Chapter Text
Jere had admired the mountains already from the plane and they were still nicely on display on their short journey to the city. Southern Finland boasted many kinds of charming scenery, lakes and rivers and forests, but no mountains. Of course Ljubljana had to one-up them.
Jere was glad Allu was behind the wheel. He didn’t like driving in a strange country and here people’s road antics seemed pretty chaotic, at least by Finnish standards. The sides of the highway were littered with seemingly endless traffic signs which added to the stress. Overall, Allu’s presence was calming and that was what Jere needed now.
The sun was shining from a cloudless sky and many fellow drivers had their windows down with music blasting out. Allu put the radio on, too, and instantly there was a Slovenian song that Jere recognized even if he couldn’t remember the name.
Besides the mountains and how green it all was, the actual city seemed like a typical Central European capital with its beautiful old buildings, the mandatory river running through it and picturesque bridges over it. There was even a castle on a hill.
The streets were wide and bustling with bikes similar to Helsinki. The city center was closed from cars, so they had picked their Airbnb with that in mind. Some neighborhoods looked more gentrified than others with trendy bars, coffeeshops, barbershops and vinyl stores. Jere spotted a bunch of casinos too, a sight that sparked a hint of tension in his body.
A pretty city, like most cities were, most cities that weren’t Vantaa.
They left their belongings at the Airbnb and Jere took a nap. It was actually a little cooler than in Finland, but very warm nonetheless, and the travel had worn him out. They would hopefully have some time for sightseeing another day, but now there was work to do.
The closest eatery to their Airbnb was called Balkan Sushi, with offerings vaguely resembling the Japanese delicacy. Jere ordered sushi with ćevapčići, grilled meat patties that increasingly often were also available in Finland, but he still couldn’t pronounce the name.
The meat was tasty and it was filling – compared to actual sushi, it was like a brick in your stomach. Luckily it had settled a bit by the time they arrived at the festival.
Someone at Warner had pulled some strings and got them backstage passes. The bouncer eyed them suspiciously but let them in. The area was mostly outdoors with plenty of trees and artists and staff had sought out shade to chill out. There was a weird inflatable pool that seemed to be a jacuzzi, with multiple people sitting in it in various states of undress.
The band currently performing was called Siddharta and played slightly harder rock. Good music, but not really Jere’s style nor collab material. The singer kept his beanie on even in the heat and didn’t interact with the audience that much, but he sure had a great voice.
The crowd was going bananas and loudly singing along, very similar to the audience at a Finnish and probably any festival. Still, Jere couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t belong and not just because he couldn’t understand a word.
Alas, they didn’t come here to party but to mingle. The people at Warner hadn’t exactly been convinced by this plan, and neither were Jere and Allu themselves. Still, they wanted to try. The place for making connections was MENT conference in February, but that was prime party cruise season in Finland and Jere had been lucky to score some gigs on ferries.
The first familiar name Jere noticed was Emkej, who was lounging around without a shirt. His vibe matched the light and airy hiphop he made. A kindred soul, as Jere typically hung out topless, even lending itself to his artist name Paidaton Riehuja which referred to wild and reckless behavior while shirtless. Perhaps slight exaggeration.
Now he had donned a shirt, however, to appear more professional, some of his own merch. He talked with some other people first before he dared to approach Emkej.
The Slovene was as friendly as he looked, but he didn’t seem to warm up to the idea, he had no shortage of collaborators. Jere had prepared himself for many rejections. With luck he might still find one or two people to work with.
Jere handed out his mixtape to everyone who had a yellow wristband signaling they were artists, while Allu was trying to hit it up with other professionals in the industry. A festival backstage wasn’t exactly a place where record company executives partied, but there were some managers at least.
“Are you serious? You gave your mixtape to the guy in Laibach?”
“That wasn’t –wait.”
Judging from the attire which did not look very summer-y, Jere had indeed handed his material to the main guy of Laibach. No wonder he had seemed less than keen.
“Hyvin vedetty, Jere.”
“Jep jep.”
Oh well. Laibach had done their share of eccentric and eclectic productions, so maybe they were itching to feature in Finnish rap.
There were two attractive women with long, blonde hair talking to each other. Jere had a hunch one of them was July Jones, but he didn’t recognize the other.
He handed them the mixtape, but didn’t intrude further. It would have seemed impolite to interrupt the conversation between seemingly good friends. He was constantly intruding anyway and feeling way out of his league here. The whole idea had probably been ridiculous.
Someone else also seemed slightly lost in the backstage crowd, a middle-aged man with an almost drag-like makeup. It had Jer intrigued, he wondered how such a look would work on him. His friend Aarni was a makeup artist and had tried to persuade him, but Jere had thought it would be too much. But if Balkan people could pull it off, perhaps one Jere from Vantaa could?
On a bench in a back corner there was a guy who looked very young, perhaps only twenty, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and a baseball cap backwards, eyes fixed to his phone. He seemed awkward and out of place, but also endearing. There was also something about him that Jere was instantly drawn to.
“I want that guy”, Jere said to Allu.
“You don’t even know if he’s good. And he doesn’t seem like a major name, so what would that accomplish?”
“I want to make a song with him.”
Allu shrugged in defeat.
“Hi”, Jere said and gestured at the seat next to guy. He nodded so Jere sat down.
“My name is Jere, I’m a Finnish rapper and I’m looking for someone to make a song with me.”
The guy looked at him as if this was a prank, as if he was not quite sure if he was on candid camera. Jere handed him his offering. The Slovene glanced at him in humored disbelief.
“A CD? Finnish people still listen to CDs?”
“It has that, too”, Jere said and pointed out the QR code printed on the cover of the miniature disc, which would take one to the same content online.
The guy burst into hearty laughter, leaving Jere puzzled.
“I’m sorry”, the Slovene said, wiping his eyes. “Hug?”
Jere was still confused, but accepted. The hug felt warm and secure.
“My name is Bojan and I’m flattered, but I’m a nobody.”
“But you are a rapper? Or singer?”
“Both, I guess”, Bojan said. “Nowadays mostly a rapper because no one wants my singing, but so far I’ve only featured on other people’s tracks.”
“Then you should feature on my song. I let you sing, too.”
Bojan laughed again, he had a very pleasant laugh.
“I’ll consider it”, he said. “But who are you? Tell me.”
“Like my career?”
Another chuckle.
“I can Google about your career, I assume, but tell me about yourself. Who are you?”
If Jere only knew that himself.
“Okay, I try”, he said.
***
Somehow they clicked immediately and spent a long while chatting like old friends. Bojan didn’t seem to mind that Jere’s English wasn’t as good as his and it did appear to interfere with their conversation, which made him feel less like an outsider.
Despite their brand new acquaintance, Jere’s presence seemed to relax Bojan. Today was going to be his first time rapping live onstage and he was a nervous wreck. Jere tried his best to reassure him. Bojan had a long history of playing live with his band and this was just one song, but it was a different music style and a bigger crowd, so he was struggling.
The main artist was a rapper named Trkaj, or Rok, who according to Bojan had been making music for decades. Bojan seemed to be a big fan. With Rok’s permission they arranged for Jere to stand on the side of the stage during Bojan’s appearance, not visible from the audience.
Jere looked on as Bojan did his vocal warmup, even for that one song. He seemed very professional. Like a real musician and Jere didn’t particularly feel like a musician, even if he technically was.
Trkaj was amazing, even if Jere didn’t understand the lyrics, but he was spitting the rhymes with precision and passion. No gimmicks in the stage show, just music. The crowd was entranced.
Jere was shocked by how good Bojan was. He looked nervous yet you could still tell he was a seasoned performer. His style of rapping was highly melodic and musical, a brilliant contrast to Trkaj’s fierce bars. Bojan also did the r’n’b bridge for the song, sounding angelic. Famous or not, he was exactly what Jere wanted. It was hard to believe that Slovenians weren’t fans.
Bojan said Jere’s presence had been a big support for him, even though he had barely glanced at his direction while performing.
After the gig, Bojan tried to convince Rok to work with Jere, despite not even hearing his music yet, which felt slightly embarrassing. Jere had handed him his mixtape earlier, but now he didn’t want to take attention away from Bojan. He also didn’t want Bojan to think he had befriended him for his connections, or risk his professional reputation if the guy ended up not digging Jere’s tunes.
But Rok was cool and they had a beer together, the three of them. His questions about Finland and the Finnish music industry seemed to stem from real interest rather than just politeness. Jere tried namedropping some artists, but outside of metal, they hadn’t heard of any of them.
“Maybe I’ll go there one day”, Rok said as he got up to leave, feigning some enthusiasm.
“That’s what everyone says.”
“Rok actually travels a lot”, Bojan said. “He would probably walk to Finland from here if you dared him to.”
The man laughed.
“Who knows, I just might.”
Considering they had met just a few hours ago, Bojan was getting very affectionate with Jere. He explained that Balkan men tended to be like that, even if he was a bit cuddlier still. Granted, he also gave that beanie-headed singer a long and sweet hug, but now he was leaning on Jere.
“I hope it doesn’t bother you?” Bojan asked.
“No, not at all.”
Jere was tactile himself, though Allu still looked at him strangely when he came back and saw this guy glued to Jere’s side. Allu had managed to strike up some potential connections, too. It all seemed more promising than Jere had thought a few hours ago.
He didn’t get Trkaj’s number, though unless the guy threw away the mixtape, he had the Finn’s contact information. But he got Bojan to follow him on Instagram, so that they could chat there. Jere just knew he shouldn’t look at his photos in this mild state of inebriation or he would end up tapping a heart on something three years old and never dare to message him again.
***
Alas, Laibach did not get in touch Jere. Neither did Trkaj or Emkej or any of the others, or at least not yet. Thanks to Allu’s efforts, two other rappers were potentially interested. They were lesser known, but they had a good flow.
Jere met both separately, at a trendy coffeeshop where people got dragons and Idrija lace patterns drawn on the foam of their matcha and turmeric almond lattes, but the vibes clashed. One seemed like a traditional rapper with his golden chains and geometrically trimmed hair, while the other came off as very withdrawn and Jere often struggled to connect with such people.
Luckily there was Bojan, who had actually liked Jere’s mixtape. He had agreed to meet with him and even invited him into his home to discuss collaboration. It might not be the most lucrative deal, but Bojan was obviously talented and their energy matched well.
From the moment Jere had spotted Bojan, he had been drawn to him. That was probably what charisma meant. He was a very likeable guy, kind and affable, a good listener and very funny. Very attractive, especially when he smiled. Okay, so maybe Jere was crushing a little, but he was a professional and he would handle this professionally.
Bojan lived near the city center with a flatmate who was also his good friend and bandmate, though he was currently away. Despite being sober, Bojan was still very affectionate. He was also in high spirits and feeling goofy. Jere did his best to make him smile and laugh, which wasn’t hard.
They experimented with some stuff on the guitar, even though Jere suggested that Allu could take care of the composition and production. They hadn’t yet come to an agreement which languages the song would feature, as Jere didn’t feel adept with his English and Bojan wasn’t convinced Finnish would do well in the Balkans.
While they were having a snack break, Bojan’s phone buzzed with a message.
“Would you like to go clubbing?” he asked. “My friend Jan is asking me.”
“If it’s okay for him.”
“The more the merrier.”
Bojan texted his friend and got an okay. Jere hoped Jan actually wouldn’t mind a random stranger tagging along. As if reading his thoughts, Bojan was quick to reassure him:
“Jan is a musician too, he plays guitar in a band called Buržuazija, and he was intrigued by me hanging out with a Finnish musician. And this is the best gay club in Ljubljana.”
“Are you gay?” Jere blurted out without thinking.
Bojan let out a little noise of surprise.
“Does it matter? Don’t Finns party at gay clubs regardless? Not like we are going there to pick up dudes.”
That wasn’t a no, was it?
“What about my clothes?” Jere asked.
“No problem, you can borrow from me.”
They had known each other for a couple of days and Bojan was already suggesting Jere borrow his clothes? This was an interesting country for sure.
“And I don’t have my makeup with me.”
Bojan looked curious and smiled.
“That’s too bad.”
Bojan went for a lacy white long-sleeve which looked stunning on him, emphasizing both his slenderness and the subtle muscularity. Suddenly he was like a different person from the shy boy hiding inside a sweatshirt and baseball cap, which had hidden how pretty his flowy hair was.
Most of Bojan’s wardrobe were too small for Jere, but he was able to find a pink top with some glittery decorations that was stretchy and a bit larger. Pink wasn’t really something Jere normally wore, but when in Rome, do as the Romans do.
There was still plenty of time before clubbing o’clock, so Bojan suggested taking a walk around the city center so he could show Jere some sights. One was a bridge with dragon statues and Jere did a heavy metal pose in front of one to Bojan’s amusement.
There were quite a few stylish hipster tourists around, Bojan said the number of tourists had appeared to double over the past two years.
“Lots of casinos here”, Jere remarked.
“Would you like to go?”
Jere thought for a moment. He shouldn’t.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“I’ve never been”, Bojan said. “They aren’t exactly in fashion anymore.”
There was only one casino left in Finland, but until recently you could play slot machines in nearly every supermarket, which had given them a lower class association. Of course, Ljubljana was more sophisticated than that. They were teetering the line of acceptable dresscode, but the bouncer decided to let them in.
On his trips abroad Jere had been to a few more casinos. This place looked typical, just with local music playing in the background. They all had a different scent, with this one making Jere think of fruit and spices. Both cozy and elegant.
Everything in this city smelled good. Especially Bojan. Jere couldn’t put it into words. It was also cozy yet sensual. He would need to take another whiff to analyze.
“To me this is comforting”, Jere said as he chose a slot machine. “It’s a lot of stress to be in a strange city and this is something I know.”
Of course, even the background music that Jere couldn’t understand but that was cooler than he would ever be reminded him that he was an imposter here.
“Do you also play the actual games?” Bojan asked. “Like poker or blackjack?”
“Blackjack, not so much, as you have to be good with numbers to win. I am pretty good in poker, but I don’t want to play right now.”
A waitress came by to serve them free drinks. Bojan seemed surprised. That wasn’t a thing in Finland, but elsewhere it was quite common. They raised their glasses and toasted.
“I was just wondering what’s the point in playing slots, because there is no real skill involved and to me it doesn’t seem so captivating. It’s like a boring videogame where you lose money.”
He looked at Jere apologetically, as if this might be rude or even offensive to say out loud. But yeah, that was the gist.
“You’re right”, Jere said. “It’s pretty boring, only interesting because of money. You think you can win, even though you know the house always win. It’s like life, you always lose.”
“Isn’t that a bit pessimistic?”
“Pessimism is what you think about future, right? I don’t know anything about future, but this is how my life works so far.”
Bojan gave him a side hug.
“If that’s not pessimist, at least it’s bleak”, he said.
“You’ve had a lucky life?”
“Not really.”
The silence hung heavy on top of the music, but then Jere fed the machine more coins resulting in corny sound effects.
“You want to play?” he asked.
“I’m broke.”
“They are for poor people. Do you think rich people get excited if they play with coins?”
There was a flash of something like sadness on Bojan’s face
The first three games Jere lost, but with the fourth one the symbols lined up, earning him a sweet dopamine rush that sounded like the victorious clatter of coins. Bojan wouldn’t have understood the emotional undertone, wouldn’t have understood how it was satisfying for like five seconds and then only filled him with more hunger.
The sum was enough to recoup the previous losses and a bit more. Bojan smiled with glee.
“So now you are winning and we quit, right?” he asked.
“Usually I stop when I run out of money.”
Bojan’s face fell.
“But now you can stop and you can buy me a drink with the extra money?”
“I guess”, Jere said. It only seemed fair.
The club was a few blocks from the casino, but it looked completely different from what Jere expected. There was a bunch of small buildings covered in colorful graffiti and murals, appearing more like a youth center than a trendy gay bar. Bojan seemed amused by Jere’s confusion.
“This used to be the headquarters of the Austro-Hungarian army”, he said.
“But then gay people took it over?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what happened.”
Inside the place looked like a more mainstream bar and the music sounded like what you would expect, only the female vocalist was exercising the range of her vocal cords in Slovenian.
Jere led them to the bar and ordered:
“One beer and make a ridiculous looking drink for him.”
He nodded at Bojan. The bartender took him up to his offer and prepared a layered concoction that was mostly salmon pink with some glitter, a marshmallow and a decorative stick with a garish unicorn head, an aesthetic which looked like something a six year old girl might adore.
For a moment Jere was worried Bojan would be offended, but luckily he seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. He snapped photos of himself and them both with the drink.
“Oh, there’s Jan.”
Bojan pointed to a tall man with his dark hair set in a loose bun. He was talking to another man and even from a slight distance you could tell they were getting on well. Bojan managed to attract Jan’s attention, gesturing at the drink and Jere.
Jan winked theatrically but stayed where he was, chatting with the man. Bojan seemed to find this unusual, if not a bit rude.
“I guess I was lucky to bring my own company.”
“You said we don’t come here to pick up men”, Jere said.
“Who knows, maybe we do?”
Bojan glanced at Jere mischievously, even with challenge. He kept the eye contact and swapped what remained of their drinks, so that he ended up with the beer and Jere with the pink abomination.
Jere didn’t flinch. He took a sip, it wasn’t too bad, citrusy and not as cloying as it appeared. He ate the marshmallow and picked off the unicorn stick. It looked like a dick joke just waiting to be made, but Jere’s wasn’t good at quipping in English. He carefully threaded the stick through the oval holes in Bojan’s shirt, slightly diagonally so it was less likely to stab him in the belly.
Bojan smiled.
“Wanna dance?” he asked.
They got up, Bojan’s eyes sparkling and apparently not minding the unicorn stick attached to his chest. His butt looked criminally good in his black trousers. Jere was going to handle this professionally.