A blanket of heat enveloped the large, open stadium, though the oppressing air did nothing to slow down a frantic, euphoric crowd that danced.

The crush of hot sweaty bodies was almost unbearable. Skin against skin, snagged clothing and heat that resulted from the screaming and raving crowd. Hundreds of frenzied people throwing their arms in the air, swigging from bottles and crushing forward, all in an attempt to get closer to the stage.

With this many people packed together it was doubtless that chaos would ensue as they pushed and shoved each other, rude and uncaring of the other people around them but adampt in their quest to get closer to the stage.

It was a riot of people and emotions and it seemed right on the brink of becoming something wild and dangerous. These concerts always ended up like this, and it was Dominick who always caused such a violent uproar. His voice amplified through the speakers and pouring over the frenzied crowd in waves seemed to make people temporarily loose all coherent thought.

The stage and warped melodies got into your brain and into your blood, pushing away any rational and charging them with surplus energy that had to be spent. His powerful singing, the frantic drumming, and the fast paced music of both the base and electric guitar swelling together and feeling like it –the music, the people, everything- was on the brink of losing all control.

It was the rock stars voice that did it, hitting every note perfectly even when he screamed. There was a roughness to it, unique and sounding almost like he were boiling nails within his throat. Throbbing deep and so wonderfully melodic that it could take your breath away.

This at least was how it sounded to his fans, the thousands and thousands of screaming fans who wanted nothing but a piece of the beautiful, charismatic and hopelessly tragic rock star.

These fans desperately reached for the feet of the star, scrambling over one another in often vain attempts to simply touch their idol, graze their fingers across his shies or the clothes that he wore .A few lucky individuals would manage to slip past the burly and overwhelmed bouncers and clamber up onto the stage where they would dance drunkenly before throwing themselves back into the outstretched hands of the masses.

The singer himself though seemed oblivious to these people, he seemed totally absorbed in the music he was singing along to. He was drenched in sweat that stuck his long black hair in sticky stands to his cheekbones and his neck and caused his clothes to cling to his body.

His beautiful dark amber eyes were held tight shut as he screamed out a long and powerful chord, his whole body straining to force the sound from between his lips before he suddenly seemed to collapse into a contrastingly slow and melodic verse.

It was like his whole body was part of the music as he seemed to sink into this verse, his muscles loosening, shoulders slumping forward as he swayed ever so slightly in time with the song, his microphone held loosely with one hand.

‘And he aint a friend’

They were slow words, drawled yet strong, unwavering and unhesitant.

‘and he aint an enemy

he’s just a trend

and he’s just a memory’

The simple and catching lines were echoed back at Dominick through the crowd, people closing their eyes and swaying in time with their star like he had them wrapped up in a trance or spell he had cast over them. Some people cried, tears slipping down their faces just as much as sweat and even blood. High with alcohol or drugs the individuals and as a whole crowd waited for the next chorus, waited for the rush.

The verse drawled off, long and wanting, filling the air with an anticipation that was catching and almost unbearable in this heat, then for a second time the mans body became suddenly taunt, his free hand clamping tightly around the microphone as he repeated that verse, quicker and harder before launching into the chorus.

Then slowly the song ended, fading out to the repeated lines of ‘he’s just a memory’ utill it trailed off and dragged out into that hot, humid and oppressive air to enthusiastic cheers and screaming.

For the longest time the singer simply remained as he was, his head beowed and suddenly seeming unsteady on his feet, the microphone still cradled in his hands. The sound this microphone made as it slipped form Dominick’s hand and hit the ground sent a crackling hiss through the huge speakers either side of the stage, competing with the screaming people for attention.

The fans screams for more went unheeded though as the tired rock star raised both his hands to his bowed head, massaging his temples to try and relive and deep and wanting ache.

He couldn’t elevate the burning that seeped through his lungs and licked its way inside his throat, a short shooting pain darting up and down his spine was almost excruciating and the pounding inside his head wouldn’t go away, and the crowd weren’t helping that either. Finding it difficult to breathe and to think over the near agony Dominick’s body seemed to decide it couldn’t take it anymore.

For a moment it seemed like the singer was about to fall, collapse on the stage before this seething crowd, but just before his knees had the opportunity to buckle there was someone there, wrapping their arms around Dominick in the most reassuring manner and giving him their full support

The crowd watched in fascination as the young man dash out of the stage wings to chatsh their aching hero before he had the opportunity to bite the dust. They observed, most of them sill screaming as the band kept playing their instruments energetically and Dominick was assisted out of the limelight and off of the stage.

It wasn’t difficult to move the staggering and half conscious rock star away from his wanting fans and into the blessedly air-conditioned backstage area that had been assigned to the band before the show, The singers arms had been draped carefully over his rescuers firm shoulders and his All-star converse covered feet dragged slightly with each step. Despite the fact that those handsome amber eyes were still pressed closed he knew so well who it was helping him to move, who it was that would all but hold him up just to get somewhere safe and comfortable.

Casey could feel the heat rolling of the sweaty rock star and was relived for Dom’s sake once they reached the clean and air-conditioned private room backstage.

There was concern printed on his face as he glanced sideways at his friend, mouth turning down in the slightest frown before lowering Dom carefully on to a soft, cool couch.

Dominick didn’t make a sound as he rolled onto his back, head pressed into a pillow and a slight sigh slipping from between his lips. Casey could see him swallow, and knew that once the singers head cleared he would want water. The way he sang tore his vocal cords to shreds, leaving his voice hoarse for days after any recording or concert. It didn’t make a difference when he sang, just hurt him, but when he spoke his voice gained a harsh, rasping and gravely quality. As a result of this Dom tended to speak quietly.

Dropping back into a chair Casey ran his eyes over the rock star while he could not see him doing so. Though he used and abused his body Dom was blessed with good looks as well as talent. His long hair was thick and wavy, skin tan and eyes nearly exotic giving him a slightly Mediterranean appearance.

As was the way of most stars of his breed, he kept himself skinny.

Skinny isn’t really the right word though.

Sure his diet could be wanting of healthy food –and more food in general- but there was not much to want on Dom.

Muscles bound his arms, tightened his stomach and smoothed his figure, leaving not an ounce of fat.

As Casey slowly, almost indulgently racked his eyes over the singer he couldn’t help but wonder when Dominick had last eaten properly, or actually sat down for a real meal.

A year ago, maybe two?

Ever since the release of ‘Priestess’ second album Dominick’s life had fallen into a horrifyingly organised chaos of cash, drugs and women.

As Dom’s fame had risen very little had remained in his life. The only consistent thing was Casey.

Casey was there before he went on stage; Casey was there to help him off.

Casey was there to usher away the groupies when the singer passed out, and Casey was there to invite them in.

He was there cleaning and sterilising the needles Dom used to shoot up and he was there to put them neatly away aging when Dominick was finished.

He felt a breath hitch in his throat as he watched the steady rise and fall of Dom’s chest. Casey had always been there for him, had been happy for him when he made his steady rise into stardom and silently suffered for him now, Suffered for him as the rock star was sunk deeper into his own tragedy.

There was no single way for him to deny anything that Dom wanted or asked of him because he was absolutely terrified that if he became more a hindrance than a friend Dom would push him away.

Because he realised that Dom didn’t need him now. Casey was as invalid as a month old movie ticket and if he wished to do so, Dom could do away with him the way he did away with the groupies and die hard fans when he didn’t want them anymore.

So Casey stayed as he was. Chocking silently on the poisons Dominick pushed into his veins, and the woman he took to bed and the company he held.

It didn’t matter though, as long as he could do things like this for his long time friend. Help him off stage, settle him down and maybe, just maybe keep him still for just a few minutes.

He remembered the lyrics of a ‘Priestess’ song called ‘My alter ego says your better’

Casey thought back to when he had carved them onto a subway window with a pocket-knife just after the bands second album had gone platinum, then seeing Dom scribble them down into his lyrics book.

He hadn’t even know they had been put into a song until he was watching Dominick on stage. Sober for once and stunningly beautiful.

‘If you slowed down’

It was a surprisingly melodic song, a relatively soft rock ballad that had reached the charts within the week of it’s release.

‘maybe you would see me…

…As more than just your shadow.’

I’m not a separate part of you’

It had hurt hearing those words in that song because Dominick had never mentioned it before, and those word’s had been meant /for/ Dominick.

Casey hadn’t been thinking when he’d written them on that window, had forgotten Dom’s presence. At any other time he would never have uttered those words out load, or written them down if he had been thinking, never would he let Dominick know that he was hurting.

On that day he had pushed though the crowds, trying to block those lyrics form his mind as they were turned against him.

Dom didn’t mean it.

Dom didn’t know, he didn’t realise he was hurting Casey and he wouldn’t do it if he did.

So Casey, like a good friend, silently forgave the oblivious rock star, cuddling his pain to his heart and making sure it was gone by the time he received Dominick in the wings of the stage after the gig.

For him there were two people that existed in one body.

There was Dom.

His old friend who needed protecting and nurturing.

And there was Dominick Dursache .

Famous lead singer of ‘Priestess’ who needed nothing and nobody in the world.

“What you starin’ at?”

Casey jumped as Dom spoke, looking up to find those dark amber eyes watching him intently.

Instead of answering the question Casey asked a question of his own.

“Are you alright? You nearly passed out again.”

It was hard for Dom not to notice the excessive amount of concern in Casey’s voice. It irked him somewhat and he looked away, seeming to find the ceiling more interesting than Casey’s face.

“Nah fucking duh-“ Though his voice was soft at the moment it still managed to hold that note of sarcastic irritation that made Casey want to crawl out of his own skin. “I was there remember?”

Sighing tiredly Casey stood, noticing Dominick shift himself to a sitting position from the corner of his eye. As he always did Casey fetched a glass of cold water from the little kitchenette in the private backstage room, digging two small white tablets from a little black bag on the counter top and returning to the couch.

Dom was holding his head in his hand’s, eye’s closed once more. It took him awhile to notice Casey standing there silently with the water and the pills. The fist thought that crossed his mind was that vodka would have been much preferred to water but he decided that at the present moment he was in not fit state to complain.

Silently accepting the tablets and the glass form Casey he remained silent, once again aware of the younger mans eyes on him.

The pills were small compared to the ones he took for recreational purposes, and easy to swallow despite his sore throat. Not a word of thanks was offered because it didn’t occur to Dominick that Casey needed any. This happened often after gigs and concerts, just more frequently in the past few months, and Casey always did the same things for him. Made him comfortable, got him food and water, whatever he wanted. Yet his silence stung Casey, and he knew he would soon pass the point of being a friend, into being something more like a devoted fan in Dom’s eyes.

Not that Dom noticed much any way.