A Tragedy With Tits

•

“It’s Tommy isn’t it?” Lars asks casually one day when they’re both sitting outside enjoying the breeze. “The sound guy.”

“Tommy what?” Dag asks.

He wants a cigarette. He’s not going to have one yet though, because he knows Tommy’s probably going to take a smoke break in another hour. It’s become routine almost, how Dag shows up during those breaks. Yesterday it had gone long because they’d gotten into a whole discussion about Haake. Tommy knows his shit. It makes Dag a little crazy.

“Your crush.”

When Dag glances over Lars isn’t looking at him. Instead Lars is staring at his own hands, carefully peeling off the super glue residue from his fingertips. It happens a lot on tour, where the skin near his calluses start to kind of tear, and then doesn’t have time to heal. It’s really gross. Dag doesn’t understand why, Niklas doesn’t have that problem as much. Probably because Lars can’t stop messing with them.

“You’re gonna open the scab,” Dag asks, instead of answering.

“I’ll put more glue on it,” Lars says, but he stops and looks at Dag. “It is though, isn’t it?”

Fuck.

“Yeah,” Dag grumbles and crosses his arms.

“Hmmm,” Lars goes back to his fingertips with a frown.

“Why?” Dag asks, suspiciously.

If Dag’s honest, he’s waiting for the teasing to start.

“You know you can talk to me about this stuff, right?” Lars mumbles instead. “I don’t care that you’re half gay or whatever.”

Oh.

“I didn’t think you did,” Dag says honestly, leaning over to bump their arms together. “I just—it’s fucking embarrassing dude. It’s just a crush.”

Dag watches as Lars does peel off a scab. He doesn’t hiss, doesn’t jerk, just looks down at the smear of blood on his pointer finger.

“You okay?” Dag asks, a little alarmed.

“I’m fine,” Lars shrugs a shoulder and pulls what looks like a burger king napkin out of his pocket to put pressure against it. “Birgit said you talked to her about having him replace Mika. That sounds like more than just a crush.”

Dag sighs.

“Yeah.” Dag picks up his half drunk water bottle and waves it in Lars’ direction. “Something about him makes me kinda stupid. I just want to be around him, you know?”

“I don’t,” Lars says mulishly. “Because all you said was that you had a crush, and then refused to talk about it, and now he apparently might be on the crew.”

Lars holds his hand out and lets Dag pour water over it.

“Sorry,” Dag says, even though he doesn’t really know why.

“I’m just saying,” Lars says, flicking the water off once his hand is rinsed. “I’m not homophobic. I wanna know if you like someone that much.”

“I don’t think you’re homophobic,” Dag says apologetically. “It’s just weird to talk about. Think about. I never thought I’d like a guy like this.”

“What do you like about him?” Lars asks.

He grabs the napkin again and dries off his finger, and then pulls out the super glue. It’s probably not sanitary, Dag thinks, but Lars has done this for years. Blood and glue.

•

Tommy’s plane doesn’t land until 8:35 in the morning, and Dag pulls into the airport at 8:15. He knows that the offer to pick Tommy up isn’t necessary. Tommy’s a grown man, he can find a cab. But it’s the nice thing to do. That’s how Dag’s rationalizing it. Tommy’s the only American on the crew, the only one that has to fly out to be here. Dag’s just being nice and offering to pick him up. The fact that it's Dag and not anyone else doesn't need to be examined.

Dag parks and picks up his phone to see that the band group chat is roasting him.

Niklas: it’s inspiring how much you wanna suck his dick

Jan: It’s convenient, otherwise I would have to do it, since Tommy is staying with me.

Lars: youd have to suck tommy's dick?

Jan: That's not what I meant and you know it.

Henrik: its too early for this

•

Because what if it’s zero gay percentage? Even if Tommy is cool with it, Dag doesn’t want to make a move, get rejected, and then have to spend the rest of the tour acting like nothing happened. He can’t imagine that being anything but awkward.

“There’s gotta be a way to figure it out,” Lars says earnestly. “Gay dudes do it all the time, right?”

•

Tommy’s tapping both of his hands against the counter top, restless and rhythmic, in a way that Dag recognizes. It’s a habit they share. And it could mean nothing, plenty of people tap their hands, but something about Tommy’s movements gets Dag’s attention.

“Are you a drummer?” Dag asks.

“Yeah, sorry.” Tommy says, looking caught out and stopping awkwardly.

“No,” Dag shakes his head hurriedly. “I was wondering, with the—”

Dag taps his own hands on the counter top in a mimic of what Tommy was just doing.

“Yeah, that’s a drummer habit.” Tommy grins and shakes his head a little bit.

Dag swallows, tries to control his breathing. There’s excitement caught in his fingertips. Of course. Of course Tommy’s also a drummer. Dag wants Tommy to start tapping again. He wants to tap along.

“How long have you played?” Dag asks politely, because otherwise he’s going to blurt out a demand that Tommy run to the nearest kit and play for him right now.

“Ah, since I was a kid.” Tommy says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But it’s… I’m okay. I’m not a drummer like you.”

“No one is a drummer like me,” Dag says, the confidence coming automatically, before his stomach rolls and oh shit that was fucking rude.