Fans

Neal Rowden hoisted himself over the bleached fifteen foot wall, dropped into a shrubbery, and rolled across the manicured lawn. He grunted, stood up, and dusted off his tuxedo. And then he pulled out his phone and turned off the mansion’s alarm system with the app. Of course it required a password, but of course – TK had provided it for him, as they were the very best of friends.

If he was honest, he found this way of getting into the mansion a little annoying, but he knew there was no other way. Paparazzi camped at the front entrance 24/7, and they’d be particularly keen for any dirt at this late hour. The leeches would turn even something as mundane as a midnight pizza delivery into a lurid love affair. Some people were just disgusting.

So Neal resigned himself to what he affectionately called “the servant’s entrance.”

He made his way to the private garden, where TK frequently chilled after a hard day of recording. Neal typically didn’t attend these siestas because he knew TK enjoyed his privacy occasionally, and if there was one thing Neal respected more than anything else, it was privacy.

The back door of the house was locked, naturally, but TK trusted Neal with the key. He put on a specially made latex glove and pressed his fingers down on the scanner. A moment later it validated his identity as TK – what were a couple fingerprints between friends, right? And the door unlocked with a thunk.

It was dark inside, but as a frequent and welcome visitor, Neal knew his way around the place. When he entered the vaulted ballroom with its polished marble floor, he flicked the lights on – and that’s when he heard the dogs.

A low buzz saw growl and a furious bark announced three Dobermanns, who bolted at Neal. He squatted with his arms open and their growls turned to high pitched whines, and they barrelled into him, propelled by their wagging rumps.

“Hello good boys!” Neal said, receiving sloppy kisses from the hounds he basically helped raise. He often helped TK like that. “I’ve missed you guys!” Thorough pettings ensued, and of course he was reminded of TK’s hit single, Goodest Dogs. Unforgettable! Not only did it stay number one on the charts for six weeks, but it was also TK’s first solo release since he left Nine Hearts. And back then, the critics blasted him for trying to go his own way.

“But the critics are dumbasses, aren’t they?” Neal said, giving Lucifer a spine-shivering ear-scratch. “Yes they are!” Then he got to his feet. “Right, that’s all, lads. Afraid I’m working tonight.” They whined. “I know, I know, but TK’s fan club won’t president itself. Speaking of, if you gents will excuse me, I must see the man of the hour about something.” The dogs were moderately disappointed, but they slunk off.

Neal made his way to TK’s bedroom, but when he ever-so-gently opened the door, he found the room was empty and the bed was made.

“The hell?” TK didn’t say anything about not being home tonight – it wasn’t like him to just vanish.

Neal logged into the fan club forums on his cell – took a moment to smile at his awesome login, TKholic, with no trailing numbers or underscores or whatever else, which was proof he was here since the beginning, a real fan – and checked the VIP lounge to see if he had missed any important news updates. Some rumours about the next album, some whispers about who TK might or might not be dating, but nothing about plans tonight.

Then Neal almost dropped his phone when he heard a whunk at the bedroom window. It slid up, and a giant, frilly ball of white taffeta billowed into the chamber, the world’s suavest tumbleweed. And then of all things it began rising and took the form of a… bride?

“I do, TK!” she said breathlessly, while gripping a bouquet of ruffled roses. “Oh, I do! I–” She stopped abruptly and lifted her veil. “What the shit? You’re not TK!”

“No, and just who the hell are you!?” But that face, Neal knew he’d seen it somewhere before. “Oh, Jesus. swansong919.” One of those over-excitable superfans from the forums. Admittedly, Swansong had been a fantastic song, and a fitting farewell to Nine Hearts, so he did grant that she had good taste. She had a real name too. What was it? Ah! “Eun-Jeong. What are you doing here?”

“Wait, I know you,” she said. “Unbelievable. Neal friggin’ Rowden.” She pulled an e-cigarette out of her bouquet and started vaping something cherry. “Don’t ask me what I’m doing here, jackass. What are you doing here? We had a vote, damn it.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The executive fan committee. We had a vote to see who would spend time with TK tonight. I won.”

“What vote?”

“You have no right to be here tonight, Neal.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“On the forums, dummy! In the VIP rooms. We had a vote. It’s my turn.”

He checked on his phone, and indeed found the vote in a thread that was rather unfairly critical of himself. But he’d never heard of this executive committee, and given it appeared to be largely made up of swansong919 and her sad clique of tryhards, it looked dubious.

“You keep hogging him, and we all know he’s getting tired of your sorry old face,” she said. “So, kindly piss off and stop ruining my night.”

“I didn’t authorize this vote.”

“Doesn’t matter. We voted. Democracy rules.”

“President’s veto.”

swansong919 scowled and raised a fist.

“Besides,” said Neal, “TK’s not here.”

She lowered her fist and took a good long look at the bedroom. She ran her hand over the made-up bed and inhaled, long and loud, well past propriety. “Where is he?”

They both checked the rumour forums again, but still nothing.

“I don’t know,” Neal said. “I’m worried. I hope he didn’t get ambushed by those paparazzi.” He sniffed. “We could check downstairs?”

“For his safety,” she said.

“Of course!”

They tromped downstairs and it really did seem like the mansion was empty. The living room was wide open and sparsely populated by couches. There was a bar, a colossal TV, a sound system – obviously – and a bespoke full-body virtual reality setup. It of course brought to mind the catchy We Are VR promotional track, which largely paid for this very home.

“How did you get past the dogs anyway?” Neal asked.

She smirked and puffed on her e-cigarette again. “I’m the one that sold them to him.”

“For real?”

“Oh yeah! When I heard he was looking for Dobermanns, I dropped out of dental school and spent my scholarship on importing the things. I set up a whole operation to make it seem like it was legit. And it worked! He bought three of my lovely little darlings, and they remember me.”

“Damn, I’m actually kind of jealous.”

“Thank you. I think it was worth it, even though my parents disowned me. Turns out I got a knack for peddling grey-market dogs, and there’s quite a bit of demand.”

Then they both froze, when they heard a door open and footsteps approaching. And then their jaws dropped, when TK came around the corner and sauntered into the living room.

“TK!” they both joyscreamed. He was resplendent – as always – in a custom-tailored suit and baseball cap, his hands tastefully adorned with rings and his neck draped with stylish chains. His perfectly maintained mustache, imitated all around the world now, sparkled in the lamp light, and the playful mole on the left side of his neck proved that imperfections too could be perfect. And when he smiled the smile that made a nation swoon, swansong919 shrieked and launched herself at him. She dropped to her knees and slid the rest of the way towards him, on the perfectly polished floor, and came to rest at his feet.

Then she grabbed his hand reverently, kissed it with teary eyes, and whispered, “I love you, TK!” Her words tripped over emotions. “Marry me!?”

Neal sputtered. How dare she! Not only was this most inappropriate – swansong919 ought to know better than to waste TK’s time with such ridiculous pranks – but also, she was upstaging Neal. He felt his fury rising and he had half a mind to boot her from the fan club, and–

–wait. A mole on the left side of his neck?

Neal’s eyes narrowed, and he stalked up to TK and swansong919.

“Hello, superfan!” TK said.

“Mm-hmm,” Neal said. Then he plucked the mole from the left side of the neck – and it came off without any trouble or reaction – and re-adhered it to the right side. “There.”

“Oh, uh,” said TK, “thanks!”

Neal grabbed his mustache and snapped it right off TK’s face, revealing none other than the smooth-shaven akpopalypse_now8, also known as Mun-sik – a greasy little weasel that had nevertheless been making a name for himself for both his wild theories and his juicy rumours.

“Aha!” Neal said.

akpopalypse_now8 grinned sheepishly.

swansong919 stood, hiked her wedding dress up, and slapped him. “Twat.”

He rubbed his face but kept grinning. “You gotta admit, it’s a pretty good sell though. Like, I basically am TK, right?”

“You are not,” said Neal. “Can you even sing?”

“Well, kinda.” akpopalypse_now8 scratched his chin. “Not really. I’m working on it.”

swansong919 leaned into him again and sniffed. “Jeez, you do have his scent though.”

“Thanks!”

Neal shook his head and sighed. “Well, you wasted your time. TK’s not here tonight.”

“He’s not?” akpopalypse_now8’s face fell. “Oh. You know where he is?”

“Nah.” Then he spotted TK’s laptop sitting on a coffee table. “But hey, maybe we can find out.” They all grinned, and huddled around the laptop. Neal got the password on the second try – because he knew TK better than TK knew himself – and soon they were knee deep in his emails.

“Manila!?” said akpopalypse_now8.

“Are the rumours true then?” swansong919 asked. “He’s doing a movie?”

“Don’t know,” Neal said. Then each of them grabbed their cellphones racing to be the first to break the news to the fan club. Their cameras lightning-stormed the room as they snapped mediocre photos of anything that could be construed as evidence.

“Well,” said Neal, “at least the night isn’t a total bust.”

“I’m just glad I got out,” said akpopalypse_now8. “Normally you just beat us all to the punch, Neal. You’re a legend. An irritating legend.”

“We had a vote about that,” said swansong919. “Showboat over here keeps trying to hog TK.”

Neal just rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What do you guys want to do? Watch a movie, and then maybe look for stray hairs or nail clippings?”

“Sounds good to me,” said swansong919, and akpopalypse_now8 nodded.

But then a ventilation cover high above them suddenly came loose and clattered to the floor, and next thing they knew, a person slid out of the vent, shimmied down the wall, and landed on her feet. She was dressed like a Hallowe’en store ninja, just without a mask, and with a beaming, flustered grin.

“Ta-da!” she said.

“Sorry, you wasted your time,” said swansong919.

“TK’s not here tonight,” said akpopalypse_now8.

“Oh,” said the newcomer.

“Who are you?” Neal asked. “I don’t think I recognize you.”

She looked at him with wide, eager eyes, and she sidled towards him. “I’m Sang-mi, sir. My username is rowdybaby1997.”

As she approached Neal, the three looked at each other, but the name didn’t ring any bells for anyone.

“A noob?” Neal asked. “I don’t recognize rowdybaby1997.”

“rowdy,” she said, stretching the syllables, “baby. 1997.” And then, with a flutter of her eyelashes, she added, “Mr. Rowden.”

Neal blinked back his confusion, and then he startled when rowdybaby1997 suddenly wrapped herself around his arm.

“I’m you’re biggest fan!” she screamed.

“What!?”

“You’re such an awesome burglar! You always find a way into TK’s house! I love you!”

“Oh my god!” Neal shouted, pulling his arm free and pushing her away. “How did you find me?”

“I bugged your phone!”

“Wait – you’re that psycho that’s been harassing my parents.”

“I like to think of them as my parents too.”

“Jesus, you’re crazy!”

“Crazy for you! Let’s make babies!”

Neal made a vague noise of panic and ran, hoping to escape the way he came. Unhelpfully, swansong919 and apokpopalypse_now8 just stood there laughing. So much for comrades-in-arms! The state of fandoms had seriously deteriorated, especially if it gave rise to such unhinged people as this ludicrous Sang-mi. He sped past the ballroom and through the garden, bee lining for the fifteen foot wall, and her crazy eyes followed hot on his heels.

He clambered up a tree and leapt from it to the top of the wall, just as her fingers grabbed his shoelace. The shoe, he lost, but it was a small price to pay for freedom.

“I love you!” she screamed again.

“Go away!”

He dropped on the other side of the wall, and ran off into the night to a haunting cry of “I’ll meet you in your apartment!”