Addicted to Love

[Karo]

It was a balmy Saturday evening. The Lion's Mane concert venue, which had only an hour earlier been filled to the brim with concertgoers, was now mostly empty. A line of people, mostly young women and teenagers, poured out from beyond a door to the band's green room.

In that line stood Bea, the certifiable biggest fan of Maverick. Her ears still rang from the deafening concert earlier, but it didn't bother her. She had been in the first row, so close to the stage she could even touch the band members when they came to its edge. She'd shown up hours early to camp for her spot in the front, sustained by nothing but her fanatic love for the band.

Anxiously, she clutched her VIP ticket tightly. Living on a bartender's salary, she never could have dreamed of buying a VIP pass on her own. She had won hers from a radio giveaway the weekend before. All weekend, she sat by the radio with her phone at the ready. Within seconds of hearing a Maverick song, she'd dial into the radio station, hoping desperately she'd be the lucky caller. Winner after winner made it through and she had begun to lose hope but refused to give up. Finally, just as the beginning chords of "Your Love" pierced through the air, she dialed the number one last time. The dial tone was deafening as she waited, but when she heard the words "congratulations", she screamed. Finally, finally, she had won. She would get to meet the members of Maverick.

She'd been obsessed with them for years. It all started when she heard one of their songs while going through a tumultuous breakup. Something about the lyrics, especially in the lead singer's voice, spoke to her. As he sang about his own heartbreak, Bea couldn't help but imagine he was singing directly to her. The rest was history. She quit her bartending gig, packed everything into her car, and began traveling the country following Maverick's tour. She worked odd jobs to sustain herself, but besides food and lodging, all of her money went towards buying tickets to see their shows.

That was three years ago. Now, as a burly bouncer checked her ticket and waved her through, Bea felt as though she might faint. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she practiced the speech she had prepared to give Maxwell, the lead singer. His songs had been there for her when no one else was.

Her eyes scanned the room, looking desperately for the singer. Then, she saw him.

Instantly, it was like the world had stopped turning. The ringing in her ears cleared and it was as if she couldn't see anything else, just him. He was as gorgeous up close as he was on stage and Bea could feel heat rising to her cheeks. Clearing her throat, she smoothed her hair down and approached him.

She opened her mouth to speak, ready to bare her heart and soul to him, but nothing came out. She was thoroughly starstruck.

She stood like that for a moment before finally, she mustered the courage to speak.

"I'm Bea," she blurted out, extending her hand. "I… I love your music. It's just so…" she trailed off as his steely brown eyes met hers, butterflies exploding in her stomach. "Beautiful," she breathed.

 

[Nemopedia]

The scary thing about fame was that it snuck up. One day Maxwell was just any regular highschooler with a love and passion for music, playing and experimenting around with his friends and suddenly a decade had passed and he was touring around the country to meet fans that screamed his name and wanted to know everything about him. There was no proper preparation for that, the dreams he had being just sweet dreams and nothing reflective of what was happening. Like an exponentially growing formula that started at two and then doubled and now was set to a 100, at least it felt that way, for there was nothing left anymore of their slow and steady group and fanbase.

"The VIP's" he heard Eliza, their manager, say and Maxwell shut his eyes, feeling his eyes burn against his eyelids for the lack of sleep he got and the long hours of touring. It always took its toll on him. He had always been a difficult sleeper, unable to sleep in strange environments and tours increased that by a tenfold. That accompanied with the constant need to produce and continue to produce new works to keep the fans satisfied and the band running. Maxwell couldn't remember when he had slept for six hours straight between his many schedules that also went parallel to his musical career, for an artist was supposed to show themselves as well, not focus on music only.

"Ready," Maxwell announced after a minute, his head falling back before cocking back into place as he stood up from the couch, his hand rubbing over his face before tugging the corners of his lips upwards ever so subtly.

"Like your name, Bea," the man responded, always quick to recognise the connection between words. Over the years Maxwell had learnt not to be only smooth on paper, but to have a glib tongue as well, "it just misses an 'u' for you," he teases, grinning at his own joke, knowing that it was cringey, but also having learnt that his fans loved it all the same from him.

"How long have you been a fan?" He continues when he hears the sharp 'tsk' from Keirian, the guitarist, disapproving as ever at the attention the lead got and the rest of the band didn't get. Maxwell could only throw an apologetic smile before pointing into the direction of some of the male VIP's that had managed to score some time with the band, clearly more interested in the only female member of the band than anyone else. Not that it pleased Keirian any more, but it kept her occupied at least.

"What is your favourite album?" Maxwell would continue his questions, his fingers going across the row of albums, their newest release, that they had prepared just for this VIP meeting as he thought of what personal message Bea would want from him.

 

[Karo]

"Four years in October," Bea replied. "I started following your tour pretty soon after that. I've been to practically every concert you've played."

It was true. In her four years following Maverick, she had only missed three concerts: twice when she was can't-get-out-of-bed-sick, and once when she was in the hospital.

"Definitely 'Lover's Symphony'," Bea answered, watching him intently. "I swear, it feels like every song on that album was meant for me. My first tattoo was actually the album art." Bea pointed to her forearm where an image of death and an angel intertwined was etched in black ink. "Hurt like a bitch, but worth it."

Bea was on cloud nine. Never in a million years would she have imagined she'd be getting to talk to Maxwell himself, never mind tell him how much his work meant to her. And yet here she was, talking his ear off…

Realizing how much she'd been gushing to him, Bea suddenly felt herself getting self-conscious. Sheepishly, she looked down at her shoes, then up again.

"I'm sorry if I'm talking a lot, it's just… you're such an inspiration to me," she added, eyes lighting up. "When I was a kid I dreamed of starting a band and touring the world, just writing songs that touch people, you know?"

 

[Nemopedia]

Four years. That was about the same duration as their breakthrough. The thought of meeting a long time fan tugged at the corner of his lips, his earlier headache clearing up as his frown cleared up, the muscles in his face relaxing.

"Lover's Symphony," he repeats after Bea. 'Lover's Symphony' was one of the first songs he had written, all the way back in high school when he had his first love. Back then it was a song packed with his love, or what he believed to be love back then, now it was a bittersweet memory. His first love was now part of the band and the song was shelved until Maxwell felt that the song and its emotions felt distant enough that no one could ever assume who it was about. Now an entire allburn was named after the song to which Maxwell owed everything.

"Do you play any instruments?" Maxwell asks, eager to continue the conversation with the fan that had noticed Maxwell before Maverick, before his fame. "Maybe you can play something?" Maverick's lead singer almost seemed shy making the request, giddy for sure, hazel eyes sparking up in a way that felt like a lifetime ago to Maxwell as he offered his hand to Bea, wanting to lead her to the back where the instruments were stored.

 

[Karo]

Bea had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming like a giddy schoolgirl when Maxwell offered her his hand. Composing herself, she took it.

"I used to play guitar but it's been a while," she said, nervous at the prospect of playing in front of her idol. Still, this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance she was not passing up. "But I'd love to play something."

Inside, she was jumping up and down. Maxwell, the Maxwell, wanted her to play something for him. She ran through songs to play in her head, wanting to choose the perfect one. She couldn't play one of Maverick's songs, that'd be too much. At the same time, those were the songs she knew best. After a moment of debating, she decided to play the first song she'd learned on guitar– "Horse With No Name"

 

[Nemopedia]

Maxwell was fascinated by Bea, that much was clear. Even to Keirian who had already started to wrap up her meeting with the VIP's of the night. The guitarist, the muse to 'Lover's Symphony', watched Maverick's singer lead the fan towards their own personal instruments, picking up her guitar as the brunet handed it over to the other, eyes shining in a way that they hadn't done so in a long, long while.

Keirian frowned at that, though she didn't say anything, turning away from the pairing as she turned to Eliza, their manager.

"You play well," Maxwell told Bea, feeling his heart jump once more at the song played, and then again when he realised that the room was quiet apart from them. That the band members had already wrapped up their meet and greet and that he had only seen one fan. "It has gotten late suddenly," he observed, not wanting to break the spell or to end the meeting, but knowing that it had to eventually.

On the table there was one single album left, signed by everyone in the band before the concert had started, a gift for the VIP's of the night. "Will you be there tomorrow?" he asks, nerves getting to him when he picks up the album and flips it open, revealing the signatures within. The tour was scheduled to stay in the city for one more night before moving on, and while fans like Bea were loyal and followed them everywhere there was little chance that Maxwell would see her again. Not unless he made it happen.

"Text me if you do, I will tell security to bring you backstage," he tells her, feeling a little breathless when he notes down his number on the inside of the album cover with a sharpie, right next to his own signature.

Just in time, it seemed, as Eliza returned, waving for Bea to follow her out of the room.

 

[Karo]

As Bea played, it was like time stood still. Everyone and everything else faded away until it was just Bea, Maxwell, and the music. She could have stayed in that moment forever, but the meet and greet was coming to an end.

She watched giddily as he wrote his number in the album.

When she got back to her car, she let out the ecstatic scream she'd been suppressing. It felt like she was in a dream. That night when she got back home, she barely slept.

The next night, she went back to the concert. When she texted the number Maxwell had left her, a part of her feared it would be wrong. However, when the singer texted back and sent for her to be brought to the VIP room again, she knew her wildest dreams had come true.

........

It was a Saturday afternoon. The morning had long since come and gone, leaving behind sunlight filtering through a curtain. A stray sunray landed on closed eyes and slowly they fluttered back to life. Still half asleep, Bea surveyed the hotel room she shared with Maxwell, gaze drifting across the beige walls. She turned her head to see Maxwell, still sleeping. She reached out and shook him gently. "Babe," she murmured sleepily. "What time is it?"

She was still pissed at him about the other night. After wrapping up a concert, the band went to an after-party. The night had started out fun but quickly spiraled out of control when Bea caught Maxwell with dilated pupils and a suspicious white line on the table in front of him.
She confronted him about it and it quickly burst into a blowout argument that ended with them leaving the after-party.

She'd tossed and turned for hours, her head full of questions. How long has he been using? Is that everything? She hoped he'd be more open to talking about it now that he'd slept it off.

 

[Nemopedia]

It started with alcohol. Just to kill the buzz in the back of his mind. Then it became weed, to relax him and ease him to sleep and somehow it had spiralled. Each time Maxwell told himself last time, each time the front man convinced himself that he was stronger than the substances and that he wouldn't grow reliant on them, that he had Bea and the band and his mates, Maxwell found himself back with the demons again and the sweet promises they came with.

The anger of last night, Maxwell knew that it all boiled down to disappointment and shame, disappointment in himself and shame for himself. Bea didn't deserve that, she didn't deserve what he was doing to himself and to her, but he knew he couldn't promise better, for better meant relinquishing and that he couldn't do either, for at some point everything had mixed itself into a powerful concoction that was now both his career and his identity, for now his muse would only come to him when he felt a buzz instead of extracting it from the figure lying next to him that he was ignoring now, for he couldn't face her yet.

The reminder of time, however, the ringing question had him shot right up, hands scrambling up for his phone as he tapped the display open and groaned at the realisation that whatever time it was; he was late.

"Why didn't you wake me?!" was his first accusation instead of sorry. Why, instead of his admission of guilt. Why, instead of her name and a reminder that, after everything, Maxwell still loved Bea like he loved music and his band and that without one, without Bea, he couldn't breathe. Why, angry and ugly as he bounced out of bed, tripping over sheets and discarded clothes on the floor as he tries to get himself ready instead of kissing her a 'good morning' and taking in her expression before starting the day.

 

[Karo]

Shocked out of her haze by Maxwell's harsh demeanor, Bea pushed herself up and watched him in confusion. "What?"

She grabbed her phone and turned it on. "It's 2:41."

Bea's eyes widened with realization. Fuck, the shoot!

Maverick had a shoot with Rolling Stone for an article. The band was supposed to be on the cover, and Maxwell was the center of it. It was a massive milestone for Maverick, and he was two hours late.

Quickly switching into assistant mode, Bea jumped out of bed. She'd address how he was acting later; now, it was time for action. She rushed to her suitcase, pulled out a dress and quickly slipped it on. Bea buzzed about the room quickly, splashing water on her face, brushing her teeth, and throwing her makeup in a bag. Done gathering her own things, she grabbed her phone and ordered an Uber to the shoot.

"Uber will be here in five, babe!" she shouted towards the bathroom, where she could hear Maxwell brushing his teeth. "What do you need me to grab for you?"

 

[Nemopedia]

[Where are you?]

[Max, srsly???]

[Shoot cancelled, thx boss]

Maxwell wasn't sure how to react, toothbrush bungling from the corner of his mouth as he watched the messages load into the screen, the missed calls counter counting up while his thumb hovered over the screen, indecisive on what to do.

Feeling breathless Maxwell didn't know whether to double over or to stay upright or to lie down, his head bouncing in that hollow way only alcohol and drugs could make him feel, his blood rushing, yet his body shivered in the sheer cold that crawled its way through him. Nauseated and clear minded all at once Maxwell maintained his trance until Bea popped up around the corner, trying to help salvate a situation that had already ended in a failure.

"Call Keirian," he mumbles, toothbrush still in his mouth and eyes dazedly staring against the wall, "Eliza," the name of the manager followed after, as Maxwell slumped against the wall, his head hitting the wall behind him, unsure of what to do and paralysed on what to do.

The sound of the doorbell followed next, cutting through the shared apartment loud and sharp earning a wince from Maxwell when a familiar voice followed, loud and angry;

"Open up fucking junkie!" Contrasting with the usually composed and elegant appearance Keirian stood at the other side of the door, fists rapidly landing on the wood of the door in a barrage of pure anger expressed.

"You fuck-up, you – you," the frustration and disappointment in Maxwell's dearest childhood friend was clear as she continued her assault on the other side.

 

[Karo]

Hearing nothing but silence from the bathroom, Bea poked her head through the doorway. Maxwell's face was pale and he looked like he had just snapped out of some sort of trance.

"Call Keirian, why?" Despite her questioning, Bea already had her phone out, scrolling through her contacts in search of Keirian name when she heard pounding at the door and yelling. Quickly putting two and two together, she realized the shoot had been canceled and the guitarist was rightly pissed.

A swirl of emotions hit Bea at once. She felt angry and disappointed with Maxwell, but seeing how clearly bothered and out of it he was, she felt a sense of protectiveness come over her.

Bea whipped the door open, coming face to face with Keirian. "Calm the fuck down Keirian," Bea snapped.

Ever since Maxwell and Bea started dating, she and Keirian never saw eye to eye. While Bea tended to coddle Maxwell and protect him from the consequences of his actions, Keirian was quick to confront him when he messed up.

There was another layer to it too. Despite her best efforts, Bea couldn't be jealous of how close the two band members were and their history together.

Glancing back to check where Maxwell was, Bea leaned in, her voice lowering to a whisper. "He's not a fuck up, alright?"

 

[Nemopedia]

Keirian was, at her best, a wild storm in hands. At her worst, the guitarist was a hurricane, merciless and raging, just how she marched past Bea, ignoring the woman in the door with a shove before standing tall in front of a disillusioned Maxwell who had slumped down to the floor, his eyes blank and overdrawn by all he felt and didn't feel.

"You are fired. Eliza is too chicken to say it, but we are over," Keirian spat at the man, which earned a small reaction from the brunet, his face pale and his eyes wide as he looked up at his long-time friend and first love. The stabbing pain that followed, alongside the numb slip of his mind. Maxwell wasn't sure how to take it as he tried to compose himself, not wanting to lash out, not trusting his voice or his legs to carry him.

"See it as a favour," Keirian spat, her dark eyes now a glaring charcoal that made Maxwell wonder if they ever had seemed so hateful and beady before, barely catching the; "be glad that the news of your addiction didn't come out. Get clean. Retire," before Keirian left, just as abrupt as she had come in.

The way she glared at Bea, the accusation that she didn't allow to pass over her lips, and her own heartbreak over the split were all missed by Maxwell whose own soul was in a thousand pieces as his first dream ended just like that.

 

[Karo]

Angry and taken aback, Bea buzzed after Keirian like a hornet. She opened her mouth to launch a counterattack but was silenced as Keirian spat out her own fire at Maxwell. She watched the two, jumping between their faces of righteous fury and pained despair.

A sense of hurt and rejection radiated from her lover, its heat igniting a fire within Bea. She stormed after the woman, hurling her own vitriol. "Good fucking luck without your lead singer!" she yelled at the guitarist's back before slamming the door closed.

A wave of emotions washed over Bea as she walked back to Maxwell. She resented the way Keirian had looked at her, accusing her of enabling Maxwell's fall. She hadn't even realized it was a problem until the night before. And now, because of his actions, their whole world had been turned upside down. She could kill him.

But then she felt that pain emanating from him and her red-hot anger began to fizzle out.

"Babe," she said gently, crouching down to look him in the eyes. "Are you okay?"

 

[Nemopedia]

Was it even possible to be fired from something that he was a founder of? Unnecessary questions roamed around his mind, trying to make sense of the fall-out that was happening around him. The idea that his childhood dream was shattered now, the door shutting and the words of Keirian sounding through his mind, the lack of Eliza, the manager, who should have broken the news of their broken engagement instead. Maxwell had so many questions and no answers and the last answer he had was the one question he didn't ask himself.

Feeling out of focus Maxwell meets Bea's gaze, his eyes darting away immediately after in shame as he blinks to himself, the air heavy and his breaths short, the words escaping him as he finds himself unable to react and yet the clearest he has ever been.

All at once Maxwell felt that an impossible weight was shifted off his shoulders, yet the crushing feeling of defeat flattened him out, deflating whatever there was once within him as the back of his head hit the wall with a thump. An act he would repeat, as if wanting to bash out the thoughts within.

And then another fear seized him. Remembering last night's fight and remembering Keirian's words earlier Maxwell grabbed hold of Bea's arms, his expression now frantic and feral as the anxiety took its hold over him, his grip tightening and his fingers digging into Bea's shoulders.

"Are you planning on leaving as well?" he gasped, expressing the one fear he had, or rather the one that remained now that his world was torn apart. "Will you leave me?"

 

[Karo]

Maxwell's frazzled words hit Bea like a punch to the gut. She knew how he felt in this moment, abandoned and alone. It was a feeling Bea was all too familiar with.

Gently, she removed his hands from her shoulders, taking them in hers instead.

"Maxwell, look at me," Bea said softly, looking into his eyes. "I will never leave you. Okay? Ever."

Those weren't just words. She meant it. After a lifetime of abandonment, Bea knew she could never hurt someone she loved like that. Besides, Maxwell was her everything, her shining star. She'd be lost without him.

Pulling him towards her, she wrapped him in a warm embrace. She could feel the tenseness in his shoulders, which only made her hug him even tighter. She hoped it would calm his nerves. She hated seeing him all worked up.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear, pulling back from the embrace. "Nothing is going to change that."

 

[Nemopedia]

Love and warmth, the two things he felt the least deserving of wrapped around Maxwell, pulling him in and enveloping him in the hour he needed it the most. Instinctively he wrapped himself around Bea, without a thought he kissed her, his nose buried in the space between her neck and her shoulder. "I will be better," he promised, promising it to her, Bea, and to himself, whose dreams had shattered now. He had to be.

[One year later]

The white towels were stained a bright red. Too red to be blood, but still disconcerting contrasting the colour they were meant to be. Red splotches could be found in the washing bin as well, dotting some of his skin as once warm hued hazel eyes glared back into his reflection, the new red hairdo an angry and roguish contrast to his handsome boy-next-door image of before.

He was clean, had been for months now, but that hadn't taken the edge of his anger, nor the rawness of the humiliation he had felt at being kicked out of the band and the nasty rumours that had followed. The way Keirian had announced herself as the new leader, and the press release of his departure. It had all been nasty business in which Maxwell had to hide himself, and Bea as well, for a period. Away from the public. To learn that he wasn't what the media claimed he was. That he wasn't defined by what his former friends said about him.

"Bee?" Maxwell called from the bathroom, red tinted water still dripping off the ends of his hair, staining the floor over which he walked as he exited, "the dye is finally showing, but the water isn't clearing up," the man called, a little unsure if he had followed the directions of the package correctly. It was one of the rare few things he felt unsure about these days, unable to dispel the Maxwell he had been before entirely.

"Bee?" he called again, his voice turning more forceful as he called for his fiancee.

 

[Karo]

"Jesus Christ," Bea laughed as Maxwell walked into the kitchen. "It's all over you." She paused, noticing the red droplets of water that he had left in his wake. "And the floor!" she exclaimed, amused by the scene.

With a smile, she draped her arms over Maxwell's shoulders. Ignoring the water dripping onto her skin, she kissed him gently.

Ever since he'd gotten clean, their relationship was as strong as it had ever been. There were setbacks, sure. Especially in the beginning. But since reaching his rock bottom a year ago, Bea had seen the man she loved transform before her eyes. Her pride in him was immeasurable. So seeing his physical transformation as well moved her, and reminded her just how much she loved him.

Pulling away from him, Bea gave him a mischievous grin. "Alright, back in the shower you go." She grabbed his hand and began leading him to the shower. "And this time, I'm not letting you out until the water's clear."

 

[Nemopedia]

"But the colour," he protested, though he knew how silly his worry was as soon as he sounded his concern, already missing Bea's warmth as the water was now chilly on his skin and goose bumps started to form.

Eventually the man that was once called Maxwell stared at a fiery red haired reflection of a pale figure with familiar brown eyes. A man that had been a brunette before and a man that had been broken before. A man who was now reborn with a new chosen name, discarding the old-fashioned sounding 'Maxwell'.

"That is a lot brighter than I expected," Max breaths first, his hand seeking out Bea's who had been styling his hair. The same hands that had helped him up from the rock bottom he had hit before. "I hope it burns their eyes."

He pinched the hand he had found tightly, a fire burning that went as hot and bright as the dye in his hair.