heroeswork | I'm screaming from outside in, Tell me where I've been

I'm screaming from outside in, Tell me where I've been

Billy stepped out of his building hands shoved deep into his pockets. Even without anyone really knowing his face, he still wore sunglasses and kept his head down. If it weren't the middle of a hot summer day, he would have added a hat and a high-collared jacket as was demanded of him.

He wasn't happy. Far from it. They were in the heart of New York City. Just like he'd always dreamed. He was selling records like crazy. He had droves of fans. Always top of the charts. More than most people could ever achieve at the young age of 22. But it all seemed like it was happening to someone else. Because he only ever saw the studio or his home. Even after moving to New York a few months ago, he still didn't actually see anyone who liked his music. Because he was forbidden from performing. From even having his photo on his albums. Not even his real name appeared anywhere. He was billed as "CHAOS" and nothing more.

He wasn't supposed to even be outside. His manager forbid it unless he was present as well. But he was off dealing with some business for the day and Billy couldn't stand staying cooped up another moment. He bought a copy of Rolling Stone off the news vendor and ducked into a coffee shop. He found a dim corner away from everyone else as he sipped at his drink. He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head as he flipped opened the magazine. He was after a specific article, listed on the cover.

"True CHAOS" the headline yelled in bold, red letters. The subheading added "Fans and journalists alike demand 'Who is He?!'" The article went on to detail the mystery surrounding his own career. Statements from fans. Attempts to stalk the studio. Pleas for information. An analysis of his music trying to guess at what his accent when when he wasn't singing.

Billy scrubbed at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand.

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Billy was drawn to the drummer even before Mark led them to him. Watching his sticks move. Listening to that rhythm. He'd been hearing it for a while, but now...now it was right in front of him. He didn't even see the drummer himself at first, just the instrument and the sound. He was so entranced that he didn't even notice the camera at first.

It wasn't until Angel looked up that Billy realized Mark had pulled it out. Like a startled animal, he suddenly jolted back. Making sure he was behind the thing. He just gave Angel a tight smile, and looked to Mark. Did an old thing like that even record sound? He didn't want to risk it.

Did he even have any cash on him? While he waited for Mark to be done with his camera, Billy dug out his wallet. He did indeed have some cash. Which if and when Mark finally shut the damn camera off, he intended to give it to the incredibly talented drummer.

Angel stops, confused at the look Billy's giving him, and is about to open his mouth when he hears a familiar click and winding noise.

"Mark Cohen you should really learn to say hello, darling, instead of just filming."

"The power of art compels me," Mark says simply, and Angel gets up and wraps long, toned arms around the blonde and gives a huge smack of a kiss right on the lips. Mark only laughs and hugs him back, completely used to it.

"What brings you to Avenue B?"

"Grabbing a bite. Thought I'd say hi--Angel, this is Billy."

No judgement, no need for introductions, just love: Angel, smiling, wraps his arms around Billy's neck and kisses him on the cheek in greeting.

"You okay honey?" Angel asks. "Drumming too loud? Tired of Mark filming you?"

"I wasn't!"

Billy politely looks away when Angel kisses Mark. It shouldn't bother him in the least. He barely knew Mark and Angel seemed nice enough. So what was that strange twisting deep in his gut? He felt like he was being jilted some how. It didn't make sense. He was just going to lunch with Mark. So why did he feel dread dragging at the pit of his stomach?

He managed to put on a friendly smile when attention was turned back to him. And there were arms wrapped around him. He returned the hug, if a little hesitantly.

"He's not allowed to," Billy announces, putting on a smug face. "But I know how artists can get. Speaking of which," he opened his wallet again. He'd almost hesitated in giving over the money. His reasons to refuse it dripped with jealousy. All the more reason to push passed it. He pulled out two twenties, twice what he'd planned to give at first, and offered them to Angel. "Consider it a gift from the fat cats at Valkyrie."

"Y---"

And Mark absolutely beams at Billy since Angel, it seems, is at a loss for words. Mark feels stupidly proud, now. Like he's showing off Billy. Billy, who dresses like a shark but swims with the fish. Billy, who has alarmingly blue eyes and an amazing smile. Billy, who is still learning about Bohemia and is excited about every new thing.

Billy. Mark is showing off Billy.

Angel picks his jaw off the floor, grabs the pickle drum, and takes the money with well manicured, pink-painted nails.

"Today for you, tomorrow for me," he promises, and Mark smiles even wider, leaning in towards Billy.

"I'm bringing Stoli to Mark and Roger's tonight and you can't skip, Billy. Not when you're mysterious aloofness and kind generosity as made Mark so curious. That makes me curious."

"Where are you going?"

"Grocery shopping," Angel announces, but not before moving to kiss Billy on the cheek a second time. Mark laughs.

"I think you're just starting to buy your way into everyone's hearts," Mark remarks.

When Angel refers to Billy as mysterious and aloof, he looks to Mark and pointedly raises an eyebrow. Just what was Mark saying about him? There was a terrifying moment that he wondered if anyone in this strange group thought maybe Billy was in fact CHAOS. Mysterious and aloof certainly fit the public image. But Billy thought of himself, the face he was able to show people, as anything but.

"Afraid I gotta get back to the slave drivers by sundown. But have a drink for me, would you?" This time, he actually returns the cheek kiss, trying to hide the feeling rising at the back of his throat. All of them drinking together. Without him. Roger, Mark, Angel, and god knows who else. Getting drunk...

He pushed it down before he could think on it enough for it to show on his face. He gives an innocent shrug to the jab. "It works, doesn't it?"

"Remind me to tell you the cautionary tale of Benny. For now? Let's go to lunch." And maybe--just maybe--there's a spring in his step as he continues walking.

"There's a great deli nearby--unless you wanted something fancier? I figure the best way to stiff it to the man is support more local artists. And since Life Cafe is off the books for the time being--I don't really feel like dealing with Maureen today--I figure that would do? I think Alfonso and a few other people are working, anyway, and he's got a great artistic skill with yarn, you should see, man! I thought about filming him, but I got... Sidetracked. Which reminds me."

He turns around, walking backwards. "You're not leaving the house until I sent you back with some of Roger's stuff I've filmed. Even if I still think you should just blow off the big-guys and hang out with us for the night."

Once again, Mark pinged off more topics than Billy could even hope to respond to. But he just smiled, listening. At the very least, he felt that strange jealously fading away. Maybe he'd just imagined it. Perhaps it was just wishing he actually could join everyone for a drink later.

Once Mark turned around Billy reached out to stop him. Both of his hands reaching for the other's shoulders. "We can go where ever you're most comfortable." That's all he said, with a small, warm smile. He was starting to worry that if Mark got any more tightly wound, something might snap. He honestly hadn't seen anyone ramble so much since Martinez' first attempt to talk to the press.

"I'm comfortable," Mark says completely automatically. It's in the same manner of 'I'm not worried, you're worried, but any rambling he can do is cut off by the fact that Billy's hands are on his shoulder.

Why the fuck, exactly, is Mark acting like a girl all of the sudden? He's driven Billy around, for god's sake. And yet... That smile, though. It was nice and Mark fumbles to give his own smile, suddenly shy and worried and feeling like he's at his Bar Mitzvah all over again, trying to talk to Caitlyn Goldstein.

"Actual conversation isn't my strong suit," He manages. "That awkward, huh?"

All Billy could do was smile. A soft, sympathetic, amused sort of small. As if he found every last thing that Mark did was both adorable and endearing. But that didn't even begin to describe how he truly felt. He was in awe of Mark. Especially now seeing how awkward and unsure he could be. To find someone like this in the heart of one of the most brutal cities, and surviving. Not quite thriving, but still able to follow his dreams and have so much passion that he had his camera so easy to hand.

"Just breathe," Billy said, tilting his head forward. "It's just you and me, nothin' to get nervous about. Just talk to me like..." he hesitated, trying to come up with a good example. "...like Roger. I know you've not known me very long, but I want you to be comfortable." Okay, maybe now he was starting to ramble a bit. Was it contagious?

"This is sounding more and more like an awkward first date," Mark observes, and he can't help the words coming out of his mouth. He immediately regrets them, of course, but he forces himself to just pretend it's a joke.

"And anyway," He says quickly, "I doubt you want my level of sincerity with Roger." Because Mark can be a catty, pretentious asshole. More so than when he kept knocking CHAOS.

Part of him thinks Billy has to be straight and this is why it's all too good to be true. Maybe Billy just wants to be nice and help someone out, and while that would normally raise his hackles he finds himself unable to do so.

The joke rendered Billy completely and utterly silent for a moment. To the point that he just blinked at Mark for a moment. Mostly because he hadn't really considered that particular angle. And his first thought wasn't to dismiss it, but to think it not such a terrible idea. But Mark laughing it off dashed what sparse hopes had started to rise. Of course. It was ridiculous. There was no way Mark would be into him enough for something like that. At least not this soon, right?

"Of course I want that," Billy said to the latter part. "I want to see the true and honest Mark Cohen. Not the mask he hides behind while around strangers." He tilted his head with a knowing sort of smile. He might not have a full grasp of reading people, but he had the start of a natural gift. "I get enough of that at the studio, anyway."

Mark can't help the grin on his face, even if he's shaking his head. "Nope," He says flatly. "I'm an observer. I observe, I don't wear masks."

Mark is an equal opportunity emotions-hider, apparently. But what Billy said had helped as he navigates the street--figures he'll go to local people to do the best damage to Billy's company credit card and pay the community back. It isn't long before he winds up at the East End Kitchen.

He's known by name not because he eats here a lot--he doesn't--but because the waitress is a spunk blonde with dreadlocks who asks him about Maureen's next spoken word at the Life Cafe. She immediately chitchats to Billy, too, because anyone around Mark has to be an alright person in her book.

"One of these days, you really should come to the cafe with us. Even Roger goes now that he has Mimi. He, uh. He used to not leave the house for a while, it was pretty bad."

Talking about other people is easier than talking about yourself, after all.

Billy smirked with a raised eyebrow at Mark's comment about not wearing a mask. But he held his tongue because he needed to think over his words. In the cafe, he was friendly and charming,c hatting back with the girl. But not anywhere near flirting, just far more comfortable than Mark would be with a complete stranger.

As much as Billy wanted to know about Roger, that wasn't his concern right now. He settled across the table from Mark, being polite and not dismissing the words outright. Because he wasn't going to let this thing go, and he'd had time to consider what he wanted to say.

"I'd love to go with you," he said with that easy smile of his. "But." Okay, maybe he wasn't so good with transitions. "You said outside you don't wear masks. Yet you hide behind that camera of yours at every possible chance."

This was territory Mark would much rather bury. His gaze snaps up, not offended, just surprised. Mildly insulted, but only mildly--he knows Billy probably doesn't realize it's a sensitive, sore subject. A wound that hasn't quite healed. It's not his fault.

Still, though. Mark inhales a little sharper than he should, responds a little too fast, a little too defensive. Sure Billy didn't mean it, but his work was his life.

"I don't hide," He says far more briskly than he intended to. He's had this conversation with Roger, too. "I'm creating. You think CHAOS is hiding behind a sound booth to make him feel better, or because he likes what he does?"

And without knowing it, Mark had retaliated with a sharp slap to the face. Because it wasn't Billy's choice to stay hidden. It was some stupid marketing ploy that he hated. It was less of a mask and more of a muzzle. He had no choice but to hide. Despite his best efforts, some of that indignation flared in his eyes. But it faded rather quickly.

He could see how much it had hurt Mark. So he reached out, resting a gentled hand over Mark's hand. "I know it's important to you, I'm not saying that it isn't." He'd said the wrong thing and didn't quite know how to apologize. So he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I...shouldn't assume these things."

Any thought of being mad--which he wasn't, not really, just touchy--went out the window. Pale, slender hands clasped around his own pasty ones and he looks momentarily confused, looking down.

"I knew what you meant," He confesses. He doesn't feel too bad about the CHAOS example--he doesn't know any better. And he knows Billy doesn't, either, and that he was just trying to gently pry. "I guess I'm just so passionate about what I do, I kind of forget the world exists. So when someone thinks I'm hiding behind it it's sort of just a knee-jerk reaction."

There'a also the fact that Billy is 100% right. And while Mark is sensitive and in touch with himself, he's not a wilting flower. You have to have thick skin in order to live in alphabet city, he thinks.

"So--wednesday night. Maureen's spoken word. You're in?"

For a moment, he just stared down at his hand on top of Mark's, his thumb rubbing gently. A shadow passed over his face as he struggled to hold himself back. He wanted to say how much he understood. That when he actually got into the swing of things and shut his manager out, he would even forget to eat for most of the day. Just absorbed into the music and the words. But he couldn't even mention it, because Mark couldn't know he was an artist as well. He was just the manager's assistant.

It was at least comforting to know Mark had that same sort of passion.

The question shook him out of that, forcing him to look up. "Wednesday?" He asked, blinking. "Sure!" Then everything else caught up. "Wait...no. I can't. I've got--" His lips pressed together. There was nothing set, just the leash that Higgins kept on him that he couldn't tell Mark about. He let out a resigned sigh. "My boss....he's probably not gonna let me off for the night."

"Oh come on," Mark is half-laughing, though it's mostly to distract himself from the hand on his and how quickly the other had said no.

"It'll just be, like, two hours. One if you come later after the opening people--what's your boss going to say? Really? It's at like 8, anyway." There are plenty of reasons Billy has to go, as far as as Mark's concerned, and only one flimsy excuse as to why he can't.

"You can give CHAOS a second-hand account of what art on the streets is really like--like a project! Tell your boss it's a project. An avant-garde experimentation project CHAOS wants you to do since he never goes out. Problem solved!"

He can't believe he's doing this, but...

"Please?"

Billy squeezed Mark's hand firmly. He wanted to. Oh how he wanted to. But at that hour it would be impossible to get away. Higgins would be home and he'd never be able to convince Casey to take him out then. He suspected that the lack of outside exposure, the lack of events and outings, was to ensure Billy's sound could be as homogenized as possible. Perfectly distilled for maximum profits. Nothing risky or outside the box. A money machine.

He'd give anything to get a taste of what was out on the streets. What other people were creating. Not was was simply approved for him to hear. He wanted something raw and fresh.

"I'll try..." He said, finally. "But I can't make any promises. My boss is a hard ass."

"You can do better than that," Mark grins, and he cuffs the other on the shoulder. "Be like Yoda: do or do not, there is no try."

But he's having fun and he's with Billy and it doesn't matter--none of it matters because Billy's here. Billy, with his smooth stories and his not quite fitting in that's charming and not at all annoying.

"How much more of that homogenized crap can there possibly be? Obviously your star needs inspiration and what better inspiration than life on the streets of Alphabet City--so fuck CHAOS. Just be you."

Billy started to say something, but he stop. For a moment, he looked so utterly devastated. Both because Mark was right, and because Billy couldn't explain to him how complicated it was. How could Mark not see what he was trying to say? Trying to let him figure it out, the true reason he couldn't easily get away.

His lips pressed together and slowly, an idea started to dawn on him. Something he'd never been able to pull off before. But maybe with Mark's help he could actually do it. He looked back up, that light returning to his eyes.

"If I could do it, could I maybe crash with you guys that night? I know it's a lot to ask, but I'll buy breakfast to make up for it."

"That's not a lot to ask at all," Mark gives the other a strange look. "What planet are you from?"

He's used to it--used to everyone just crashing. Collins, mostly, but even Joanne and Maureen have slept on their old couch together. He doesn't even bat an eye at stuff like this. It's the artist life; the real artist life.

"Hey, maybe we can get you out of the monkey suit, too! If you wanna go punk Roger and you are the same height, I think."

That question confused Billy. Why would it be so strange to ask? But it softened into something of a smile as he remembered a few simple facts. Mark was incredibly American. He was also incredibly bohemian. Neither of which Billy had a great deal of exposure to, socially. Being sequestered by a big record label tended to hinder one's notions of over nights.

"The clothes, I can handle," he said running a hand down his chest. He just felt more comfortable this way most times, but he could dress the part of need be. "I'll have to plan something first, but if it works out I'll be at your place before the show." His hand tightened on Mark's. His face was more or less under control, but his pulse raced with how excited he felt. Could it actually work? Could he have a night of freedom?

Mark squeezed back, too, and if he's being honest? He just doesn't really want to let go. And that's his problem--he's getting too attached. This is always the problem.

Mark needs to just observe. Mark needs to observe and that's it--he needs to be their to document unbiased opinions. That includes his nights with Billy. Or maybe he's telling himself that because he gets the urge to just spontaneously lean over and kiss the guy.

"Just be you," he says softly, stopping for a moment to make sure he really has Billy's attention.

"Just...Be yourself."

Strangely, a shadow passed over Billy's face at that. Because Mark did have his attention. A little too well. Billy wanted nothing more than to be himself. Truly and completely. To let the world know who he was. Not CHAOS, just a musician. A singer. He didn't care about the fame, he just wanted to share what he could do with those he cared about.

It almost fell out of his mouth, then and there. He wanted to tell Mark everything. The truth of it all. "I...." But he stopped. And he nodded. "...I will..." he said softly.

Before Mark could question any of it, the hesitation and the look, Billy needed something drastic. So he leaned across the table, fingers curling over the back of Mark's neck, to draw him closer. And to plant a soft, gentle kiss upon the man's lips.

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