Rainbow Fish (Kevin/Joe)
“But when they robbed her of her infinite smile, she said, ‘Maybe I’ll just play dead for a while.’” - Say Anything, “Retarded in Love”
There was something wrong.
Kevin could feel it roiling in his stomach, that horrible sensation that told him something was going to happen, something bad. It felt almost like butterflies fluttering up his esophagus, trying to push their way into his mouth, to expel themselves out from between his lips, onto the floor of the platform. He was telling himself that that was all it was. He was nervous.
He tried to ignore how much sense that didn’t make. He couldn’t even count how many shows they had played. (He never used the same guitar pick twice, just for the purpose of being able to keep track of every show, and remember the amazing ones. He had a jar full of them hidden under his bed in his room.) He hadn’t been nervous since sometime in their first tour. Why would that suddenly come up now?
Maybe his body knew that he was going to mess up.
He couldn’t. There was no possible way he could stand to do something wrong tonight. It was their Hollywood show. They loved playing here, because it was the one place all of their friends would be able to come see them. Somewhere in the front row, Danielle was sitting with Maya, and off in a private box, Selena, Camilla, and David were hidden away, waiting for them to start playing. They loved being able to show them how great they were when they were in their element like this, not forced to act Disney (even though that was kind of in their nature at this point), but to just be the Jonas Brothers, no script involved.
Nick would have his throat if he messed up. That wasn’t new. They could play anywhere in the world, even in some small place no one had ever heard of, or a tiny little venue with ten people, and Nick would claw his face off if he broke a string or fingered a chord wrong or wasn’t in the place he was supposed to be. That wasn’t new. Being anal was Nick’s thing. Here in L.A. though, Kevin would be in that much more trouble.
This was Camilla’s first time at one of their shows. Joe was so jittery, determined to make this the best performance he’d ever given, that if someone even said his name too loudly, he jumped high enough to grab onto the rafters. Their relationship was still at that tentative stage where she was the pursued, and he was trying desperately to show her how nice it was to be caught.
Messing up was not an option. Kevin had a responsibility to make sure Nick impressed everyone and Joe impressed his girlfriend, since everyone knew, and liked to remind him, that he didn’t have anyone to impress, because he was, in fact, not all that impressive. (Yeah, they all thought he didn’t know they said those things. He wasn’t as naïve as he let them believe.)
So, when the platform rose, and the whole world - at least their whole world - was right there, waiting for them, Kevin swallowed the nausea worming its way through his stomach, and took up the rhythm guitar part of “That’s Just The Way We Roll” and did what he did best - running, dancing, stomping, clapping, leading a crowd that wasn’t paying attention to him anyway.
He was doing as well as he always did. He was actually the one who rarely made mistakes. Joe tripped all over himself, or forgot lyrics, or missed cues and marks, and Nick was the one so focused on being perfect that he caught every little imperfection in himself more than he would have if he just went out there and had fun. But, since Kevin was always enthusiastic, always in it for the smiles and the joy of just playing, even when he did mess up, he made up for it with so much energy that it was hard to focus on it.
It wasn’t until “A Little Bit Longer” that it started again - that grotesque, swelling feeling in his stomach and chest, like he was starving, but also like he had poured acid down his throat. A pounding headache accompanied it, like a cork in a bottle of fizzing champagne, and he suddenly had the undeniable urge to take his earplugs out. He did, and then immediately covered his ears with his hands at the deafening roar of the amp blasting music behind him. It wasn’t a loud song, but he was close enough to the speaker that it made him want to keel over.
His guitar was too heavy. It was funny; everyone always warned him it was hard to play a Les Paul, since they were wood and not plastic, and that much harder to wear without a backache. Until right this moment, while he tried desperately to get it off, unaware of Nick’s voice or the piano behind it, until the guitar landed on its face on the stage, with a discordant thunk of strings rushing together in a mess of sound that wasn’t really anything at all, and his little brother faltered, stopped playing, tried to see him over the top of the piano from his platform.
Joe was staring at him, unable to figure out what he was doing. The fans were still screaming, as if this was all part of the act, but Kevin couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t even see his brothers. His vision was swimming; seeing double didn’t even cover it. Joe was swirling before him in a mess of color, like he had mixed all the little pools of paint on a palette together. He could see his eyes though, clearly, big and brown and full of nervousness, and it was enough that he started forward toward him, toward the one person he could see in this scary wonderland of pain and confusion.
He managed two steps before he went down, and his arms folded automatically under him to break his fall. He heard more than felt his cheekbone cracking against the floor. And, now the screams made themselves known in his ears, but in a different way, less screams of joy and excitement than screams of fear and uneasiness, and he could feel Joe’s hands (he didn’t know how he knew they were Joe’s; they just had a certain feel about them), and his whole being turned over, and the bright lights above them swarmed down to fill him up.
Nick’s voice sounded somewhere over to his left, loud and impossible to ignore, and he sounded so concerned, but Kevin couldn’t force his mouth open to apologize for ruining the show. It seemed he didn’t have the ability to make it great, but to destroy it? Well, that was a talent all his own.
The lights were going dark above him, a distracting dimming, and he felt like he was going down with them. Joe was yelling his name, but he hardly recognized it as his own at this point. He had no idea what he was saying. He didn’t want to know. He wanted him to go find Camilla and tell her he was such a hero for taking care of his big brother, so that she’d let him sweep her off her feet, like he deserved to be able to do.
And, then those hands (oh, so Joe) were on his face, somehow cool and very warm at once, and Kevin slept.
------
His mouth tasted like cotton.
Well, not really. He’d never actually tasted cotton, but it had that same feeling of dryness that he imagined cotton would give him if he did eat it. It was sort of like cranberry juice. He could drink a gallon of it, but he’d still be thirsty afterwards. Why did he like cranberry juice anyway? Weren’t cranberries a fruit? He hated fruit...
His mind continued to wander in that way as he opened his eyes. The bright lights above him weren’t wiggling and swimming like fish, multicolored and interesting, like the ones onstage had. No, these were very steady, like those fish had died, and very white, and his eyelids fell again, because they hurt, and he didn’t want to lay there peering up into them when they were making no effort to entertain him.
But, then he felt hands on his face again, cool and shaking, and he opened his eyes to find Joe leaning over him. He was still wearing his stage clothes, and the fear in his eyes made Kevin wonder where he was. “Are you okay?” His voice was hoarse. He didn’t know if it was from singing or crying. He hoped for the former.
“Head hurts.” Kevin managed in a mumble, barely recognizing the sound of his voice, and wondering why he’d said that. He couldn’t feel anything at all, so why would he say that anything hurt? “What happened?”
Joe’s eyes were swimming in tears. He brushed a curl off his brother’s forehead, not caring that it just fell back into place; the action was what mattered; he was soothing himself more than his brother. “You passed out onstage.” He explained softly. “You fractured your cheekbone, but otherwise, you’re okay.” He paused, sniffling and turning away to wipe furiously at his eyes before he looked at him again. “Kev… Why haven’t you been eating?”
Eating? Ah, food. I do need that to live. He just shrugged. He had no answer for him. He wasn’t really doing it on purpose. He felt like he’d just … forgotten. “Haven’t been hungry.” His head felt like it was stuff with cotton, just like his mouth did, like his brain was dried out, all of his thoughts wrung from his skull. He couldn’t process how his tongue and mouth and lips kept moving when his brain wasn’t forming the words.
“That’s not a good enough excuse.” Joe made himself busy, fumbling to pour water into the plastic cup sitting on the tray beside the bed, instinctively knowing his brother needed it. “From now on, you’re going to eat every single fucking meal with me, and I’m going to pay attention to you, and you’re going to see a shrink.”
“How does a lack of appetite call for a psychiatrist?” Kevin absently pressed the button on his armrest so he could bring the bed from its flat position to an incline, drawing the cup into his hands and taking a long drink. The cottony taste left his mouth. Too bad he couldn’t cut the top half of his head away and pour water into his brain as well. “Thank you.”
Joe ignored the sign of gratitude, sitting on the edge of the bed, letting his hand rest against his brother’s leg. Kevin tried to remember the last time Joe just touched him because he loved him, and not because there was a camera pointed at them, or because it made the fans go wild. “A lack of appetite is a sign of depression.” Joe said softly, tilting his head at him. “Do you… Well, I mean … Do you not like the life anymore? Should we take a break?”
“No.” Kevin’s response was immediate and assured, like he had never even thought of that as a possibility, as something he could possibly want. There was nothing that felt more right than being onstage. Even in their last performance, which had gone so horribly wrong, all because he hadn’t felt well, and hadn’t paid attention to it, he hadn’t thought for an instant that he shouldn’t be there. “Where’s Nick?”
“Cancelling shows,” Joe said softly, studying him, as if trying to figure out if there was any sign he could have missed, anything different about his brother that would have told him he was sick. “For the next two weeks at least.”
“Don’t let him do that.” Kevin lifted his arm, blanching at the sight of the IV poking out of his hand. (He’d never been good with needles or blood.) “I’m fine. I just need to get something in my stomach, and I’ll be good to go. I could play tonight, really. Call him and tell him he doesn’t need to cancel.”
“Kevin,” Joe pushed him back against the pillows, gently, trying to soothe him a little. “You’re in the hospital. You’re in the hospital, because you haven’t eaten anything in - what? A month?” He held up his hand to keep his brother from protesting. “We’re going to figure out what’s wrong, okay? We’re going to help you feel better, and -” His voice shook, and he broke off, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Kevin. I… should have been more aware. I was… I was so selfish, and, God, I wish I’d just taken the time to look at you. I never realized I was so close to losing you.”
Kevin was speechless. His brain felt like it was just throbbing with the things his brother was saying, and he realized he could feel the pain in his cheek, for the first time since he’d injured it, and he lifted his hand to touch it, hissing as soon as his fingers connected.
“Stop it.” Joe pulled his hand away. His voice was raw, edged with frustration, like he had no idea who Kevin was trying to pretend he was or why he was acting like this. “Just… stop it. Let me take care of you, okay? Don’t make it worse.”
Kevin let his fingers slip through his brother’s, and he stared down at their linked hands, blinking. It felt so right that he barely noticed it was happening. Joe didn’t even seem to realize they were holding hands at all. “So, Nick’s not mad at me?” Kevin had no idea how he kept hearing his voice when he wasn’t thinking the words. His brain had been so far from thinking about that, but even so, there he was, talking about it.
Joe’s smile was faint, fleeting across his face as he shook his head. “You should’ve heard him last night, when he went back out to tell the audience why we were cutting the show short. They were upset, and so stupid, like, they were booing, because we weren’t playing the rest of the show.” He dropped his head. “Nick told them they had no right to be there if they didn’t love you as much as we do.”
Kevin stared at him. His brain couldn’t process that. Nick had said that? To fans no less? The fact that the audience had been upset because of him didn’t even seem to register in his mind, because Nick had defended him. It was a surreal thought. He tried to pull a sentence together as response. His mouth just ended up opening and closing, a fish struggling to breath, forming words then rejecting them, disbelieving. “He… Really?”
Joe seemed pleased with the reaction, and nodded, grinning. “You should’ve heard how quiet they got at that, at least the ones who had been booing. A lot of the other people there have been leaving ‘Right on, Nick!’ comments all night and all this morning.”
“So you were there to hear it?” Kevin was disappointed about this, for some reason. He had thought that maybe Joe had been worried enough that he rode with him to the hospital in the ambulance. Some romantic part of him had imagined him holding his hand the whole way there, begging the paramedics to save him.
Joe nodded, seeming unaware of how crushed his brother was by this. “It was worth not getting to go with you, just to hear it.” He mused, then explained, “They wouldn’t let me in the ambulance. Dad had to go with you. It was stupid. I wish you’d been awake so you could choose. I knew you’d pick me.”
“I would have.” Kevin’s voice was softer, and he let his hand settle over his brother’s, curling his fingers around it and squeezing. “What about Camilla? Did you see her before you left?”
“I… No.” Joe blinked at him, looking all too much like he’d forgotten to think about her. “Wow. She was probably backstage during all the chaos, but I didn’t even find her to say goodbye. I was too worried about bribing Big into taking me to the hospital before Nick was finished telling off the audience.”
“Oh.” Kevin felt horrible. The whole point of the Los Angeles show was so they could show their friends (or girlfriends) how good they were at what they did. “God, Joe, I’m sorry.”
Joe’s head tilted a little to the side, like a curious puppy. Confusion flitted through his eyes. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong; it was my fault I forgot about her.” He shrugged, turning his hand over so he could lace his fingers with his brother’s again. This action seemed completely normal. “Well, you did do something wrong. You stopped taking care of yourself. You’re not allowed to do that anymore.”
Kevin nodded thoughtfully, chewing at his lip. “So… why did you come to see me? I mean, why didn’t you stay with Nick, or find Camilla, or go out with friends?”
“You’re my big brother.” Joe said simply, tightening his grip on his hand. “You’re my big brother, and I love you more than anyone in the world (but don’t tell Frankie that), and you’re asking me why I’m here to be with you after you passed out onstage, scared me to death, had me in tears -” He faltered at the words, drawing his hand away and rubbing at his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
Kevin didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t want to draw attention to his brother’s words. He knew when he was embarrassed, and he knew how to make him comfortable better than anyone. He looked around the room, smiling at the bouquet of roses on his nightstand, and reached out to rub a silky red petal between his fingers. He was quieter than normal, and he knew it, but his brain couldn’t connect what he was hearing now with the reality he knew, so there was no point trying to put words together, to form something that make sense.
“Those are from a fan.” Joe offered into the silence stretching between them. “I don’t remember her name - Lexi, I think? I found her outside the hospital, crying, because they wouldn’t let her in to see you and make sure you were okay, so I promised to bring those to you.”
“They’re beautiful.” Kevin tilted his head at them, a faint smile on his face. He’d forgotten about fans. He realized suddenly that thousands of people watched him pass out the night before, but it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone was going to care that he left the venue in an ambulance, or that he was going to the hospital. His heart swelled with love and gratitude for this one fan, and he reached over for the bouquet, searching through it for the card, and was pleased to find her name, which was Lexi (Joe always made a show of pretending he didn’t remember the names of all the girls he got to talk to day-to-day), and an address, in true fan form, so he could send a “Thank you.” He decided he was going to visit her himself, in person, to thank her properly, for being the only fan to care about him when he needed it.
Joe was smiling at him, at the covetous way he was clutching the little card that read, I love you, Kevin. Get well soon. There were rarely times he didn’t know what he was thinking. “Don’t get all emo on me.” He said gently. “That’s the only one here, but the house is jammed with flowers and cards and teddy bears. And, Dad got a call from the studio; the mail room is filled there too.” His hand settled again on Kevin’s leg. “You are loved, Kev. I promise. I … know better than anyone.”
Kevin was so wrapped up in that earnest, honest desperation in his brother’s eyes, the way they looked like they were their swimming rainbow fish of stage lights. Then his vision focused, and he realized that they were brown, with that swirling green in their center, and that hidden in their depths was a message twisting and twirling and evading his comprehension. “So… Nick’s really okay with cancelling some shows?”
“Are you kidding?” Joe laughed. “He was just worried about you getting better. The only reason he’s not here is because someone had to be productive in our family. And, he knew you’d do the same if he was sick and needed time off.” He gave an absent sort of shrug, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “Stop asking stupid questions.”
“Just covering my bases,” Kevin sighed, slipping down under his blanket again, like it was a barrier. “I have to know who I should apologize to when I get out.”
“I wonder how many times you’re going to make me use the word ‘idiot’ today.” Joe sighed, pressing the heal of his hand into his eye. He looked so tired. Kevin had to wonder if he’d slept at all. “No one is going to be mad at you about this. I mean, maybe some people, but those people don’t matter, okay? Stop beating yourself up. You’re sick. We’re going to get you better; that’s our main priority. It doesn’t matter what people think.”
Kevin hesitated, then sat up a little more, wiggling himself back against his pillows. He smiled when Joe helped him. “I’m … I’d like to take a break.” He admitted, quietly, despite every part of his brain that was actually working telling him not to say it. He felt so useless, confessing that he needed a break, when both of his brothers were breezing through the tour. He wondered why he was the only one who couldn’t take it. “I love playing, and I love touring, but I just…”
He trailed off when Joe nodded, squeezing his hand again. “Okay. You don’t have to explain, okay? You just have to take care of yourself. We have to take care of each other.” He shook his head, but somehow seemed so much more composed now than he did, like just having Kevin awake and talking to him was doing wonders for him. “No matter what, we’re in this together, okay?”
Kevin stared at him. Joe’s face was flushed, his eyes averted to where their hands still lay tangled in his lap, as if he was nervous to meet his eyes. His hair was a mess, greasy and tangled, and it was clear he hadn’t showered since the show. But, for some reason, Kevin had never thought he was more beautiful. He didn’t understand why it was just now that he saw it. “I love you, Joe.”
Joe lifted his eyes, and their color made him think of wood and dogs, because he thought a puppy might look at him with that same sort of hopeful adoration, and he smiled sweetly. “Yeah, well, I work hard for that, you know. I have to earn my love.” He leaned forward, ghosting a kiss across Kevin’s cheek. It hurt, but in a completely pleasant way. “You just get it for existing.”
There was something wrong.
Kevin could feel it roiling in his stomach, that horrible sensation that told him something was going to happen, something bad. It felt almost like butterflies fluttering up his esophagus, trying to push their way into his mouth, to expel themselves out from between his lips, onto the floor of the platform. He was telling himself that that was all it was. He was nervous.
He tried to ignore how much sense that didn’t make. He couldn’t even count how many shows they had played. (He never used the same guitar pick twice, just for the purpose of being able to keep track of every show, and remember the amazing ones. He had a jar full of them hidden under his bed in his room.) He hadn’t been nervous since sometime in their first tour. Why would that suddenly come up now?
Maybe his body knew that he was going to mess up.
He couldn’t. There was no possible way he could stand to do something wrong tonight. It was their Hollywood show. They loved playing here, because it was the one place all of their friends would be able to come see them. Somewhere in the front row, Danielle was sitting with Maya, and off in a private box, Selena, Camilla, and David were hidden away, waiting for them to start playing. They loved being able to show them how great they were when they were in their element like this, not forced to act Disney (even though that was kind of in their nature at this point), but to just be the Jonas Brothers, no script involved.
Nick would have his throat if he messed up. That wasn’t new. They could play anywhere in the world, even in some small place no one had ever heard of, or a tiny little venue with ten people, and Nick would claw his face off if he broke a string or fingered a chord wrong or wasn’t in the place he was supposed to be. That wasn’t new. Being anal was Nick’s thing. Here in L.A. though, Kevin would be in that much more trouble.
This was Camilla’s first time at one of their shows. Joe was so jittery, determined to make this the best performance he’d ever given, that if someone even said his name too loudly, he jumped high enough to grab onto the rafters. Their relationship was still at that tentative stage where she was the pursued, and he was trying desperately to show her how nice it was to be caught.
Messing up was not an option. Kevin had a responsibility to make sure Nick impressed everyone and Joe impressed his girlfriend, since everyone knew, and liked to remind him, that he didn’t have anyone to impress, because he was, in fact, not all that impressive. (Yeah, they all thought he didn’t know they said those things. He wasn’t as naïve as he let them believe.)
So, when the platform rose, and the whole world - at least their whole world - was right there, waiting for them, Kevin swallowed the nausea worming its way through his stomach, and took up the rhythm guitar part of “That’s Just The Way We Roll” and did what he did best - running, dancing, stomping, clapping, leading a crowd that wasn’t paying attention to him anyway.
He was doing as well as he always did. He was actually the one who rarely made mistakes. Joe tripped all over himself, or forgot lyrics, or missed cues and marks, and Nick was the one so focused on being perfect that he caught every little imperfection in himself more than he would have if he just went out there and had fun. But, since Kevin was always enthusiastic, always in it for the smiles and the joy of just playing, even when he did mess up, he made up for it with so much energy that it was hard to focus on it.
It wasn’t until “A Little Bit Longer” that it started again - that grotesque, swelling feeling in his stomach and chest, like he was starving, but also like he had poured acid down his throat. A pounding headache accompanied it, like a cork in a bottle of fizzing champagne, and he suddenly had the undeniable urge to take his earplugs out. He did, and then immediately covered his ears with his hands at the deafening roar of the amp blasting music behind him. It wasn’t a loud song, but he was close enough to the speaker that it made him want to keel over.
His guitar was too heavy. It was funny; everyone always warned him it was hard to play a Les Paul, since they were wood and not plastic, and that much harder to wear without a backache. Until right this moment, while he tried desperately to get it off, unaware of Nick’s voice or the piano behind it, until the guitar landed on its face on the stage, with a discordant thunk of strings rushing together in a mess of sound that wasn’t really anything at all, and his little brother faltered, stopped playing, tried to see him over the top of the piano from his platform.
Joe was staring at him, unable to figure out what he was doing. The fans were still screaming, as if this was all part of the act, but Kevin couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t even see his brothers. His vision was swimming; seeing double didn’t even cover it. Joe was swirling before him in a mess of color, like he had mixed all the little pools of paint on a palette together. He could see his eyes though, clearly, big and brown and full of nervousness, and it was enough that he started forward toward him, toward the one person he could see in this scary wonderland of pain and confusion.
He managed two steps before he went down, and his arms folded automatically under him to break his fall. He heard more than felt his cheekbone cracking against the floor. And, now the screams made themselves known in his ears, but in a different way, less screams of joy and excitement than screams of fear and uneasiness, and he could feel Joe’s hands (he didn’t know how he knew they were Joe’s; they just had a certain feel about them), and his whole being turned over, and the bright lights above them swarmed down to fill him up.
Nick’s voice sounded somewhere over to his left, loud and impossible to ignore, and he sounded so concerned, but Kevin couldn’t force his mouth open to apologize for ruining the show. It seemed he didn’t have the ability to make it great, but to destroy it? Well, that was a talent all his own.
The lights were going dark above him, a distracting dimming, and he felt like he was going down with them. Joe was yelling his name, but he hardly recognized it as his own at this point. He had no idea what he was saying. He didn’t want to know. He wanted him to go find Camilla and tell her he was such a hero for taking care of his big brother, so that she’d let him sweep her off her feet, like he deserved to be able to do.
And, then those hands (oh, so Joe) were on his face, somehow cool and very warm at once, and Kevin slept.
------
His mouth tasted like cotton.
Well, not really. He’d never actually tasted cotton, but it had that same feeling of dryness that he imagined cotton would give him if he did eat it. It was sort of like cranberry juice. He could drink a gallon of it, but he’d still be thirsty afterwards. Why did he like cranberry juice anyway? Weren’t cranberries a fruit? He hated fruit...
His mind continued to wander in that way as he opened his eyes. The bright lights above him weren’t wiggling and swimming like fish, multicolored and interesting, like the ones onstage had. No, these were very steady, like those fish had died, and very white, and his eyelids fell again, because they hurt, and he didn’t want to lay there peering up into them when they were making no effort to entertain him.
But, then he felt hands on his face again, cool and shaking, and he opened his eyes to find Joe leaning over him. He was still wearing his stage clothes, and the fear in his eyes made Kevin wonder where he was. “Are you okay?” His voice was hoarse. He didn’t know if it was from singing or crying. He hoped for the former.
“Head hurts.” Kevin managed in a mumble, barely recognizing the sound of his voice, and wondering why he’d said that. He couldn’t feel anything at all, so why would he say that anything hurt? “What happened?”
Joe’s eyes were swimming in tears. He brushed a curl off his brother’s forehead, not caring that it just fell back into place; the action was what mattered; he was soothing himself more than his brother. “You passed out onstage.” He explained softly. “You fractured your cheekbone, but otherwise, you’re okay.” He paused, sniffling and turning away to wipe furiously at his eyes before he looked at him again. “Kev… Why haven’t you been eating?”
Eating? Ah, food. I do need that to live. He just shrugged. He had no answer for him. He wasn’t really doing it on purpose. He felt like he’d just … forgotten. “Haven’t been hungry.” His head felt like it was stuff with cotton, just like his mouth did, like his brain was dried out, all of his thoughts wrung from his skull. He couldn’t process how his tongue and mouth and lips kept moving when his brain wasn’t forming the words.
“That’s not a good enough excuse.” Joe made himself busy, fumbling to pour water into the plastic cup sitting on the tray beside the bed, instinctively knowing his brother needed it. “From now on, you’re going to eat every single fucking meal with me, and I’m going to pay attention to you, and you’re going to see a shrink.”
“How does a lack of appetite call for a psychiatrist?” Kevin absently pressed the button on his armrest so he could bring the bed from its flat position to an incline, drawing the cup into his hands and taking a long drink. The cottony taste left his mouth. Too bad he couldn’t cut the top half of his head away and pour water into his brain as well. “Thank you.”
Joe ignored the sign of gratitude, sitting on the edge of the bed, letting his hand rest against his brother’s leg. Kevin tried to remember the last time Joe just touched him because he loved him, and not because there was a camera pointed at them, or because it made the fans go wild. “A lack of appetite is a sign of depression.” Joe said softly, tilting his head at him. “Do you… Well, I mean … Do you not like the life anymore? Should we take a break?”
“No.” Kevin’s response was immediate and assured, like he had never even thought of that as a possibility, as something he could possibly want. There was nothing that felt more right than being onstage. Even in their last performance, which had gone so horribly wrong, all because he hadn’t felt well, and hadn’t paid attention to it, he hadn’t thought for an instant that he shouldn’t be there. “Where’s Nick?”
“Cancelling shows,” Joe said softly, studying him, as if trying to figure out if there was any sign he could have missed, anything different about his brother that would have told him he was sick. “For the next two weeks at least.”
“Don’t let him do that.” Kevin lifted his arm, blanching at the sight of the IV poking out of his hand. (He’d never been good with needles or blood.) “I’m fine. I just need to get something in my stomach, and I’ll be good to go. I could play tonight, really. Call him and tell him he doesn’t need to cancel.”
“Kevin,” Joe pushed him back against the pillows, gently, trying to soothe him a little. “You’re in the hospital. You’re in the hospital, because you haven’t eaten anything in - what? A month?” He held up his hand to keep his brother from protesting. “We’re going to figure out what’s wrong, okay? We’re going to help you feel better, and -” His voice shook, and he broke off, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Kevin. I… should have been more aware. I was… I was so selfish, and, God, I wish I’d just taken the time to look at you. I never realized I was so close to losing you.”
Kevin was speechless. His brain felt like it was just throbbing with the things his brother was saying, and he realized he could feel the pain in his cheek, for the first time since he’d injured it, and he lifted his hand to touch it, hissing as soon as his fingers connected.
“Stop it.” Joe pulled his hand away. His voice was raw, edged with frustration, like he had no idea who Kevin was trying to pretend he was or why he was acting like this. “Just… stop it. Let me take care of you, okay? Don’t make it worse.”
Kevin let his fingers slip through his brother’s, and he stared down at their linked hands, blinking. It felt so right that he barely noticed it was happening. Joe didn’t even seem to realize they were holding hands at all. “So, Nick’s not mad at me?” Kevin had no idea how he kept hearing his voice when he wasn’t thinking the words. His brain had been so far from thinking about that, but even so, there he was, talking about it.
Joe’s smile was faint, fleeting across his face as he shook his head. “You should’ve heard him last night, when he went back out to tell the audience why we were cutting the show short. They were upset, and so stupid, like, they were booing, because we weren’t playing the rest of the show.” He dropped his head. “Nick told them they had no right to be there if they didn’t love you as much as we do.”
Kevin stared at him. His brain couldn’t process that. Nick had said that? To fans no less? The fact that the audience had been upset because of him didn’t even seem to register in his mind, because Nick had defended him. It was a surreal thought. He tried to pull a sentence together as response. His mouth just ended up opening and closing, a fish struggling to breath, forming words then rejecting them, disbelieving. “He… Really?”
Joe seemed pleased with the reaction, and nodded, grinning. “You should’ve heard how quiet they got at that, at least the ones who had been booing. A lot of the other people there have been leaving ‘Right on, Nick!’ comments all night and all this morning.”
“So you were there to hear it?” Kevin was disappointed about this, for some reason. He had thought that maybe Joe had been worried enough that he rode with him to the hospital in the ambulance. Some romantic part of him had imagined him holding his hand the whole way there, begging the paramedics to save him.
Joe nodded, seeming unaware of how crushed his brother was by this. “It was worth not getting to go with you, just to hear it.” He mused, then explained, “They wouldn’t let me in the ambulance. Dad had to go with you. It was stupid. I wish you’d been awake so you could choose. I knew you’d pick me.”
“I would have.” Kevin’s voice was softer, and he let his hand settle over his brother’s, curling his fingers around it and squeezing. “What about Camilla? Did you see her before you left?”
“I… No.” Joe blinked at him, looking all too much like he’d forgotten to think about her. “Wow. She was probably backstage during all the chaos, but I didn’t even find her to say goodbye. I was too worried about bribing Big into taking me to the hospital before Nick was finished telling off the audience.”
“Oh.” Kevin felt horrible. The whole point of the Los Angeles show was so they could show their friends (or girlfriends) how good they were at what they did. “God, Joe, I’m sorry.”
Joe’s head tilted a little to the side, like a curious puppy. Confusion flitted through his eyes. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong; it was my fault I forgot about her.” He shrugged, turning his hand over so he could lace his fingers with his brother’s again. This action seemed completely normal. “Well, you did do something wrong. You stopped taking care of yourself. You’re not allowed to do that anymore.”
Kevin nodded thoughtfully, chewing at his lip. “So… why did you come to see me? I mean, why didn’t you stay with Nick, or find Camilla, or go out with friends?”
“You’re my big brother.” Joe said simply, tightening his grip on his hand. “You’re my big brother, and I love you more than anyone in the world (but don’t tell Frankie that), and you’re asking me why I’m here to be with you after you passed out onstage, scared me to death, had me in tears -” He faltered at the words, drawing his hand away and rubbing at his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
Kevin didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t want to draw attention to his brother’s words. He knew when he was embarrassed, and he knew how to make him comfortable better than anyone. He looked around the room, smiling at the bouquet of roses on his nightstand, and reached out to rub a silky red petal between his fingers. He was quieter than normal, and he knew it, but his brain couldn’t connect what he was hearing now with the reality he knew, so there was no point trying to put words together, to form something that make sense.
“Those are from a fan.” Joe offered into the silence stretching between them. “I don’t remember her name - Lexi, I think? I found her outside the hospital, crying, because they wouldn’t let her in to see you and make sure you were okay, so I promised to bring those to you.”
“They’re beautiful.” Kevin tilted his head at them, a faint smile on his face. He’d forgotten about fans. He realized suddenly that thousands of people watched him pass out the night before, but it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone was going to care that he left the venue in an ambulance, or that he was going to the hospital. His heart swelled with love and gratitude for this one fan, and he reached over for the bouquet, searching through it for the card, and was pleased to find her name, which was Lexi (Joe always made a show of pretending he didn’t remember the names of all the girls he got to talk to day-to-day), and an address, in true fan form, so he could send a “Thank you.” He decided he was going to visit her himself, in person, to thank her properly, for being the only fan to care about him when he needed it.
Joe was smiling at him, at the covetous way he was clutching the little card that read, I love you, Kevin. Get well soon. There were rarely times he didn’t know what he was thinking. “Don’t get all emo on me.” He said gently. “That’s the only one here, but the house is jammed with flowers and cards and teddy bears. And, Dad got a call from the studio; the mail room is filled there too.” His hand settled again on Kevin’s leg. “You are loved, Kev. I promise. I … know better than anyone.”
Kevin was so wrapped up in that earnest, honest desperation in his brother’s eyes, the way they looked like they were their swimming rainbow fish of stage lights. Then his vision focused, and he realized that they were brown, with that swirling green in their center, and that hidden in their depths was a message twisting and twirling and evading his comprehension. “So… Nick’s really okay with cancelling some shows?”
“Are you kidding?” Joe laughed. “He was just worried about you getting better. The only reason he’s not here is because someone had to be productive in our family. And, he knew you’d do the same if he was sick and needed time off.” He gave an absent sort of shrug, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “Stop asking stupid questions.”
“Just covering my bases,” Kevin sighed, slipping down under his blanket again, like it was a barrier. “I have to know who I should apologize to when I get out.”
“I wonder how many times you’re going to make me use the word ‘idiot’ today.” Joe sighed, pressing the heal of his hand into his eye. He looked so tired. Kevin had to wonder if he’d slept at all. “No one is going to be mad at you about this. I mean, maybe some people, but those people don’t matter, okay? Stop beating yourself up. You’re sick. We’re going to get you better; that’s our main priority. It doesn’t matter what people think.”
Kevin hesitated, then sat up a little more, wiggling himself back against his pillows. He smiled when Joe helped him. “I’m … I’d like to take a break.” He admitted, quietly, despite every part of his brain that was actually working telling him not to say it. He felt so useless, confessing that he needed a break, when both of his brothers were breezing through the tour. He wondered why he was the only one who couldn’t take it. “I love playing, and I love touring, but I just…”
He trailed off when Joe nodded, squeezing his hand again. “Okay. You don’t have to explain, okay? You just have to take care of yourself. We have to take care of each other.” He shook his head, but somehow seemed so much more composed now than he did, like just having Kevin awake and talking to him was doing wonders for him. “No matter what, we’re in this together, okay?”
Kevin stared at him. Joe’s face was flushed, his eyes averted to where their hands still lay tangled in his lap, as if he was nervous to meet his eyes. His hair was a mess, greasy and tangled, and it was clear he hadn’t showered since the show. But, for some reason, Kevin had never thought he was more beautiful. He didn’t understand why it was just now that he saw it. “I love you, Joe.”
Joe lifted his eyes, and their color made him think of wood and dogs, because he thought a puppy might look at him with that same sort of hopeful adoration, and he smiled sweetly. “Yeah, well, I work hard for that, you know. I have to earn my love.” He leaned forward, ghosting a kiss across Kevin’s cheek. It hurt, but in a completely pleasant way. “You just get it for existing.”