Passion, Proof, Power

Current warnings may change as the story progresses.

Away from his native Finland to record an album in Canada, rockstar Samuli Holopainen struggles with loneliness, his manager, and his feelings for the various new men in his life. And this is only the beginning...







Passion, Proof, Power

Chapter 1



Don't you hate being summoned by your manager for an 'emergency meeting' at eight in the morning, only to find out the office is fucking locked? So you're forced to wait nearly twenty minutes in this minus-fourty-celcius Canadian weather? Sure, it could be worse. It could be windy and snowy, and I could be naked.



Or I could have been less of an idiot and stayed in my car, but that thought didn't even go through my mind. I haven't had my usual morning coffee; the drink that not only keeps me alive, but everyone else... By the way, fuck mornings.



Anyways, if you want me to come in so damn early, at least, be there yourself. Don't call me from your cozy huge-ass house in the suburbs, while I'm out there freezing my balls off, waiting to get yelled at. Because I know it's gonna happen – it was downright inevitable. And that's what I'm gonna tell her.



In all honesty I don't know why she's going fucking nuts about it. Christ, I'm not the first-



"Sammi, in my office, right now."



I heard her over my music. The bitch is really pissed. Because if you're blasting Dimmu Borgir at near-max volume through your headphones and there's someone's face an inch away from yours, shouting in your native tongue, there's a good chance they're not happy.



Well, guess what. I don't give a fuck. Ieva can yell all she wants, and I'll just stand there rolling my eyes at every single argument she throws at me. That my band can kiss the North-American market goodbye, that I'll be causing our downfall, that we won't get to see any cash, and that I'll wind up back in Finland within a week, with two rents to pay. All because of three words...



So I followed her in. To get warm, if anything. You'd think that being a Finn would make me prepared for Canadian winters. Well, you're both right and wrong. When she called, I grabbed the first clothes that my hands landed on: a pair of cargo pants, socks, sneakers and two hoodies. I didn't expect to wait twenty minutes in the cold!



As for her? Winter long coat, snow boots, and a pressed suit that screamed 'Public Relations', complete with make-up intended to make her ten years younger. Fuck's sake, she's what, thirty-six?



There was no one else in the building. Big surprise, it's eight in the fucking morning and this place opens at ten. The last time I was up this early was because I hadn't slept for three days in a row, and crashed somewhere between eleven a.m and god-knows-when. That was two weeks ago, come to think of it.



Ieva unlocked the door to her office and motioned me to come in. She sat down in her leather swivel chair and straightened papers from her desk as if she had a speech prepared. As far as I know her, she did have one. Probably rehearsed the whole thing on her way here.



"I can't believe this. It's all over the Internet."



And there we go. I rolled my eyes. "It was all over the Internet before-"



"But not in here. There were only rumours that could have been easily dismissed. But no, you had to open your mouth." She ran a hand through her blond hair and pushed some random strands away from her face. Ieva Laaksonen, always so damn neat.



"It was gonna come out eventually-"



"Nice choice of words, Samuli."



I narrowed my eyes. She switched to my full first name. She's been calling me 'Sammi' for nearly six months now. It's still not as bad as hearing your entire birth name, I suppose. I shrugged, leaned on the wall behind me and crossed my arms over my chest. I didn't exactly choose the words, but hey, they got a reaction out of her. "So I came out of the closet. Big motherfucking deal," I retorted with a smirk.



She let out an exasperated sigh and shook her head again. "It is a big deal here. We're not in Europe anymore, Samuli. It's not gonna slide as easy as you think." Nice choice of words, Ieva... "Next thing we know, we'll have that homophobic church picketing your shows-"



"Whoa. Whoa. Wait a minute." I held out my hand to stop her from saying more crap. "You really think my guys are gonna let some stupid fucks picket our shows? If it goes that far, they'll destroy the motherfuckers. And I'll be in the frontline with them, 'cause we're a band. Besides, you really think they don't have something more... huh... stupid to take care about?"



How can so few people generate so much hate? They make our mythical trolls look nice. Trolls just kill people and feed on them, end of fucking story. Actually, it'd be funny to see huge trolls in picket lines. Food for thought. Note to self: write a song about that.



So what did I get for a response? A glare. "Stop trying to change the topic, Samuli."



I tried. Whatever. "Listen, you're freaking out for nothing," I told her. "People aren't gonna give a fuck if I'm gay or straight or fuck bears, as long as we feed them aggressive riffs and epic lyrics. It's not like I'm gonna start pumping out songs about the last time I bent over for a guy."



I know, I'm egging her on. That's something I'm good at. Gets my point across nicely.



"And you damn well knew I was gay when you offered yourself as our manager. Didn't seem to bother you until I started thinking about going public with it," I added before she could say anything. "My band doesn't care. Half of my family doesn't care. My friends don't care. Our fans in Europe don't care."



I hit that spot again. She looked at the ceiling and groaned. "This is not Europe, this is America."



"Actually this is Canada."



She glared daggers at me. Under the hoodies and cargo pants, I'm wearing heavy armor worthy of a level eighty orc in World of Warcraft. You just can't see it. So... fuck daggers.



"You know what I mean, Samuli. If this coming out of yours causes any problem with the market-"



The phone rang. She didn't finish her sentence. She dragged a finger to her lips to tell me shut up and nearly tore the receiver away from its base. "Ieva Laaksonen speaking... yes..." She nodded as she scribbled something down on a piece of paper, then she grabbed her agenda. "Let me check and I'll see what I can do." She flipped through some pages and ran her heavily manicured index over... I got a bit closer and had to squint my eyes to see. Next week's Tuesday afternoon section. "He's free, actually. Yes... I can schedule an interview with him..."



This is why I have Ieva as a manager. I'd get lost within the paperwork, interviews, recording schedules, plane tickets, venue addresses and shit like that. She excels at it, and that's why we hired her. I just wish she'd stick to that, instead of telling me I shouldn't assume my own sexuality in front of the media.



"So Tuesday at two-thirty p.m. He'll be there."



I grinned. Samuli Holopainen, one point.



She hung up with a look I saw mostly on my mom's face. Those furrowed brows and a pensive pout, synonym of 'it's working but I shouldn't tell you because it'll only fuel you'. Still obviously angry, but slowly coming back to her senses.



That look alone is probably worth more than one point. Let's say two points. She's never been the mom type.



"There's a local metal mag who's heard about this... coming out of yours. They're interested in hearing more. You have an interview scheduled Tuesday afternoon. I'll give you the coords, but I want to see you before-"



The phone rang again. "Ieva Laaksonen speaking... I'm his manager, yes..."



This is great. This is so fucking great. Wait till I text the guys about it.



"He's not available Friday, but he does have a spot tomorrow. At eleven a.m."



Yeah, that's it bitch, make me pay for it. I fucking hate mornings and you know it.



She totally caught on too, because she lifted her head from her agenda to grin in my direction. "He'll gladly talk to one of your staff members. Thank you." She cleared her throat as she hung up for the second time. "LGBT weekly mag. Not used to seeing gay folks in the metal industry. Thought it'd be interesting. I'll forward you the addresses by email this afternoon."



Ieva got up from her expensive chair and walked to me. "You know what that means."



"Means I was fucking right. It's exposure."



She shook her head.



I rolled my eyes once more. "I know. I won't get drunk."



This time, she nodded. "You're not an idiot, I know that." There was a pause as she searched for her words. "Just don't go making things worse for yourself."



I dismissed that with a scoff. "It's gonna be okay, I'm telling you. Just notify me when the interviews are gonna take place."



"I have your schedule here, Sammi. I'll let you know as usual."



And she's back to 'Sammi' now. Those calls calmed her down. Whoddathunkit? With this, I waved to her and took my leave. I sat down in the lobby for a few minutes, the time for my car to warm up – thank you, remote starter – and checked my phone for any missed text. Nothing that couldn't wait until I was home to reply to, so I shoved it back in my pocket for the short trip to the parking lot.



Pedal to the fucking metal, music cranked all the way up. Best way to live, seriously.



About halfway home, my stomach growled. Time to stop in a café or some restaurant and get high on caffeine.



See, everything works out in the end.



~



It's only when I hit the restaurant that I realized the state I was in, and how much this really called for a coffee. I sat down by a window and had quite some time to check myself out as I waited until someone came to me with the menu. My chest-length brown hair was a mess, and the circles under my eyes made me look way over my thirty years on this stupid planet. Coupled with some light stubble on my cheeks and chin, and my awesome "two hoodies in Montreal winter is perfectly fine" idea, I looked like a fucking hobo.



Speaking of Montreal. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, two toasts, ham and maple syrup – typical Canadian breakfast, eh? And the coffee. Let's not forget the coffee. This shit is as vital as alcohol.



My phone beeped a few times. Mostly "Good morning" texts from my bandmates back in Finland. I miss those motherfuckers when I'm not with them. They wouldn't be here until next month, leaving plenty of time for me to get bored. In other words, to get drunk and sleep with random guys. Not that I can't do that when I'm around them, mind you. I just have to be careful when we're in rehearsal or recording.



The moment I got my plate, I put my headphones back on. I didn't want to be disturbed – I had enough of it with Ieva earlier.



That didn't mean I didn't pay attention to my surroundings. I shot a nice smile at the hunk three tables over, but I don't think he noticed me. Too bad. I wouldn't have minded if that guy disturbed me, and I could have used something to take my mind off all that bullshit. Last time I checked, sex was awesome medicine.



My meal over, I left a tip for the waitress, and paid at the counter before leaving. This time, I went back home.