. show off

[isaac mcavoy]

A sweet-sourness hangs in the air between them. The sweetness of familiarity and love, a friendship that had survived through its ups and downs. But it was sour too, soured by their silly showmance or maybe just his reaction to its inevitable demise. The break up had hurt almost as much as if it had been real, pushing him to mope around his apartment, pretending to work on himself when really all he wanted was to call that faithful number and get himself a fix. But he had seen how Lily's eyes would search his face when she saw him, looking for cloudiness or that unfocused twitchiness, the antsyness that made his hands shake almost imperceptibly. She had stopped that now, or at least become more subtle in her attempts, and he would hate to make her revert to the old habit. So he resisted, and even though it was the farcical pain of losing a relationship with her that never was, it was still Lily saving him in her own inadvertent way. "I know." Initially it had been unbearable to realise the extent of the pain he had caused, especially so to someone as trusting and sweet as Lily McCarthy. "I feel like I pressured you into that whole bullshit," he admits, silently willing her to play the song again. The silence hangs heavy and he tries to ignore the dull ache in his chest as she smiles that world shattering smile. "I should have known better, resisting temptation is supposed to be my whole thing nowadays."

[lily mccarthy]

In the end, Lily had been the one to make the call. She couldn't blame her publicist for doing her job, for taking an inch and running a mile that spilled over into grainy tabloid photos and future interview questions. But she could blame herself for continuing to entertain that...something, the thrill of the tightrope they were walking that could have snapped at any moment. It wasn't fair to her, feelings muddled between the exhaustion of the tour and the constant proximity, and it wasn't fair to him either. After awhile, fake or not, they'd found themself in a spot where giving up the ghost hadn't been simple, or easy. "You didn't - I wouldn't have gone along with it for so long if I wasn't ok with it," Lily admits, honesty hanging in the silence before her fingers slot back against the fingerboard. Another melody, something nonsensical she'd been toying around with, fills the air again. It was easier this way anyway, focus on the guitar even if her mind was trying to find the right words to further explain her reasoning. "And when it got to be a little too much, you respected me putting an end to it. Never even tried to put a true move on me - very on brand with that current narrative."

[isaac mcavoy]

Lily had such a natural way with music and it was so reminiscent of her brother that Isaac sometimes wondered if it was familiarity between the two that led to his feelings being so muddled. He told Joe he loved him frequently and with ease, they had never been the type of men to fear open affection between friends. So meeting Lily, who shared so many of Joe's qualities; his musicality, yes, but also his tenderness, his innate good nature, it had made his head spin from day one. It didn't hurt that she was beautiful to boot, graceful where Joe was clumsy, dainty where he was hard. Listening to her instinctive strumming of his guitar made his heart swell and he has to look away. "It raised your profile alright," he says, reflecting on how frequently she was mentioned in his comments these days. "Yeah." It's all he can think to say to what she says next. He doesn't say that he never noticed it becoming too much, that he had no choice but to respect it, that he had been too paralysed with fear to even consider putting a move on her. But that same paralysis is back and it makes him turn awkward, avoiding her eye as he gets up. "Are you thirsty? Joe's usually got some kind of soda," he says, crossing the small room to a fridge and opening it. His heart pangs with longing as he remembers it previously being full of beer, though now it's full of Coke and kombucha. It was so very Joe to have thought ahead and cleared out, a small, if disappointed, smile on Zac's face as he reaches for one of the bottles.

[lily mccarthy]

Lily had been asked, recently, when she'd first met Isaac McAvoy. Exhaustion had worn heavily on her features, pressed into a phone interview with the fog of being on tour still cloying her brain. If she was honest, she couldn't remember the moment he'd started appearing - just that he did. "He's been a part of Joe and I's life for so long, it's like I've always know him," she had eventually admitted, a strange nod of approval from her publicist forcing her brows together. If Lily'd thought about it anymore deeply, she really had known him forever. But not this strange tug of closeness, of long searching looks that sometimes appeared in press images. She hadn't told him she'd framed one; backstage at an already forgotten venue someone had captured them shoulder to shoulder, willowy arm looped around the denim of his elbow and gauzy skirt billowing behind her. In the blur of people passing around them, the smiles they shared were etched in sharp clarity. The picture had stuck with her then, much like his subdued reaction stuck with her now. It wasn't the time nor place to bring it up, not when any second now Joe could walk back through the door and stumble upon the air that suddenly felt a little too think. Lily lets out a deep breath to try to clear it, nodding her head before realizing he'd already turned away, eyes flitting back down to tune a few pegs on the guitar. "Just water, if there's some in there," she relents, pocketing the conversation much like she'd done his chip; it would be good for another time, a moment he'd trade in his honesty for some trust. She wonders if this is the moment to test something in the interim. "Want someone to warm up with while we wait for him?"

[isaac mcavoy]

They had first met whilst Isaac was still a struggling pre-med student, married too young and crippled by anxiety. The band was something they had struck up on a whim, Joe needing the creative outlet and Zac needing a distraction from the obvious fact that he was failing out of a very expensive degree. In the end, it was the band that had saved him from having to keep at that degree, and it was the band that allowed him to be here now, college debt free with a three bed house in Los Angeles. Though he tried to, it wasn't always easy to remember how far he had come in life, how lucky he had been. "Sure," he says, twisting off the cap of a raspberry kombucha and downing the vinegary liquid in one, his Adam's apple bobbing. He grabs a water for her, closing the distance between them once more. "Hell yeah," he says, not even hesitating. Lily was inspiring to work with, a completely different artist but one he respected immensely, and truthfully he and Joey were still trying to find their way back to a shared normalcy. He supposed he and Lily were too. Feeling the tension of his friend's imminent return, impulse took over Isaac in a way he had been trying to avoid. He reaches over to her hand as it strums the guitar, giving it a tight squeeze. "It's so good to see you. I should have texted more, I'm sorry."

[lily mccarthy]

"I don't know how you can do that, those are so sour." Lily scrunches her nose imagining the overpowering taste, subtly tracing her gaze down the curve of his throat before she catches herself and looks away, skin hot. It's an easy reminder of why she'd had to make that phone call in the first place - distance, boundaries, blurring lines. It all manifests in this now quiet studio, expensive guitar strings an ambiance of her own creation. You know better, she reminds herself, chasing a big sip of her own once he's back in her presence. It's unfair because in all honestly, she's too tight wound and had already considered everything. External factors, her brother, his history - it never adds up to anything good and its what's kept her muddles feelings pushed so deeply in the shadows. But, much like during the tour over time, they bloom to the forefront when she least expects it. Blush falls, soft and sweet, over the camber of her cheeks when he grabs her hand again, both of hers coming to hold his in sincerity. They're close, very close, dark gaze flicking to the door before finding the clear, intimate warmth his eyes held. Too close. "I've missed you," she lets fall in hot honesty, grip tightening over calloused fingers that had held stadiums in their grasp. "And I'm sorry, too, for whatever I did that made you pull away from me."

[isaac mcavoy]

“They taste like health,” he replies, his mouth awash with sour raspberry. A flicker of a thought sparks in his mind; would she be able to taste it on his lips if they kissed? An insane thought, but not an unusual one for him to have in her presence. There had been countless times a frisson had sparked between them whilst he was on her tour; her hand brushing against his as he passed her the aux, his hand finding the small of her back as he guided her off stage. There were so many splintered realities where he had grabbed her hand, or her waist, or even that pretty face, bringing her to him, kissing her hard. But these realities were only in his imagination, swimming around his head when he lay in hotel beds, knowing she was one wall over but never knowing if she was doing the same. Always coming to the same conclusion: she wasn’t. In Isaac’s mind Lily knew it was available to her whenever she wanted, so her reluctance to pick up what he had put down convinced him that she simply did not want it. But it’s so hard to believe that with his hand clasped by both of hers, her furtive glance at the door and the blush of her cheeks making him think that maybe, just maybe they weren’t on such different pages after all. “You didn’t do anything,” he says, though as he speaks he can sense that Joe will be back any second. He imagines how they must look, sat so close together, hands entwined, staring intently into each others eyes. “Joey’s gonna walk through that door any second,” he says, speaking quickly as if he’s afraid that second would be immediate. “I’m staying at his but he’s out tonight, can you come by? Please say yes. I’ll cook.”

[lily mccarthy]

"Then why?" she whispers, heartbeat picking up as the room folded in on itself. It's too quiet and her thoughts are too loud and it's just them, here, something passing between that she'd been fighting for a long time. Rational, composed Lily. Smart, sweet Lily. Staring down a path she shouldn't be taking, exploring something that'd been off-limits the second he'd shown up in their lives. It would ruin so much. It wasn't the right choice. There would be no going back. Lily nods her head in reply, chasing something wrong. They unravel, after that. But her heart never slows down, voice sounding miles away in the microphone before Joe returns, hours bleeding into the night as they reconnected, found their rhythm. She is the inevitable nail in their coffin, lip pulled into her teeth as she wavers at the doorway that night. Home so familiar but uncharted waters beyond the threshold, breath caught in her throat before she gently knocks to announce herself. Her head screams that this is a mistake but that pounding heartbeat drowns out all the noise. It's just her, lilac drifting off freshly-washed hair, cardigan thick over her shoulders, frozen for a millisecond before the thick wood swings open. "Hi."

[isaac mcavoy]

It doesn't seem like Joe is onto them, though Zac can feel the anticipation of the evening like an invisible thread between himself and Lily. They both do a good job of looking at each other just enough to seem natural, whilst avoiding each other's eye enough to avoid any lingering looks. He's thrilled that she agreed and his optimism shines through the music, something Joe semi-correctly attributes to his recovery process. Before long he's back at the house, waving his best friend away as he leaves to spend the night at his girlfriend's. A vague sense of guilt sits in Isaac's stomach, mingling with his nerves to make him feel nauseous, though he reassures himself that he's doing nothing wrong. The fact he hadn't told Joey didn't mean anything, after all, did he flag any of the other times he and Lily had hung out? He sets about massaging the herbed butter he'd secretly prepped earlier into a chicken, pressing it under the skin as he'd seen his mom do a million times. Cooking for people wasn't something he did often, but he was okay to good when it came to all things culinary, and for some reason he felt a need to impress. The door goes and his nausea deepens. With the chicken in the oven and his hands freshly washed, he's still drying them on the tea towel slung over his shoulder as he goes to open the door. "Hi." The warm light floods her beautiful face and he feels at once calmed and more nervous. Awkwardly, he steps back to let her in, avoiding going in for the hug that he would have with almost anyone else. "Thanks for coming," he says, closing the door behind her like he owned the place, nodding towards the open plan kitchen. "Do you want some wine? I'm on the kombucha but one of us might as well have fun."

[lily mccarthy]

It's funny how different this feels. There's no expectations if she thinks long enough about it. Nothing has to be different than how it was on tour, the hours they spent recapping after shows until her voice completely gave out on her, banished to silence in recovery by her team. But on tour she wasn't actively evading her brother, didn't feel like a silly high schooler sneaking out into the night. Exhilaration raced through her veins even as she tried to tamp it down, lips flitting into a smile once he gallantly let her in. "Smells incredible," Lily compliments, breathing in the warm scent of whatever was in the oven as she makes herself at home. The chair under the kitchen island creaks as she settles into it, spinning the empty wine glass stem in her slender fingers as she takes in the ingredients sprawled across the counter. "Yes, please - not picky." In reality she was itching for a neat tequila, anything to quell the nerves she couldn't abate. It's just Zac, she grounds herself with, using the very obvious fact that she was in her own brother's house to tear apart some of the sentiment. He just has to be Zac. When her glass is filled she takes a small sip, picking at the loose threads that still hung between them as she steels her gaze. It wasn't worth it, dancing around each other. Not after all this time. "You never answered my question, by the way. At the studio."

[isaac mcavoy]

"Have you seen that meme about how white people smell onion and garlic and immediately say it smells amazing?" He says with a grin, opening the fridge to retrieve the wine. It's only as he's leaning over to fill her glass with the pale yellow liquid that he sees the mess he's created, herbs spilling over the edge of the chopping board, peeled potato skin strewn across the surface. Despite his diagnosed anxiety disorder, it wasn't like Zac to feel nervous around dates... but this wasn't a date, was it? It wasn't normal for Zac to feel nervous around women. Being in a successful band was every bit the aphrodisiac people thought it would be, and sometime around his second VS model girlfriend he'd stopped worrying too much about impressing the fairer sex. But that was girls, and this was Lily McCarthy. He longs for a sip of the wine he's just poured for her but manages to make himself screw the top back on. He watches her as she takes a sip, the elegant way she carried herself making his chest ache. "It's just chicken--" he starts, though she speaks at the exact same time, and what she says cuts him short. He closes his mouth, then opens it again, then pauses. After a second of deliberation he takes the coward's way out, as he always seemed to when it came to her. "What was the question again?" he asks with forced airiness, turning away from her to lift a towel that's pressed down on the mashed potato he's already made. Yep, still mashed. He forces himself to turn around and face her, leaning against the countertop as he keeps his face deliberately blank.

[lily mccarthy]

"Did I fall right into that?" Lily laughs, trying to place the last time she’d had someone cook a meal for her. Aside from her mom when they were all together in New Mexico it had been far and few between. Stray dates that had progressed further than casual drinks, left on the wayside once the trajectory of her career had grown swiftly and suddenly. This wasn’t a date though, she had to remind herself, wine swirling in her palm. This was dinner, and an attempt to get some clarity. The thought is what propels her question, watching him freeze and revert back to the cautious, avoidant person he’d become when something didn’t settle the way he wanted. But that wasn’t fair, to her and to them, whatever that definition was for the both of them. "Don’t do that," she admonishes, heart in her throat but mind surprisingly clear as she tracks his anxious movements. "Was it because I slept with Sam? Was it because I got drunk and didn’t pick you?"

[isaac mcavoy]

Before he turns back to face her he catches a glimpse of himself in the glass reflection of the induction hob. He looks scruffy but artfully, intentionally so, his hair tousled, his white t-shirt fresh and still smelling like detergent. It's a far cry from the level of dishevelled that he had been pre-rehab, when he had looked about ten years older and as though he hadn't slept for ten years longer than that. Had that put her off? She knew too much about him, saw him beyond the facade of being the rockstar front man. He wondered if she knew what he knew, that deep down he was not someone special, he was not someone who believed himself to be worthy of love. She admonishes him and he stiffens, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. "No," he says, though the second half of her question feels like someone has slowly driven a knife into his stomach. He's as embarrassed as he is hurt by the question, which means it must have at least brushed against the truth of the matter. "Ouch," he says finally, his eyes instinctively falling to her glass of wine, wishing it was his. "You can sleep with whoever you want, Lily. I'm not really your boyfriend. It's none of my business."

[lily mccarthy]

She’d seen so many sides to him. Over time she’d witness countless destructions and rebounds, the dissolution of his marriage, the rehabs and the angry looks and the fraught unhappiness that could take him under. The way it affected her brother, though he was so rare to show that. It was nice to see him happier now, clearer, even with the intense scrutiny she was putting him under. Slipping the rest of the wine down her throat, Lily pressed the glass onto the counter, subtle clatter tinging the air thickening by the second. "You’ve been doing my head in," she admits, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We were so close and then just….weren’t, so suddenly. This was a lot and then you were barely speaking to me. I was obsessing over what that meant, and then you just walk on in like nothing happened. Like it didn’t affect me at all. How…why…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Well, I do, but it’s not fair when you won’t meet me halfway on anything."

[isaac mcavoy]

Active listening, the first lesson of group therapy. The truth was that most people were waiting for their turn to speak, that it was human nature to do so, but the consequence was that they didn't fully listen to what other people said. So Isaac exercised the skill that he had been taught, shutting out his urge to cut her off or correct her, really trying to hear her out and respond once he'd given it appropriate thought. As she speaks, he refills her wine glass, though he maintains as much eye contact as he can. He knows it's about time he faced this head on. Still, a short laugh escapes him, more out of confusion than anything. "You broke up with me." He hears how it sounds and he sighs, exasperated. "Not that I thought it was real, I'm not stupid. But you called it off, whatever 'it' was. What am I supposed to think, why would I think you wanted to keep up with the late night calls, the texts, the flirting?" It's the first time he's ever admitted - even to himself - that he was actively and intentionally flirting with her. "You're right that I cut it all off abruptly after that and I'm sorry, maybe I could have handled that differently. But you break up with me and fuck some guy, what message did you think that was sending? Because the message I received was: fuck off, expeditiously."