a work in progress, but the lyrics spoke about a dark romance too intoxicating to escape, but too poisonous to last. He never broke eye contact as he sang, voice full of yearning and raw emotions that would be hard to label.

The song lasted a few minutes before it ended abruptly. He was still working out the last few lines so it broke his concentration when he failed to fix it on the spot.

Picking up his cherry red guitar, he glanced back at the other, glad to see he had taken him up on his offer.

Willow was no stranger to all sorts of quirky and strange personalities. He was sure anyone who knew him would argue he had one of the strangest, but his unique charm had gotten him far in the industry.

It could be off-putting to people outside of the scene, but Conrad seemed able to handle him. Willow was tempted to push further just to see how much he could handle, but he knew he needed to prioritize the potential collaboration he had in mind.

"We've been in town a couple of months," he started, slinging his guitar strap over his head before he started testing the strings.

"This area is as backwards as I remember it," he mumbled around a guitar pick he was holding in his mouth. "Even if people know who we are, the rock scene isn't exactly thriving around here."

It was a bitter truth. Made more bitter because of fear mongering that led rock to automatically be associated with the evil kind of devil worship.

He had heard the stories about a particular metal head, Munson, and he felt for the guy since he imagined that sort of news was hampering his band's development before they even got a real start.

"Besides, we didn't advertise that we'd be here. Even the most loyal groupies don't get to know everything," he mused, a smug but not malicious grin tugging at his lips.

It was too easy to read a guy like Conrad. Jock types were all run by their egos. To be fair, guys in general were usually easy to manipulate if you poked at their masculinity. The rockstar was no exception, but it took more specific jabs to rile him up.

"Keep your distance—or I might."

Grinning at the challenge, he led the male to his temporary residence. The walk was neither short nor long, but as soon as he entered his room, he threw off his leather jacket onto the bed.

A guitar rested on the far wall and he went to retrieve it, making a gesture to the mini fridge in the room as he passed it.

Oh. Oh fuck. Oh, Conrad felt like an idiot. In fact, he couldn't recall the last time his own idiocy had left him feeling so much shame. And he'd been told he was a fairly shameless boy, all things considered. People were so easily fooled. Or maybe willfully blind.

The taller was avoiding eye contact, and Willow couldn't blame him. He knew that outside of performing, he often reached a point of intensity that no one wanted to deal with.

As soon as he was sure the guy was gonna leave, he was taken by surprise when he looked at him again with a new reassurance.

Good. He was interesting.

"I'll serenade you, but not without my guitar," he answered with a grin. "I could get it and bring it back, but it'll be easier if you just come over."

He was staying at the local bed and breakfast, and he had been in town so long, he might as well call it home. At this point, he should consider renting, but he liked having the freedom to pick up and leave whenever he wanted.

No one had ever said they needed him before, either. Not like that.

One thing he was sure of was that he had an eye for talent, and this guy clearly had some. It was still raw, but he wanted to help him mold it into something he could use for his next album.

When he started to seem unsure of himself, Willow's grip unconsciously tightened to just shy of painful.

" I just did, and I need you because I want you to listen to my music." He wanted him to listen to it and create the first thing that popped into his head.

His one track mind was derailed when the other male pulled away.

Right. Willow might have been born in Hawkins, but he had abandoned it when he was young, and he had abandoned the fear of fitting even before that. His bandmates teased him that he might just have been born without a sense of shame.

"No, you shouldn't," he responded childishly, but it held no malice. He might be older, but he was not the type to let go easily.

As the other male stepped away, it was the first time he realized he had to look up at him to meet his eyes.

He took a drag, letting the smoke out slowly and looking at Willow with appreciation in his eyes. That, and intrigue. How could he not? "Depends on...?" Conrad pried. He'd shifted, knees bent as though to press them to his chest but stopping halfway to let the notepad rest against them like a canvas on an easel. One hand held the cigarette, the end glowing with each drag as he continued to scribble away with the other. He could feel the other's eyes on him, measuring him up. It took more effort than Conrad liked to admit to keep from looking up to meet the other's gaze. Being watched wasn't new. Eyes were a common weight on Conrad's shoulders, sometimes heavier than any physical ones he'd had to haul. He could handle it though. Even from the lead of BrokenSaw. "Inspiration, huh?" Conrad repeated, eyes on his paper as he continued to work, "I mean, I'd be lying if I said Hawkins would be my first choice for a writing retreat. But then again, I was never the best at writing. So listening to me on that would be a pretty stupid move." Conrad admitted. "You willing to share or I am going to have to suffer the agony of unanswered curiosity?"

He pressed his back further into the bark of his chosen tree. He was comfortable. He could easily ignore the younger man's curiosity, but something made him feel like a balloon waiting to burst. Maybe he did need to see a shrink.

"Don't know if you're worth it," he admitted.

As the lead singer of a rising band, he had a reputation to protect. He was often reminded of it by his manager. It didn't matter to him, but he knew if the band suddenly tanked, it would affect his bandmates.

"But you seem interesting."

A genuine smile engulfed his features. Willow never lied. He could if he wanted to, but he never saw the benefit.

When the other finally trusted him with some of his inner workings, he was eager to see what he had put pen to paper. Sketches. He would never see these exact same drawings again, so he was more than eager, hungry to commit them to memory.

Call him arrogant, but he liked being privy to a person's innermost creations. He doubted he was that lucky this day, but he would take what he could get.

When the other added to the notepad in his hands, Willow's eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly, nearly dropping the cigarette between his own lips.

"I need you," he spoke suddenly, grasping the other's wrist

Willow’s assurance earned him a soft chuckle, as Conrad arched an eyebrow, “No shit? I really thought your girlfriend was hiding in your pocket or something-boy, do I feel stupid.”

The words were said in dry jest, but Conrad shook his head upon being asked if the other was intruding.

“Nah dude, you’re not intruding. Not like it’s my rock. I mean, I think I etched my name on it at some point last year, but I doubt vandalism holds up in a court of law.” Conrad paused, before grinning.

“Well, it probably does, but not in a way that’d work in my favor.”

Conrad picked up his notepad again, flipping several pages until he came to a blank one. He went back to drawing, silent for about 10 seconds before looking back at Willow.

“So. What’s the fact of BrokenSaw doing in a nowhere place like Hawkins Indiana?” Conrad asked, eyes returning to the page and pen scratching against the paper as he continued to talk.

“I’d think most people would want out. But you’ve been here a while and haven’t gone back to the real world yet.”

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Willow decided he could hang out with this guy. He seemed younger so probably not someone he had met before his big adventure.

"Law's full of shit anyway. You smoke?" He asked, already digging out his pack to offer him a smoke. He preferred company.

"Hm, that depends," he started, obviously sizing up the other male for a moment. He could be sketching or writing. It was hard to tell and it made the singer curious.

"I'm looking for inspiration. Some of my mates just followed," he explained leaning against a nearby tree.

The sun still hung high in the sky, and couples weren’t usually as interested in coming when it was this well lit.

Took away some of the hot and heavy mystique, Conrad suspected.

Conrad could feel the chill of the rock even through his AC/DC tshirt and worn denim jacket, as he rested against it from his place seated on the ground. A notepad sat in his lap, the pen working away as he focused on each line he added.

The sound of a foot breaking a stick jolted him from his revelry, and he snapped the notebook shut with the speed of a bear trap.

“Fuck, you scared me.” Conrad said, clearing his throat as he heard a touch of rasp to his voice, “I uh, didn’t think anyone would come out here. Most of the action happens closer to sunset.”

"Don't worry, I'm not a couple," he reassured, knowing this place had become popular for making out. He remembered it being more of an edgy spot for kids to hang out at when he was younger, but that had changed.

She squints at the lake like it personally offended her. “…I mean, it’s water,” she decides. “That counts.” She drops her tote bag onto a sun‑warmed rock and pulls out a pair of sunglasses that are absolutely too dramatic for the setting. Then she notices you heading her way, carrying a floatie shaped like a duck, which only makes this whole scene more ridiculous.