swedish_rocker | New Beginnings and rekindling an old flame.

New Beginnings and rekindling an old flame.

Hans had met up with Vars and his new boyfriend Viktor whilst in Norway. The Swede had been pleased to catch up with Vars since he hadn't spoken to any of the Hammers face to face for a long time. How long had it been? Now, Hans and his younger brother, Bjorn, were on the way to LA along with Vars and Viktor to meet up with the rest of the Hammers and to meet two other bands; Ziggy and the Spiders from Mars and the Hell's Angels, Viktor's band. It would be good to get back with other musicians after spending some much time in rehab and Hans knew he could use all the company he could get. The months and years hadn't been easy and he'd often felt lonely or isolated from society after his stay in hospital following his near death experience. He'd overdosed on painkillers and Hunter, his ex-boyfriend had found it too much and had ran.

Hans still ached for Hunter in a way, even though the spark they had together was no longer there. He still missed the man though and the soft warm touches at night. But people moved on after months apart and Hans suspected Hunter had found another man. It was to be expected and the Swede bore no ill will towards his ex lover at all. Glancing to Vars, Hans then placed a hand on the man's shoulder as he felt nerves constrict his insides at meeting Hunter once more. Bjorn giggled and poked fun a little before getting a surly glare from Viktor. The Brit punk had attitude and Hans found him a little intimidating but nothing to the point of not liking the man. If Vars loved Viktor then Hans would find a friend in the fire-loving Brit. All the bands were a family and Hans knew this more than anyone. The question regarding Bjorn though---the young man was a live wire and loved to cause chaos and trouble wherever he went. Hopefully, Hans would be able to keep his brother out of anything bad.

He hoped.

"Well, it will be nice seeing Aarne and Rik again. Hunter---I missed him."

Hans swallowed hard and wondered how the man would even react.

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Rekker was blissfully unaware of anything happening below. He's on his phone working on scheduling students and preparing to go home for awhile to take care of things since he had spent the night at the hotel with some of the other musicians. The night of music had done wonders for his mood, at least for the time being. The Brit might never admit it but his brother had been right in suggesting that company of other musicians would do him good.

The elevator dings and he steps in without looking, running headlong into someone who was stepping out into the hall. Rekker's phone flew from his hands, clattering across the floor and into the elevator before he could even look up. What now?

Bjorn was high, possibly from the emotions running through him and the drugs he'd consumed on the way to meeting up with this fucking epic tour. Hans had disapproved of all the drugs but he knew his younger brother was old enough to do what he liked even if it was all reckless choices. Bounding up the stairs the young Swede then ran towards the elevator still giggling because this was going to be a fun trip with all the other musicians.

It was then he heard the "ding" and then ran headlong into someone stepping out of the elevator. Oh shit.

"Fuck!--sorry---oh--"

Oh for fuck's sakes. Gingerlocks? The Swede just stared eyes wide and then noticed the Brit's phone had clattered to the floor sliding away. Oops. Why didn't he look where he was going?

"Gingerlocks! I didn't see you there, baby cakes. Sorry about your phone. Here, let me get it for you."

Bjorn wanted to be helpful because he was buzzing from snorting a vast amount of cocaine beforehand. That and he hadn't spoken to his ginger....friend in a while. Not since he'd ran away after seeing the horrific injuries the man had inflicted on himself.

Rekker looked up and his eyes get wide with fear and panic. His insides twisting up over the fact that this person didn't want him around either. He wavered on the threshold of the elevator unable to step out because he needed his phone and unable to step in because he had already convinced himself Bjorn hated him just as much as everyone else.

The elevator made the choice for him as Bjorn stepped away, probably to retrieve his phone from the floor, and the door started closing. He stepped in and the door closed behind him. The Brit stood them, pressed back into the now closed elevator door. Rekker looks up at the door behind him and forgets how an elevator even works as he starts to panic. He doesn't want to be a burden to Bjorn or trouble him since the Swede made it obvious he found his presence horrible.

The Swede went to pick the Brit's phone up but Rekker was already reaching down. Did he not like elevators? The Swede didn't mind them but he'd rather be outside running around since there wasn't much you could do inside an elevator anyway. Except drink and try and bounce off the shiny metal walls.

"Rekker?"

Bjorn could see the panic written all over the ginger's face as he wasn't sure why the man was panicking. Was he claustrophobic? But then he'd travelled up in the elevator in the first place and hadn't taken the stairs. The singer didn't know what else to say because his mind was already going back to those horrific scars on Rekker's arms. Shit. The guy had tried to kill himself or harm himself at least. Fuck. Not wanting to think about that he just pushed himself towards the back of the elevator wall.

"We meet again, sockerkakor."

His name has his eyes coming to the Swede, pupils fully dilated as he takes a few deep breaths. Even if he didn't always appear to, the Brit did have some self moderating techniques. He took his hands off the door behind him and there were sweat marks because his palms had gone clammy.

He crossed his arms staring at the Swede going as far away as possible. Things were trying to crash in and he distracted himself by focusing on which button he needed to push so the elevator would move.

The Swedish gets another look while he wonders what the hell it means, probably an insult but his eyes drop to his phone still on the floor in the middle of the elevator. He lets out an amused and almost snorted sigh, of course this was his luck.

"Who cursed me?" His eyes on the swede waiting for another fight to break out, even if Rekker is in no mood right now. He has things to do. "Are you going to be everywhere I end up in LA?"

"Cursed? I don't curse anyone, cutie. Our family are not the förbannade of ancient legend."

Bjorn and Hans were both pagans and didn't like hearing the words curse. The Swede shook his head and rolled his eyes because fuck! He hadn't come here to fight with this guy again. A trip up the stairs was for him to meet the other band members and he had to bash into Mr. Grumpypants again. What was his life?

"I've come to join the tour with my brother. It sounded fucking cool so here I am. You don't look so good. Elevators make you feel sick? I fucking puked up in one once because I drank too much."

The singer shrugged and then wondered if Gingerlocks was going to grab his hair or mess it up or something. Either way he kept his eyes on the Brit.

"What?" Even in the panic that word sounds like not a word, then he noticed how high the singer was by his behavior.

Bjorn was staying here too? Rekker took one hand and rubbed his face and pushed his hair back out of his face. He was cursed and nothing the Swede said could convince him otherwise. He loathed this Swede, thought the Swede hated his guts and yet.. he paused glancing up at the numbers which were close to one by now.

"My brother invited me last night. I was going to go home and take care of... some things." He figured this pansy would bolt if he said why he was going home even if the elevator meant there was no escape at this specific moment. Finally, he reached down and picked up his phone, instantly having to use his free hand to wrestle all the curls and hair back again.

"Förbannade are cursed ones in your language. The ancients that put curses on us but I won't go into all of that. I'm too fucking strung up and this elevator blows."

Bjorn just aimed a kick at the button panel because he could. Fuck this. The ginger didn't like him, did he? But the Swede liked him. It wasn't fair. Was he behaving like a spoilt brat? A little. Hans wasn't here next to him to scorn him so he was going to do what the fuck he wanted.

"Your brother? The older guy with the massive big hair? He's handsome for an old man. Yet, you're cuter, Gingerlocks."

Bjorn watched Rekker pick up his phone and was tempted to touch the Brit's hair but resisted knowing what happened last time with his bangles. That wasn't good. So, did this mean that ginger would be on the tour too? Fuck yeah. Just Jesus---the Swede wanted to help the guy chill but he was depressed. Seriously. A mental illness that Bjorn knew too well with Hans. But he couldn't deal since he was young and immature.

"I don't believe any of it." And Rekker didn't mean just what Bjorn was talking about but religion in general. He found it all bullshit.

He knew his brother was easy to see. It was their hair usually that had always gave it away. "Yes, he's my brother."

Rekker sighed again because the mixed signals were coming again, both from Bjorn and his own emotions. He glanced at the numbers again and shrugged. "You're a minority then. Most people find me disgusting and flock to my brother."

"Your loss. All of us Scandi bitches are pagans and we're proud of it."

Bjorn wasn't about to push religion on the ginger bastard so just pushed his hair from his face and offered a coy stare. So, this angry ginger was Stardust's driver's younger brother? Cute. Was the older guy as fucking moody as this dude? Hopefully not. Bjorn just pulled out a bag of coke turned around facing away from Rekker, snorting a line off his hand, giggling and shoving the now empty bag inside his pants. He span around now jumping off the walls slightly with both feet and hands.

"What the fuck? How are you disgusting? People are fucking blind! You're ginger and having fucking massive hair that's long and yeah. Fuck them! You need love too, cute pie. It shouldn't be just the old man who gets all the cock."

Rekker didn't care if other people had religions or whatever. His brother did and it never bothered him but he's glad the topic is dropped.

"I'm not so stupid I don't know what you just did." Rekker sighed at the stupidity since they were both musicians. Drugs were around everywhere which was problematic for Rekker and part of why he stayed out of the main scenes for the most part these days. Then the mixed signals were back. Rekker turned around ready to step off the elevator.

"Right." Rekker sighed and rocked on his feet impatiently. "Except you do find my body disgusting. I didn't forget you ran from me."

Bjorn is way too high and trashed to be talking about anything as deep as religion right now. He wants to get out of this elevator and find the nearest bar because his throat tickled from where he swallowed some of the cocaine dust snorted up his nose. He stuck his tongue out at Rekker because he was aiming to be polite. Yes, him polite. In a blond way.

"I never said I found your body disgusting, babe. When the fuck did I even say that? Never. You just made that up. Not fair. I ran because---"

He turned and slammed his palm up against the cool metal wall of the elevator and sucked in a harsh breath. Fuck. The emotion now amplified because of the coke. He wanted to speak but all that came out was a weak croak.

"I ran because it reminded me of my brother taking his own life. It fucked me up for a long time and still does. Ok? That's why I fucking ran!"

Bjorn just sank to the floor, shoving his head in his hands. He was high but sometimes he mixed pills and shit in with the coke and it fucked with his head.

"No, you just looked at me like I was a monster, sorry I got it wrong."

Rekker turned around when he heard the slam on the metal wall. Rekker watched him sink to the floor and saw way too much of way too many of his breakdowns in the behavior. How many times had he sat somewhere in his house, sunk against the wall in distress?

"Some of us are fucked up because they didn't leave us dead when we ended it." There's a heavy seriousness to Rekker's tone, the darkness he feels so often sinking into his voice. "I wonder how many times it's going to take before they realize I don't want to be brought back."

He's starting to spiral and can't be around people, he knows he can't and slams the emergency stop on the elevator to keep the doors shut. Rekker just sis down himself, shaking, angry that he's alive and just as angry about wanting to live. The panic attack that started earlier coming back full force now and leaving him shaking and flushed hor red in the face.

The singer hadn't meant to have gone down this path. Not again. Just even thinking about seeing his brother plugged into fuck loads of machines and weird shit back in then hospital made him feel physically sick. The way Hunter cried his eyes out and held onto Bjorn beside Han's bed. The memories made him sniffle and wipe at his eyes. Fuck. The pills were fucking him up. They had to be. Right? That, or he was feeling something for the Brit that was tugging at his heart. Causing memories to resurface because Rekker had shit in his life too.

"You wanted to die. I didn't want my brother to die but he wanted to end it because of fucking society. The world is a fucking stinking pile of shit! I---I'm sorry about what you went through."

Bjorn was shaking a little himself but he wasn't having a panic attack just a bad drug trip powered by his trauma and emotional state. It was just amplifying everything to the max. He looked up make up all smeared and his hair now a mess as he shifted along the floor of the elevator towards Rekker, reaching out with his finger tips to brush against the man's shoe.

"We're fucked up but fucked up together. Shit."

"I did die." Rekker corrects as he fold himself up almost like a kid, sitting there in his knees. "Two..I don't know four times?" Sometimes Rekker had done things and woke up not knowing and feeling like he had. No one ever mentioned it because his doctors said it would be bad for him to know when he succeeded, might encourage him to try again.

"It isn't the world always." He admitted as he trembled. "I was born like this. Nothing happened. I've always wanted to die." That wasn't exactly true, clouded by Rekker's self hate. A lot of people had fed into his depression and his desire to just not exist. There was truth to it too though. He had been a kid the first time he experimented with trying to die. His eyes are on the fingers touching his shoes. He wants to pull away from being touched. He doesn't want to deal with what comes with being touched by someone else, not someone he might like being around. He wants to scream and buries his hands in his hair to hide himself.

"You did die."

Bjorn just repeated the words over again just trying to understand what this man was going through or trying to. But could he really? No. He hadn't died himself so had no idea what Rekker had been through. Fuck. How dark was his past? Much worse than Bjorn's and he had trauma and shit he didn't want to think about too. But dying? That was game over.

"Yeah, it is. A big blue ball of shit sometimes when it wants to be."

The Swede didn't know what else to say so just watched Rekker from where he was sat on the floor of the elevator, putting his head on his elbows which were now propped up on his knees. The high still in effect but he didn't even know what to say. The man wanted to die. Maybe he couldn't die because the world wanted him to live? There was some purpose in his life that was worth living for? At least Bjorn was thinking along those lines.

"The world doesn't want to let you go, babe. You're too good to die, Gingerlocks."

He's wary about opening up farther because Bjorn ran last time but they are closed in now. He lets his arm fall and touches the long scar down his forearm. "I opened my arm once."

That one he remembered clearly because it took a long time and he was panicked about it while it was happening. That one had messed him up more than the others, if you can even say dying had degrees of messing with the mind. Rekker felt like people interfered and that was why he couldn't die. He understood some people would always try to stop him and came to terms with that long ago. The desire to shove Bjorn away so it didn't add another person to that list rose and fell away in a few breaths.

His gaze came up through the mess of hair. Bjorn couldn't get away but then neither could he. His eyes are unfocused while he tries to process what Bjorn means. He's not able to believe it but in all the blank staring he notices the signs that the Swede is having a bad trip on the coke that Rekker knows he snorted a few minutes ago. It's slow and purposeful when Rekker grabs his forearm and pulls. He hates being comforted but, often enough, feels better comforting someone else. Maybe this wasn't the worst that they were both shattered and nasty all the time?

Bjorn just nodded, wincing at the image of Rekker opening up his arm. He didn't want to dwell on that image because it made him sick. He felt his stomach flip inside of him as he breathed out slowly. Just the whole emotion of it all washing over him like a bad drug trip which this was. The blond Swede near gasped when he felt his forearm being pulled. Eyes wide, Bjorn just allowed the ginger to pull his arm and wondered what he wanted. Did he require closeness? Touch from another to fill the void of pain?

"Rekker---"

The Swede grabbed with his hand and felt warm flesh beneath. An arm? Through the haze of the high and his tears, Bjorn knew he was holding onto the Brit in some capacity and it felt good. Very good. His heart began hammering even faster in his chest and he couldn't comprehend the feelings that were going through him right now.

Honesty between them would be painful and Rekker knew there was a razor edge. Lying made people leave and who he was did too. He'd rather be honest in the long run if the outcomes were the same. He let out a ragged, pained breath.

His gaze was still unfocused when his eyes drifted to Bjorn's face after hearing his name. He's panicking inside and everything is feeding into it. It sends a quake through him and his palms start to sweat again. He lets out a breath trying to focus as he straightens out one of his legs and tugs a little harder now that he is staring at the paler hand on his sun-freckled forearm and its ridiculously painted nails. A moment passes where he can't catch his breath, as if he is about to plunge into an ocean and he knows he can't swim.

"Come here." The words come out quiet, shaky, nervous, maybe even scared. Rekker has no idea what he's feeling, everything maybe? But the offer is there because he can see the Swede is in a bad high. Rekker has weathered far worse attacks than what he was in now but he's not sure the Swede will get through.

Come here.

Those were the only words Bjorn heard as he felt the Brit pull him closer. He didn't feel as if he was about to land into a bed of sharp thistles this time so moved into Rekker's lap. Now, they were both sat on the floor of the elevator in each other's arms; the singer sitting in the ginger guitarist's lap. The blond sighing slowly closing his arms because he had no words. He was slowly coming down from his terrible high, feeling sick to his stomach because he hadn't eaten in days and had just drunk booze and snorted coke.

Fuck.

"Gingerlocks."

Bjorn muttered the words quietly as he sat with the older man. The elevator was now at a standstill because Rekker had slammed on the emergency stop. Fuck whoever wanted to come and fix it.

Rekker pulled Bjorn in, wrapping his arms around him and pulling the singer's head to his shoulder. He's a warm man, out of his mind and depressed, hateful and aggressive toward himself but other people can get past his walls and anger sometimes. Bjorn is slipping past and Rekker lets out another breath to try and steady his mind.

If someone opened the door that Rekker was leaning against he might explode. He's still unstable and tenuously holding in the emotional storm he feels.

"Derek?" Rekker says the name quietly. He wraps Bjorn up tighter, protectively. Rekker has been in so many dark places and while he is vicious with himself over them, and even toward others on occasionally, he's trying to bring the Swede around. He'd rather deal with the bitch that this crashed out version.

"Derek? Is that your real name?"

Bjorn assumed it was Rekker but then that might be a stage or nickname. He hadn't expected the Brit to tell him his real name but why not now? They had both had breakdowns of sorts and emotional outbursts which had caused both men to crumple to the floor. The Swede didn't want to wish this was too good to be true so would tread carefully. The closeness felt nice and Bjorn felt a little more at ease with the man he only knew before as the angry bastard.

He slowly brought up a hand to touch at Rekker's hair only gently using his fingertips to touch a few strands so that no bangles got caught up this time.

"My brother named me Rekker." It was still an important name and the one he used. Leaning into the Swede he took a breath, deeply exhaling to try and calm the emotions. "I wreck everything."

And he has affection for the name, would never stop using it because it was true. He doesn't quite notice the touch to his hair but it's soft and the curls a bit bouncy under the Swede's fingers. Eventually he notices, watching the fingers in his hair.

As suddenly as his rage usually came on he started laughing. His emotions flipped in ways outside observers sometimes perceived as seeming crazy. "Your hair is still shitty."

It doesn't come out insulting this time, more the teasing you'd give a friend over the one thing that annoyed you about them sometimes.

"I wreck shit too but my brother often calls me galen pojke which means crazy baby boy. Just a stupid nickname but it sort of fits when I go up the fucking walls. We could wreck shit together?"

Bjorn thought that sounded like fun. Of course he meant wreck stuff as in tear up the town as a group of rockstars nothing violent or menacing. Still touching the ginger strands the Swede smiled. The comment about his hair just caused the singer to raise an eyebrow. His heart was beginning to beat normally once more as Bjorn began to breathe a little normally.

"You always think it's shit. How about you wash it for me? Then, you don't have to touch hairspray then."

It was a bold offer but one that Bjorn was totally serious about.

"I can't like the rest of you do." Rekker let out a breath. "I won't survive it."

He meant the drugs and drinking so heavily. He'd spiral and crash out. He'd ODed before and nearly so mixing pills and booze which had actually been an accident. Not that anyone believed it was an accident when he was exhausted and fighting to sleep.

He was starting to level out again, the panic passing and the shakes subsiding. He turned to look at Bjorn's hair a little closer. "Don't you take care of it?"

It looked so ratty to the Brit, tangled, dry, split. A few moments passed before Rekker caught that this was some kind of serious offer. "I don't have anything for your hair. You need something for bleaching the fuck out of it."

Somewhere upstairs.

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