Page 57 of If the World Was Ending

Ford shrugged. “I don’t know because people already love the idea? It’ll help sales. For both of you. Hannah’s star got tarnished when she dated that fucking hockey bro. No one liked him. No one in America gives a shit about hockey. And then he got arrested for drunk driving.”

“She’d dumped him well before that.” Colby reminded Ford.

“Yeah, but the damage was done. Her sales dipped. She got some really shady takes on her in the press,” Ford replied, and Colby just stared at him. “I can provide you the numbers, Colby. If you’re suddenly analytical about your career.”

“I’m serious about my career, Ford, so don’t even fucking imply?—”

“I know that! But you aren’t experienced,” Ford argued. “And this type of shit is typical. Trust me.”

“I like Hannah, but I don’t want to date her.”

“You don’t have to. Not really. It’s a PR relationship.” Ford smooths his rumpled shirt, and it does nothing. “You hold hands on coffee dates. Maybe give her a peck somewhere public. Be each other’s plus ones when it comes to award shows or industry shit. It’s not hard. I mean, fuck Colby, she’s gorgeous, and you said you’re friends.”

“We are.” Colby really did feel nauseous. Maybe the marinated veggies in that vegan sandwich were off? Could bad eggplant kill you?

“And it’s not like you have a girlfriend. Like, an actual one.” Ford said and waited for Colby to respond. He simply nodded and began to pick at his jeans like they were covered in lint only he could see. “And you most definitely don’t have anyone else, right?”

“No,” Colby said quietly and very incredibly unconvincingly. “Not, like, no.”

Ford stood very still and was very quiet, which made Colby very nervous. He really should go puke in the bathroom. His hand went to his stomach. “Colby.”

“Yeah.”

“Colby.”

Colby looked up. Ford had a very stiff expression, like a mask. A mask of concern. “Is this about Hunter?”

“What? No. What the fuck does my roommate have to do with it? I mean…” Colby clutched his stomach. “Fuck. I feel gross.”

He stood and walked to the bathroom. He shouldered the door as he stepped inside, and it swung toward the frame but didn’t completely close. He turned on the water at the sink and leaned over it. He felt light-heated and hot, but his skin was cold to the touch, he realized, as he pressed a palm to his forehead.

“Colb, listen, I don’t get it. I honestly don’t. I feel like Hunter’s a bit of a…” Ford’s voice trailed off, and he waved a hand in the air like he was searching thin air for what to say. He didn’t finish that sentence. “But… if you and him had a thing it’s… I mean, I don’t judge. I don’t care if you're bi or gay. Honestly. But here’s the thing… Your demo is young women, ages 15 to 29. Lots and lots of young women. Have you seen the front row at these shows?”

“They’re mostly Hannah’s fans,” Colby managed to say, but his voice was off. High and squeaky. He bent and cupped his hands under the water. “And Hunter and I aren’t… we aren’t together. He’s not even… He had a girlfriend, so you’re being a fucking invasive weirdo, Ford.”

“Those women are your fans too. Your front row the last couple of shows has been as full as when she’s on stage,” Ford explained, ignoring Colby’s defense of Hunter entirely. His tone was confident but calm. “You know we can barely hear you sing the bridge on Uncomplicated Ending at the back of the room? Everyone is singing it for you. Word-for-word and loud as hell. Every chick in the place.”

He hadn’t noticed. He was so focused up there and still kind of feeling like an imposter, so there was a lot of white noise in his head when he performed. Colby splashed water on his face and reached for one of the carefully folded hand towels as Ford kept fucking talking. “This strategy of linking you to Hannah is solid. I mean, fuck, your fanbases are incestuous. For now. It may not always be that way, but it is now, and if you want to really give this career a strong start, listen to Burke. He’s made stars out of just about fucking everyone. He wasn’t assigned to you, Colby. He’s the head of the label’s PR, and he picked Tidal. He didn’t pawn you off on one of his overworked, apathetic underlings, which would have been standard for a new, unheard-of act. He is trying to make you famous here. Don’t cock block that for a fling with an experimental straight boy.”

Colby stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was so dark without the long waves, and without the California sunshine to bleach it. His skin was also missing the sun, and he was paler than he’d been in years. And his eyes looked tired, more gray than blue. God, he was so fucking excited about the Canadian tour, if he took away all the other shit that wasn’t performing. If he subtracted Hunter from the equation, he wasn’t even all that homesick. And was he even part of the equation? Yes, they were friends, but what were they even doing? They didn’t want to date each other… did they? Was this just what Ford summed it up to be - two straight dudes experimenting? No. Not two… but maybe one.

“Twenty-year-old girls don’t want to fantasize about a guy who is in love with another guy,” Ford said, his tone almost apologetic. Almost. “I mean, sure, maybe one day when they’re older, and your career is older, and they can separate the man from the music they love. But not now. It’s too much to ask of them and of the label. They’re easier gets, Colb. Do you know how many dudes with bigger Instagrams than you have a similar sound and are on the verge of making it? I can’t even begin to count them. I’m repping two of them though, dude. Other than you. And I’m here, giving you and Tidal my all. But you gotta give it your all.”

“I am. I will. I can.” Colby said solemnly. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know.” Ford’s eyes seemed soft, understanding. “And I know it’s a lot to ask, to hide a part of what makes you, you. But trust me when I say it’s worth it.”

“I never said I was…” Colby swallowed hard, his throat was so dry he almost choked. “I didn’t tell you I was gay.”

Ford’s eyes met Colby’s, and his expression softened even more. For some reason, it made Colby feel even more defensive. “I’ve had roommates before too, Colby. I don’t look at them the way you look at Hunter. And vice versa.”

“So? It’s because you’re not from this generation.”

“Yeah, I am,” Ford smirked. “I’m only nine years older than you.”

“That makes you a millennial. I’m Gen Z, and we’re not homophobic shit heads,” Colby ranted, and he felt like he was unraveling, emotionally. All these dark feelings peeling away from his tightly guarded psyche like string cheese. “We can love our guy friends and not be weird about it.”

“Oh fuck. Do not bring the L word into it,” Ford sighed and sagged, using the door frame to hold himself up. “If you think you’re in love with him, I can’t fix this. Your career is over before it even starts. Fuck.”