#i actually audibly yelped after i opened my insta

[alscorposting]

new reel from hptcc hamburg ohhh my goodness😢😢😢

[dyscrasia-eucrasia]

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Content Warning: This chapter depicts a brief scene of attempted assault

Part 9

"What's up Claykids, welcome back to my second channel, new vlogs every single day," Clayton Howard shouted at the Go Pro he held at arm's length from his face. Angel knew he was loud based on his videos, but hadn't been prepared for just how loud he really was. It took a lot of restraint not to cringe away. 

"We're here with AngelVinh96, go follow him on Insta," Clayton continued, wrapping an arm around Angel's shoulders and pulling him into frame. Angel flashed a bright smile at the camera. "Angel's here to show us how they party in West Virginia!" 

"Hiiii," Angel cooed, holding up a peace sign for the camera.

"Okay, and cut," Clayton said, and he lowered the camera, his huge smile instantly disappearing. He released his hold on Angel's shoulders. "That's good for the intro, we'll start filming again when we actually get to the club." 

The conversation had been like that since they'd met up. Clayton had been all business, talking about shots and directing not only his friends, but Angel as well. Angel couldn't help but feel disappointed. This was sort of what he'd expected talking to Demie to go like when he'd approached him after the concert - awkward and parasocial. But Demie had been easy to talk to. Clayton, on the other hand, was the worst kind of influencer, the kind that was purely a performance. 

And he'd looked so relatable on Youtube, too. 

"Alright, so where are we headed?" Clayton asked, turning to Angel. His face was so devoid of joy that it was eerie. 

"Alright, so, Broadway is the big gay nightclub," Angel said. "There's Atmosphere, but they don't have a dance floor." 

"Aw man, we're going to a gay club?" One of Clayton's crew moaned. Angel thought that that one was Jason Ransom, but he could've been Miller High. It was hard to tell, they were both blonde Californian white guys. 

"Man, shut the fuck up," Clayton said. "You can deal with gay guys hitting on you for one night." 

That was the saving grace of all this, at least. Clayton was openly bi, and even if he was just as image-obsessed as the rest of Youtube, Angel might still be able to get a hookup out of this. Plus the exposure on Youtube would really help his Instagram follower count. 

"So how long have you been a dancer?" Clayton asked as they walked down the sidewalk towards the club. Angel fought back a sigh of relief. Clayton was asking him about himself, so the guy couldn't be that self-absorbed, right? 

"Like four years?" 

"Wow, so you're like a veteran, huh? How'd you get into it?" 

"It was in college - I really, really needed money, and I mean, I did theater in high school so I already knew how to dance, just not on a pole, y'know? And then it wound up being more fun than school, so I just sort of stuck with it." 

"That's dope. So, this the place?" He nodded to a two story plantation-style house, complete with columns, with rainbow flags flying from the second story balcony. 

"Yep, this is Broadway." 

"Cool, cool, let me get some shots." 

Clayton pulled out his Go Pro again, and turned it on. As soon as he did, his face light up with a smile and he started shouting. It was eerie, like he'd flipped a switch and become a totally different person. 

"Yoooo, check it out guys, this place is DOPE!"

"Look at this Colonel Sanders looking place, fam!" One of his crew shouted behind him. 

"Let's go inside!" Clayton said as he ascended the porch steps. Angel followed after him, flashing his ID to the bouncer. 

It was a Thursday night, so the place wasn't jam-packed, and there weren't any drag shows scheduled, but the bar still thumped with dance music and there was a decently sized crowd. 

"Yo, this place is so fuckin' country, I love it," Clayton shouted over the noise as Angel led him to the bar. 

"Okay, so, my tradition here is to always start out with a shot of Fireball," Angel shouted, smiling as Clayton shoved the camera in his face. 

"Alright, yeah, show us how country kids party," Clayton shouted back. 

Angel ordered, and within a minute the bartender produced enough shots for the entire filming crew, who had gathered around the bar. Clayton took a minute to hand off his camera to one of the guys and coordinate camera angles, then picked up a shot glass. 

"Alright, on three," he shouted. "One, two, THREE!" He knocked back the shot with ease, and Angel followed suit. 

Clayton's entire body shuddered, and he yelped. "Oh shit man, that's fire!" He shouted. He looked over at Angel, who hadn't had a reaction to the shot at all. "Dude, look at this fucker, look how fucking calm he is!" Clayton grabbed the camera back and shoved it in Angel's face again. "That shit was spicy as fuck, how are you not even affected?" 

"That wasn't spicy!" Angel laughed. "That was like, white-people-spicy! It's not actually spicy!" 

"Check this guy out," Clayton shouted, "balls of fucking steel over here!" 

"C'mon, let's dance!" Angel shouted, grabbing Clayton by the strap of his tank top and pulling him towards the dance floor. 

"You heard the man," Clayton shouted into the camera, before tossing it back to one of his crew. 

Angel quickly learned that Clayton had no rhythm to speak of. He moved jankily; gyrating, but not in time to the music. He couldn't really keep up with Angel. Still, it was fun. Or at least that was what Angel told himself. He would've preferred someone who could actually dance, but it wasn't like Clayton was known for dancing or anything. It wasn't like he could really be disappointed. 

They stayed on the dance floor for a few songs, always shadowed by one of Clayton's crew, before Angel dragged Clayton back to the bar. "Okay, we gotta get more drinks!" He shouted. 

After downing another drink, they headed back to the dance floor. Clayton loosened up some, but he was still way off rhythm. 

"I gotta go take a leak," he shouted after a couple more songs. 

"Sure, bathroom's over there," Angel shouted, pointing. 

Before he could tell what was going on, Clayton grabbed the sides of his face and brought him in for a sloppy kiss. His crew hooted in drunken frat boy-style approval. 

Angel had no time to react before Clayton stumbled off the dance floor. He just stood there, stunned. Sure, he had had a crush on Clayton for ages, but this wasn't how he wanted the hookup to go down. He didn't necessarily need anything romantic, but he wanted it to at least feel like… something. Like it meant something, even if the meaning was just that they were both horny. Instead, all it felt like was that Clayton was doing it for the camera. 

He walked off the dance floor, going to lean against a wall. Clayton's cameraman followed him, and Angel hated it. He wanted a chance to think, but he had to smile for the camera. 

Clayton emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, and spotted Angel. He grabbed Angel's hand and practically dragged him over to a bench. 

"Hey, you should dance for us," Clayton said, almost collapsing onto the bench. 

"I've been dancing!" Angel laughed. 

"No, like, you should give me a lapdance or something!" Clayton shouted. 

"Um… I don't really do that outside of work," Angel said, laughing again, though this time it was tinged with anxiety. 

"C'mon, it'll be good content!" Clayton said. 

"Strip! Strip! Strip!" His cameraman started chanting. 

"C'mere," Clayton yanked on Angel's hand. Angel lost his balance and stumbled, almost falling on Clayton's lap. 

"Take it off!" The cameraman shouted as Clayton grabbed at Angel's shirt. 

"Stop," Angel said, shoving Clayton's hand away. 

"C'mon, one little lapdance," Clayton slurred, sticking a hand on Angel's crotch. 

"Fuck OFF!" Angel shouted, pushing Clayton hard and standing up. 

"Uh oh, made him mad," the cameraman jeered, coming in close with the Go Pro. 

"Get that out of my fucking face!" Angel shouted, swatting it out of the cameraman's hand. It hit the floor with an audible crack. 

"Hey, you're gonna break my camera," Clayton whined. 

"Good!" Angel shouted, kicking the camera across the floor. He didn't wait for Clayton to react. He wanted out of the bar, now. He stumbled towards the door, and out into the muggy night air. He stomped down the sidewalk, in the opposite direction from where they'd all parked to get to the bar. 

He accidentally hip-checked a public trash can, which wobbled, and then spilled. He let out a guttural shriek of frustration, walking away from it before anyone on the street could say anything. He rounded a corner and spotted a bus stop bench, collapsing onto it. 

He bent over, his head between his knees. He felt like he was going to puke, but it never came. There was nothing in his stomach to puke up. He'd starved himself all day, hoping that he'd get to hook up. 

Well, that definitely wasn't going to happen. 

He fought back tears. He didn't want to cry on a public street. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He knew he should get an uber, but he couldn't stop himself from opening up Instagram. There, right at the top of his feed, was a picture of himself at Broadway. Clayton had posted it, and tagged him in the post. His notifications were going crazy as people began to follow his account. 

He closed the app, pressing the top edge of his phone against his forehead. He wanted to throw the thing across the street, but knew better. 

He felt betrayed. Not like he'd ever had any trust in Clayton - they didn't even know each other - but he'd at least figured Clayton for a good person. He guessed that was why people always said you should never meet your heroes. 

He needed to talk to someone. He needed to vent. He needed someone to tell him that it would be alright, that he was more than what he made himself out to be online. 

There was only one person he could think of that would do that. Or at least had the potential to do that. 

He opened up the phone app and dialed a number. As always, the phone rang for a long time before it was finally picked up. 

"Demie?" He asked in a shaking voice.