Page 34 of The Invisible Roommate

Emory spoke again. “I don’t have anything against music as an art form. I never gave it much consideration, because the music that I was exposed to in the foster system and in college I didn’t really care for.”

Gerard whipped his head around. “Didn’t you say people you went to college with listened to We the Wells?”

If Gerard could see Emory, he wondered if he’d be burning with embarrassment or wearing a neutral mask.

“Can I plead the Fifth?” Emory asked.

“What of my music have you even heard?” Gerard asked, taking slight offense. “You said when I got here you only vaguely recognized me, so I’m assuming you only know the hits.”

Setting his fork down, Emory audibly shifted in his seat. “I honestly could not tell you. Do you guys sing something about dance floors and world tours?”

Gerard groaned mightily. “That’s not us!”

“I told you I know nothing about music!” Emory conceded, sleeves sailing up in a pose of surrender.

“No, sorry, it is us. It is a We the Wells song, but we didn’t write it,” he clarified, shoulders tensing. “On the second album, the label made us do a writing session with this hot young DJ and producer who had hits with pretty much every major artist out there at the time. We showed up to the studio with all these great ideas knocking around between us, but as soon as we met the guy, he had us sit down and listen to a demo he’d already made. The song was done. It sounded like he’d slapped it together ten minutes before we arrived. All he wanted us to do was lay down vocals. There wasn’t even a discussion. It was insulting, and then it went on to be our biggest hit, as if it said anything about us, about what we care about and who we are.”

“Music must be very personal to you,” Emory said.

“On that first album it was. Nobody had any expectations for us. We wrote ourselves into success, and then somehow success was all about letting everyone write for us and about us,” he said sullenly. In life, he knew there was no going back, but if Emory could science up some miraculous time machine, Gerard would spin its dial and return to those days when he and his brothers made music for the pure joy of it.

To him, chasing success had been the fun part. Having success was a complicated labyrinth much too difficult to navigate.

“I’d like to listen to your albums,” Emory said, and it sounded earnest.

Gerard let out a pfft. “You need to take a proper music-appreciation class, not listen to We the Wells. I’m not going to make you do that.”

“You’re not making me do anything. I think we’ve already established I hate being made to do things,” Emory said. “I’d like to listen to them, if you have them available.”

In his bag he had that old iPod Touch. By album three, it was the only way they were allowed to leave the studio with any recordings because online leaks were so prevalent. The We the Wells discography was on there, plus some bonus tracks, unreleased songs, demos Gerard never even let his brothers hear.

But he didn’t have a speaker, and it would be uncomfortable for Emory to pop the wired earbuds into his invisible ears and listen while Gerard watched in silence. He wouldn’t even be able to monitor Emory’s expressions to see if the songs were moving him at all.

It was getting late, and he was tired. Most days, even he wasn’t a We the Wells fan. He’d had enough trips down memory lane for one day. “Another time, maybe,” Gerard said. “Thanks for dinner.”

He disappeared into the bathroom for a long, hot shower and some time to think.

Much later, when he padded out of the steam and back into the room, he pointedly averted his eyes from the area where the shape of Emory’s body was busy at work. So much for him suggesting a brain break.

Why would he expect anyone to take his suggestions seriously? He’d always been the youngest and the meekest in every room. Even in this shabby one, which he paid for them to live in, he wasn’t listened to.

On his way to bed, he whisked by and burrowed down into the blue cotton sheets, wishing he didn’t want Emory to like him so badly. For all of fame’s misgivings, at least it had sheltered him from the whims of bad-mannered invisible men.

Since their agreement, Gerard had procured a folding wall to block some of Emory’s work lights from bleeding into the alcove where the bed was. Still, he listened as beakers clanged and pencils scratched, all blending into a song of genius.

That song of genius morphed into a lullaby that soothed Gerard’s frazzled head. As he listened, he pressed his nose into the pillow as well, picking up a smell that was distinctly not his own. Some combination of burnt wood, a cleaning agent, and … bananas? Emory must have forgotten to change the sheets again when he got up to make dinner, but Gerard didn’t mind. The smell was strangely comforting. It was certainly one way to be close to his new roommate.

18Emory

On Monday morning, Emory was uniquely humbled as he stood stark naked in the corner of the apartment while his pop star roommate, his landlady, and the island’s vice mayor carried a new bathroom mirror through the front door.

The newly nippy autumn air invaded the room, swiped over his nether regions, and sent an uncomfortable chill through him. He clenched his jaw as best he could to keep his teeth from chattering and giving him away. When Gerard raced up just as Emory was about to climb into bed and told him they were to have company, he made a quick decision. It was either this or ducking into the crawl space again, and his muscles still hadn’t forgiven him for all that circus-level contortion the last time.

The glass mirror faced where Emory stood, but no reflection peered back. Instead, the sunlight shining in from the window to his left bounced off the glass and nearly blinded him.

“How’d you say you broke this again?” Kellen asked Gerard, their voices echoing out from the bathroom. Regina stayed in the room, looking around. Every time her gaze swept over his invisible form, Emory shuddered. Hiding in plain sight took on a whole new meaning.

“I had a hair spray can with a clogged nozzle. I struggled to get the lid off, and it went flying,” Gerard lied.