A note—that was all he needed, and everything else fell aside. Jerry's words came to his mind like opportunities. A film that needed him, a film that would give him the chance to return and make an impact. More or less, he sighed, coming back to himself as the season came to an end.
—A memory. —he whispered to himself.
His hair was soaked in sweat, and all that remained was a single drop, a faint breath. The rain began to fall over him, and he was certain it would not stop. So he simply raised his hands and felt the rain strike his face—a brief release of his soul. A fleeting, reckless moment, filled with a strange mysticism. The water covered his body, washed over him, and the concert began to consume him.
When it rained, everything became clear: the heat that ruled the moment and a doorway standing right in front of him. It was as if people were mended by the rain, as though it washed them clean and left them without sight, yet there was something magical about it—simple, pure, and undeniable. Everything moved in a measured rhythm, step by step.
"When You Were Young," The Killers. A pulse in the air, simple yet powerful, guiding them—the smallest force, yet enough. The rain drew everything into itself. A memory kept in rhythm, a memory that carried itself forward with each passing beat.
Spencer, wrapped in his own intensity, let nothing stop him. Connor struck his drums with force, while Jack seemed to glide across the water. How good it felt to sing—to be a star was everything a man could desire. Fame and recognition fed his ego, but the memory of hearing the crowd chant his name, of seeing the people—
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
You sit there in your heartache
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
To save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness
Watch it now, here he comes
He doesn't look a thing like Jesus
But he talks like a gentlemen
Like you imagined when you were Young
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
The audience roared all around him, caught in the frenzy of the music. The rain was freezing, and the congestion would be a problem later, but for now he only felt the wind striking his face, and all that mattered was to keep singing.
The song was infectious, making the crowd move, their heads swaying in rhythm. Recorded and sponsored, everything was perfectly staged.
--I think I can accept the fact that the kid is… the bad boy. —someone nearby commented, watching how he sang, how the stage seemed to come alive.
--Don't see him as just a simple singer. Stars were meant to belong to pop, and now comes one from rock—someone talented enough to make people dance to his music, regardless of genre or age. —Jerry replied.
His only desire was to create the perfect rock star, one who would be remembered forever. In Billy, he saw the raw material to shape a legendary figure. That was why he supported him in everything and denied him everything else—because in his own ego, Jerry wanted Billy to become the star he himself had never been, the kind of figure people would idolize like a god.
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
Can we climb this mountain?
I don't know
Higher now than ever before
I know we can make it if we take it slow
Let's take it easy
Easy now, watch it go
We're burning down the highway skyline
On the back of a hurricane that started turning
When you were young
When you were Young
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
Only three concerts remained, and now he would fly to England for a small role in which he would play a boy. They had seen his way of acting—the roughness, the youth, the ability to embody a version of adolescence that could turn into something powerful. Nothing else mattered.
Billy delivered the final lines with a voice that carried a quality far beyond the ordinary. When he sang, he knew he had to challenge the emotions of the people around him, while his mere presence did the rest. Connor used the drums to give life to the high notes, which now turned into roars in the air, clashing against the drizzle. His shirt was soaked. His blond hair clung to his forehead, and all he wanted was to be eternal in that stadium—to be eternal for the people who lived for a moment of transformation.
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
And sometimes you close your eyes
And see the place where you used to live
When you were young
They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet
You don't have to drink right now
But you can dip your feet
Every once in a little while
You sit there in your heartache
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
To save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness
Watch it now, here he comes
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
--We have a contract. —Jerry told him, and he simply gave his thanks.
The proposal carried weight, and now that it was becoming real, every detail of the boy seemed to represent exactly what the story demanded—a separation between guilt and life itself.
--Well, it's the name that makes people stop and look. The last film that came out was about a guitarist who steals the protagonist's girlfriend, and now… now he's a boy who drives his teacher mad, played by Cate Blanchett. It will give strength to the narrative and turn something artistic into something widely talked about. —Jerry replied.
--Age matters now; saying he is under eighteen creates a reaction, especially among older audiences who measure everything through their own values. —replied producer Scott Rudin, who belonged to Fox Searchlight, an independent branch with strong influence in acquiring films of this kind.
I need him in four days.
--He'll be ready. Besides… controversy comes easily to the kid; he's been doing it his whole life. —Jerry replied.
They both fell into silence, watching as the song reached its end, as well as the second-to-last song of the concert—an hour and a half, perhaps more now.
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
He doesn't look a thing like Jesus
But he talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined when you were young
(Talks like a gentleman, like you imagined)
When you were young
I said he doesn't look a thing like Jesus
He doesn't look a thing like Jesus
But more than you'll ever know
🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵
---Damn it. Jump! —Billy shouted, taking in how the crowd responded.
This was the moment to pull them into something darker, the perfect opportunity to unleash the great songs—the ones that made soaked hair swing wildly from side to side. It was time to live in rock, in music. He wanted everyone, if only for a moment, to truly live their lives.
...