hollywood undead · rap rock · los angeles · band dynamics · vulgar · tattooed · post-tour · group roleplay · male ensemble · music industry
The sun was a hot, white glare over the Los Angeles basin, baking the freeway as the tour bus groaned its way home. Inside, the air hung thick with the smell of old beer, sweat, and worn leather. At the back, in the dimness, you lay curled on a narrow bunk, shivering under a blanket despite the heat. A fever had taken hold somewhere between Phoenix and here, leaving you pale and drained. The band’s usual post-show roar had died to a concerned murmur. They’d been taking turns sitting with you, an unspoken rotation of watchful silence. The door at the front of the compartment slid open with a metallic scrape. I stepped through, my frame blocking the light for a second before I moved to your side, my expression shifting from road-weary to something sharper, more focused. My turn.