Cammie comes out first in her tiny black dress and custom gold high-tops. People are whistling as she spins her drumsticks and waves, taking her seat. Felix and Drew follow her—both in black jeans and sparkly gold shirts. Drew’s is a crew neck and Fe’s is a muscle tank. Of course. Benjamin takes his sweet time—so by the time he walks out, the room has settled.
He looks like a star. Golden hair moving gently due to the fans—sleek black boots, glittery, baggy gold pants and a black jean jacket that stops a few inches above the waistband of his pants. The jacket’s open and he’s got nothing underneath. There’s gold glitter on his cheekbones and bracelets line his wrists. But most important—more overwhelming than anything else—is the little button sitting against his chest, swaying with each step.
He still wears it.
The crowd is fucking losing it—screaming for him like Beyoncé just walked in. He sets the mic to the correct height, checks with the others that they’re ready, and turns to the crowd. For a moment he takes it in. The lights—the people, the mic in front of him. Then—like the energy just won’t stay inside of him—he starts grinning.
“Hey there, we’re Phoebe. We’re a cover band and we’re really excited to perform for you guys—so shut up and listen, kay?”
“You’re so hot!” Someone from the crowd yells and Benjamin just laughs, moving back to take a quick sip of water.
“This is ‘God In Jeans’ by Ryan Beatty.”
The lights dim, casting a shadow on the stage. My heart is beating so fast I might puke.
“Do you know this song?” Amber asks me and I shake my head.
The music starts—spotlight on Felix as he plays the opening chords. The backtrack of a violin is being played over the speakers to accompany him. He looks happy and energetic. I’m glad I didn’t miss this for him.
Then the spotlight widens to include Benjamin as well. He’s standing at the mic—hands gripping the stand, eyes closed. When he sings his voice sounds like honey and burning wood—and it’s so beautiful and raw my eyes immediately start to water.
The song is pretty straightforward—his lover is his god and there’s an unstable love there, one he can’t completely rely on yet is painfully devoted to.
My stomach is in my throat. Visions of Benjamin on his knees—of him praying to me, thanking me. Telling me that he’s given his life to me.
The drums and the bass start up, lighting up the whole stage. Benjamin’s eyes open—so honest and so full of pain.
“Is this…” Amber’s voice trails off, watching the tears on my face as they fall. It is. It’s about me.
Benjamin breaks into the chorus for the second time, and I can see on his face that this isn’t a love song—it’s a plea. A plea to a god he used to know—for a safety he once had. For me.
People are yelling and clapping—watching him scream at me, watching him take all of what he felt for me and bare it to the world so he doesn’t have to carry it anymore. Not alone. I want to tell him that he’s wrong. I’m here and I’ve always loved him and I’ll love him still.
Fuck—that pain on his face. That tremble in his hands that has nothing to do with the stage or the crowd. I want to hold him—kiss it all away. Whisper into his ear until he believes me.
Heconcludes the song—letting the crowd scream as he stares at the ceiling—chest rising and falling. Then he turns to Felix and he grins.
“We’re Phoebe—and next up is ‘Wet Dream’ by Wet Leg.” He winks—letting the music start up around him.
It’s upbeat and seductive. He sounds like he’s telling a friend something he shouldn’t—a very dirty piece of gossip. Chastising the audience for wanting him, for thinking of him. His hips move so subtly, his stomach tensing and those little gold bars flash whenever the flaps of his jacket are moved far enough to the side.
“Ah, he’s getting hotter, A.” Amber says over the sound of Benjamin’s voice.
“I know.” Maybe I need that drink after all.
Someone’s screaming as he grabs the mic stand—hand in his hair, moving to the beat. He’s lost in it—this energy, this desire, this night.
The song ends and he smiles out at the crowd, dimples caving in. Everyone’s in love with him. With every pop song—even when he’s screaming into the void of his sorrow—they’re cheering. I watch their faces; I can see the infatuation. My little Button.
“That’s all, Cavetown.” Benjamin says after their rendition of "Just for Me" by PinkPantheress. “Phoebe thanks you for shutting up.” His grin is so wide I think his face might break and a bra lands at his feet. He laughs and picks it up—slingshotting it back into the crowd. Then—Phoebe disappears.
“Holyfuck.” Startled—Amber and I turn to the two girls next to us as they giggle at each other. “I think I’m in love with him. Think he’s single?”
“Jess—look at that body, his clothes. He’s hot as fuck but definitely gay.” The girl—Jess—scoffs, waving her friend off, eyes set on the stage in determination.
“That means jack. Let’s find out, hm? There he is.” Jess saunters off and I watch Amber lean over tothe friend.
“Yeah—he’s more into men. My bestie here is his normal fuck.” The girl’s eyes shoot to me and I flush, shoving Amber with my elbow.
