Disclaimer:

I still don't own Placebo and I probably never will, no matter how hard I try. Anyway, this story is pure fiction and not meant to portray anything resembling the truth. It is also not meant to hurt anyone's feelings and I seriously hope I'm not offending anyone.

This story DOES contain some original characters of mine, though, and as I feel rather protective towards most of them, please ask me before you use them in one of your fics. Also, please ask me before you archive my story.

Author's note:

The story is set in early '97. It is a sequel to my fanfic "Luxemburger Queen" and I strongly recommend reading it before this one, since you won't get half of it if you are not familiar with the characters from that story. I don't know exactly when Robert left the band, but since I don't know anything about him at all, I just made him leave directly after the Nancy Boy-video was released, so Steve is in the band in this story.

Music poured into the corridor as the door was opened. "Hey!" chimed the girl, smiling stressfully at the young man who'd just rang the bell. "Come in, you're a bit too early, the others aren't there yet and I'm not done with the food... why don't you just come in and watch some TV or so while you're waiting? Derek will be there with you in a sec, he's in the bathroom. I'll hurry up!"

"Okay."

The guest walked into his friends' flat and slumped down onto the old sofa in the living room. He could hear Jenna shouting at Derek in the bathroom to 'hurry the fuck up' before rustling away into the kitchen. He smiled. That was the real fun with parties: to appear too early, to catch the hosts in the midst of stressful and embarrassing preparations.

His gaze wandered over to the TV. Music television. He looked around in the room a bit more, ignoring the TV - he didn't care much for music, but he was too lazy to search the remote. Far more interesting were the posters, prints of some famous artists mostly, and Derek's collection of African statues with incredibly noticeable sexuality. He got up and took one of the beer bottles already there, awaiting the guests, opened it and sipped.

The picture in the TV changed to a rather pretty VJ announcing and commenting the next video. The guest didn't really listen because the couple's conversation was far more interesting ("I KNOW I bought the shrimps!" - "Well, Derek, they're not here!" - "They HAVE to be here, you just don't look!" - "Did you bring them up here?" - "Fuck! They're still in the car!" - "Well go get them, moron!"), it was some rather new startup-band anyway that he'd never heard of, Placebo or so the name. He only shook his head in bewilderment when the VJ announced the song's title - 'Nancy Boy'. What kind of morons would call a song that?

"Go get it yourself, bitch, I'm only in my knickers!"

"That's not my fucking problem, YOU promised to get the shrimps so get them the fuck here!"

A door banged and the guest smiled amusedly. The song started with an aggressive riff.

"There! Happy now? I'll get them, you stupid cunt, who cares I haven't shaved yet!"

"Ooooh, just shut the fuck up and GO!"

The first tones of a high-pitched, nasal voice filled the room, causing the guest to throw a casual glance onto the TV screen while sipping on his beer.

Then he spat the beer onto the living room table as his eyes fixed on the figures in the video. "Fucking Christ!" he gasped. "This can't be real!"

Derek came stomping along like a mad, angry locomotive, muttering something about stupid girlfriends, but his face became friendlier when he saw his guest. "Oh, hey, Christian, didn't know you're here already, silly whore forgot to tell me."

"Uh - hi, Derek. Go get the shrimps."

Derek's face darkened again and he stormed off.

Christian turned back to the TV and began to slowly and incredulously shake his head. "God, please, this can't be real!" he groaned, knowing that it was, indeed, and without any doubt, as real as possible.

Stefan Olsdal, celebrated basketball player, Christian's team-mate and friend in school, had started a band with no other person but Brian Molko.

Brian chewed on his nails, eyes darting around nervously. He counted up to ten inside his head. He'd heard this would help people to calm down. Well, it sure as hell didn't work with him! He put out the cigarette in his hand only to start the next one and notice that his hands were shaking slightly. How was he supposed to play his guitar on stage, shaking like this? God, he really had to get rid off this nervosity prior to gigs! What was wrong with him? He'd walk onto a stage to act anytime, but singing and playing in public still gave him the creeps...

Stefan walked in, grinning at his bandmate's obvious distress. "Everything okay, Bri?"

"Fuck off," muttered the singer lowly.

Stefan grinned and tousled his hair. "You'll survive, just like every time."

"I know!" growled Brian. "Once I get going, it's fine!"

Stefan sniggered, leaned down and kissed Brian's hair. "Your lipstick is smeared," he announced then.

"Shit!" Brian jumped onto his feet and hurried away, and Stefan sat down where Brian had been before, stole one of his friend's cigarettes and started to smoke it, smiling smugly.

Steve entered, flexing his fingers. "Where's our lovely lady?"

"Bathroom."

"Didn't know his stage fright was that bad," Steve joked.

Stefan chuckled. What a different atmosphere it was with Steve around instead of Robert. "He'll be fine, just smeared his lipstick with all those fags."

"Tsk tsk, bad boy."

"Yupp." Stef grinned. "So, are you nervous?"

"Me?" Steve smiled. "Never! Why should I? I'm only replacing the drummer of a band which has just made it into the top 10!"

"But you'll be fine?"

"Sure."

Brian appeared again, lipstick failures corrected, pulling his skirt into place. "Hey, I was sitting there!" he snarled at Stefan.

The bassist only grinned. "Well, tough luck on you, I guess!"

"And those are MY fags!"

Stefan grinned even broader. "Want it back?" he asked, offering Brian his half-smoked cigarette.

"Yeah, I bloody well do," Brian grumbled, snatching the cigarette and starting to smoke it.

"That's friendship for you," Stefan complained and sighed.

"Who needs friends if he can have a smoke?" Brian answered with a giggle and sat down on Stefan's lap.

Steve choked on his beer with laughter at Stefan's surprised expression. "Should I leave the room?"

"What are you doing?" Stefan exclaimed.

"Well," Brian answered, drawling, "I TOLD you I was sitting here, and so I am, it's not my fault you're here as well."

"Is this some sort of invitation?" Stefan grabbed Brian around the waist, seemingly lustful for a moment, but then his hands shifted position and began to tickle the small singer who immediately started squeaking and squirming.

"Wwaaaaaahhh! Stef, stop eeeeeeeehh! Steve, help, waaawwww!"

"See you two when you're done fucking," Steve replied with his best faked disinterested expression and left the room to phone his girlfriend.

"Noooooooooo!" Brian shrieked after him, trying to free himself. "Coward! Traitor! Hetero! Drummer!" Finally, he managed to slip away from Stefan's hands and fled to the far end of the room, panting.

Stefan chuckled madly. "Well, that was fun."

Brian glowered at him.

"Hey, I was just trying to fight your nervosity!"

"By sticking your fingers into my ribs?" Brian exclaimed affectedly. "Please stick them somewhere else if you want to provoke any reaction!"

Stefan laughed. "I got quite the reaction I expected, but thanks for the offer, maybe I'll come back to it."

Brian stopped scowling and grinned. "Oh, no, really, Stef, let's not start THAT again, I thought we both agreed it was a very stupid idea..."

"It was." The bassist snickered. "But a fun one."

"Moron!"

"Bitch!"

"Prick!"

"Queer!"

Brian threw him a skeptical glance. "The queer may rot in hell, said the homo?"

"You're calling me a homo?"

"Well, you are, aren't you?"

"Of course." Stefan got up, grabbing another one of Brian's cigarettes.

"Jesus fucking Christ, are you so broke you can't even afford fags anymore?" Brian complained.

"Not really, no, but it's a lot cheaper to smoke yours."

"Bastard."

Stefan launched at Brian again, who started his flight a bit too late and was caught by the lanky bassist's next tickle-attack.

Steve just then entered the room again and raised his eyebrow. "Fuck, you're still not done yet?"

"Help meeeeeaaawwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Steve grinned. "Okay, party on!" He flung himself in the middle of the battle, trying to tickle both Stefan and Brian as much as possible, but since Stefan wasn't that ticklish, he soon focussed on Brian alone so the singer found himself cornered by both men who mercilessly poked their fingers into his ribs. Brian finally squirmed out of Steve's hands but tripped over Stefan, almost falling but managing to cling to the bassist's arm.

"Gotcha!" Steve said, grabbing him quickly around the waist, steadying him.

A low *chunk* was heard.

"My wallet!" Brian screamed.

Stefan obediently ducked for the precious object. "Got it," he announced proudly.

"Hey, you can stay down there, you know?" Brian winked down at him and put his hand around Stefan's head, pretending to guide him toward his crotch.

Stefan sniggered. "I don't think so."

"Fuck!"

Stefan got up, extending his hand with the wallet, but Steve was faster than Brian and took it. "Well, well, well, let's see what Molks has got in his wallet," he sniggered, ignoring Brian's furious complaints. "Twenty pound note... change... telephone card... rubber... awww!" He beamed at Stefan. "A picture of me, now that's nice, and one of you too and -" He broke off, staring confusedly at something in his hands. "Who the fuck is THIS?" he asked.

Brian jumped at him and snatched the wallet away. "Nobody," he mumbled, blushing violently.

Stefan looked at his two friends. "What the fuck are you on about? Steve, what was it?"

"A pic," Steve said, grinning, "of Bri - at least I'm pretty sure it's him, but who's the bloke?"

"Nobody!" Brian repeated stubbornly, avoiding Stefan's eyes and blushing even more.

"Come on, Bri!" Stefan begged. "I wanna see it!"

"No way!"

"I won't laugh, I promise!" Stefan gave him his best puppy dog look.

Steve smiled. "Yes, come on, Bri, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I think it's rather cute."

Brian sighed and looked at Stefan with the most serious expression the bassist had ever seen on his face. "If you say anything wrong, you can forget about the band!"

Stefan's curiosity rose. "Wow. Okay. I - I'll be very careful then."

Brian sighed again, very deep, and offered Stefan his wallet.

Stefan took it, not failing to notice Brian's obvious tension and fright, and skimmed through the collection of photos, magazine pictures and old shopping lists ("Rice, milk, marijuana") until he stopped at a crumpled photo of a small teenage girl in a long red dress and a slightly older boy in a dark suit.

He stared, narrowing his eyes, then looked at Brian, looked back at the photo and then again at Brian. "Nooooooooo," he slowly said, looking bewildered, "not Frank!"

Christian somehow hadn't enjoyed the party at all and was quite glad when Jordie left, offering him a ride. He couldn't quite concentrate on his friends at the moment. There was a haunting picture of Brian Molko's and Stefan Olsdal's heads blurring together to the sound of Brian's screechy voice singing lyrics that really shouldn't be on early evening television.

"You okay, Chris?" Jordie asked, looking at him with concern as he unlocked his car.

"Yeah, sure. Just - memories."

"Ex-girlfriend, huh?" Jordie asked casually, slipping inside the car.

Christian was glad it was dark because he acutally found himself blushing. 'No, Chris, we're not going there!' he told himself and took a deep breath, waiting for Jordie to open the car's door and then slipping inside it without a reply to Jordie's question.

"How long do you think?" Jordie said after a little while.

"Huh?"

"Jenna and Derek."

"Oh." Christian tried to focus on the couple. "Dunno. Two months?"

"At most," Jordie said, sneering, "really, if I was Derek I would have dropped the bitch right after I fucked her for the first time."

"Yeah, I guess."

Jordie threw him an odd glance. "You sure you're fine, Chris, you look like shit!"

"As I told you," Christian answered, now with a hint of anger in his voice, "I'm FINE!"