be a weird man

Two years ago, Ryan Bergara saved Shane’s life.

Well. Maybe that wasn’t totally accurate. The gunshot had actually just been some overeager fireworks enthusiasts and not connected to the threatening DMs Shane had been receiving on Twitter. But Ryan had grabbed Shane by the shoulders and pushed him to the ground, covering his body with his own all the same.

Later that night, when Shane covered Ryan’s naked body with own, he should have known it would never work. What was that Keanu Reeves quote from Speed? Something about how relationships based on intense experiences never work out? He was onto something there.

They’d burned bright, attached at the hip and heart for months before the cracks began to show, before Shane realized that Ryan couldn’t really love him. They were too different, bonded by a crazy experience for their relationship to be real. So, he broke it off. Saved themselves the later heartbreak. Shane still didn’t understand why Ryan had been so pissed. Shane had done him a favor, after all.

Shane was poring over his setlist for the upcoming tour when his doorbell rang. Sara nudged him with her foot from where she was scrolling through her iPad.

“You gonna get that?”

“Can you? I’m stuck on which song to do for the encore.”

“Get your own fucking door.”

Shane sighed. He really didn’t want to face who was on the other side.

He smoothed out his shirt and tried to flatten his hair before putting his hand on the door handle. With a deep breath, he pulled it open.

Standing in black jeans, a white t-shirt, and sneakers that cost as much as Shane’s keyboard was Ryan Bergara. His hair was longer than Shane remembered, curlier too. He looked good. Really good.

“Hey—hi,” Shane greeted, cursing himself when his voice cracked. “Uh, come in.”

“Hi,” Ryan replied simply before pushing past Shane. “Sara! It’s so good to see you!”

They hugged while Shane awkwardly sat back down. He’d really been hoping that Ryan had somehow gotten less good looking since the last time he saw him, but of course, he was hotter than ever.

“So. Sara sent me the threatening letters. I forwarded them to Steven, he still does some freelance computer work for me,” Ryan said as he pulled out a notepad and pen. “In the meantime, how is your home security?”

“It’s the same as it was,” Shane said. “Steven, eh? Are you guys…?”

“Friends? Yes, just like we always were,” Ryan said, curt. Shane cringed while Sara shot him a dirty look. “You should upgrade, I’ll put in an order with one of my buddies. One of the best in LA.”

“How much is that going to cost me?” Shane frowned.

“This person has your address, dipshit. It’s worth it,” Ryan said frankly. “As for the tour, I already emailed all the venues about the situation, most are going to beef up their security for you at a reduced fee. The ones that aren’t giving you a discount are in your email, Sara.”

“Guess I know I’m calling in the morning,” she grumbled.

“With the tour starting next week, I only had one of my guys available to go with you. Roland’s kind of a goof, but he’s a good guy and he’ll look out for you,” Ryan said, tapping his notepad.

“You’re not coming?” Shane asked, embarrassed at the disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t you think that would be awkward, man?”

“I, well, maybe, but that’s not–,” Shane could feel the heat in his cheeks rising as he stammered, “you already know everyone! It’s all the same crew, Matt and TJ and everyone. They’d love to have you back.”

Ryan stared at him, his dark eyes boring holes into Shane’s. Sara, meanwhile, was hiding behind her tablet, only her curls sticking out from behind it. “They would, huh?”

“Of course! And anything with us, is just, it’s, well, it’s water under the bridge, as they say,” Shane said, plastering a smile on his face. That stupid, beautiful hair was doing a number on him.

Ryan considered it for so long, Shane was sure he was going to say no. But then he grinned.

“Okay, big guy. You’ve got yourself a bodyguard.”

—

They’d only been on the road for a week when Shane realized he was the world’s biggest dipshit.

He really thought that all his old feelings for Ryan were gone. He’d poured most of them into his newest album, exorcising them the only way he knew how. But now, being around him every day, hearing that infectious cackle, seeing that gorgeous smile, smelling his citrusy shampoo, every bit of lust and affection came rushing back.

Shane should have let whoever the fuck Roland was be his bodyguard.

Portland, Oregon was always one of Shane’s favorite places to play. Sure, it was a bit cliche that the most well-known hipster city in the country loved his brand of white gay indie bullshit, but that didn’t make the shows any less special. A sold-out crowd singing along to every single lyric, even the newest stuff, that was why Shane was a musician. That connection to a bunch of people he would never know outside of this space…special wasn’t a big enough word. Transcendent. Profound. Worth living for.

After the show, Shane insisted on taking the crew out for drinks and dancing. He was high on the experience (and maybe a joint) and he wanted to share it with everyone. Ryan was right there with him, in his ever-present all black ensemble, sipping tonic water while everyone else let loose.

“Ryan! C’mon, have a drink,” Shane said, tempting him with a cocktail under his nose.

“I’m on the clock,” Ryan reminded him.

Shane rolled his eyes. “It’s Portland! They love me here. I’m fine. Have a drink!”

“The one time you let your guard down is the one you regret it the most,” he said cryptically. “No drinking.”

“Fine! Dancing then. You can still keep your peepers on little ol’ me that way, can’t you?”

“That’s really not a good idea, Shane.”

“Just one song, okay? I know you love dancing,” he whined.

“One song. One,” he said, holding up one finger. “Finish your drink, I’m not gonna let you drink it again if you set it down.”

Shane grinned, triumphant. “Yes, sir.”

After downing his cocktail, Shane pulled Ryan by the wrist out onto the dancefloor. He didn’t recognize the song that was playing, some overworked remix, but it had a good beat for him to get lost in. Just like he did on stage, Shane let the music flow through him, carrying away every insecurity or bad thought from his brain.

Ryan bobbed to the music next to him. A small bead of sweat trickled down his neck into the open V of his button-up. Shane wanted to taste it, but he settled for looping his arms around Ryan’s shoulders instead. He stiffened, staring up at Shane skeptically. It broke Shane’s heart–he was supposed to be the cynical one.

“I missed you,” Shane blurted out, too drunk to stop himself.

“How can you miss a mistake?” Ryan shot back. But he didn’t move away.

“You were never–it was me. I was protecting you.”

A hint of a smile. “Shithead, that’s my job.”

Shane leaned down, pressing his sweaty forehead to Ryan’s. “I think you’re better at it than me.”

Warm hands wrapped around Shane’s hips. They felt like home.

“Shane, I need you to listen to me,” Ryan whispered, his tone serious. “Do what I tell you, don’t question me.”

He couldn’t dream of it, not now. “Of course.”

“Drop to the floor.”

Shane pulled back, searching Ryan’s face. His eyes were wide, but determined. Something was happening. Something bad.

Shane crumpled to the floor, just like Ryan had taught him years ago, curling up tight. He didn’t see what happened next, but he heard the yells, a scuffle, the clink of something metal against the floor. The music stopped, although the blood pounding in Shane’s ears was just as loud. A thump reverberated through the floor, something heavy had fallen.

“Security! I got him!” Ryan shouted.

Shane chanced a peek. On the ground was a hateful looking man, his skin emblazoned with tattoos that turned Shane’s stomach. Ryan was on his back, his knee pinning him to the ground while his hands held the guys wrists. A hunting knife laid a foot away.

Shane curled back up, if only to keep himself from puking everywhere.

The nightclub’s bouncers helped Ryan secure the asshole for the cops. Before Shane could protest, Ryan insisted that TJ take Shane back to the tour bus and lock themselves in for the night.

“Ryan,” Shane pleaded. He didn’t want to be away from him.

“I’ve gotta talk to the police, but I’ll be there later,” he promised with a squeeze to Shane’s hand.

TJ got them a cab. He didn’t say a word the whole ride back, letting Shane shake against him with no judgement. TJ had been with Shane longer than anyone of his tour crew, even longer than Sara. His first roadie, the two of them driving all over the Midwest to shit bars that paid in drinks and bad chicken tenders. As thankful as Shane had been for him over the years, his gratitude was never stronger than that silent cab ride.

Once he was back on his tour bus, Shane went straight back to his bed at the back. Sara followed, her face full of worry.

“Shane.”

“Not now, Sara, I can’t,” he said, his voice still a tremor.

She placed a comforting hand on his elbow. “What do you need?”

“Ryan.”

She squeezed. “I’ll let him in when he gets back.”

Shane curled up on his bed, not bothering to take his clothes off. His brain kept replaying it, over and over again. If Ryan hadn’t been there…Shane wouldn’t be here now.

When the door opened, Shane startled.

“Hey, it’s me,” Ryan said softly.

“Sorry. Jumpy.”

“S’okay.”

Ryan slipped out of his shoes before sliding onto the bed. “You animal, who raised you and said it was okay to wear shoes on furniture?”

The tease made Shane wheeze with laughter and sobs. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“Priorities, man.” Ryan pulled on Shane’s laces until they were loose enough to slip off. Ever the sneaker-head, he set them gently on the ground.

He laid down next to Shane, sharing his pillow. His eyes were soft, but his fingers on Shane’s cheek were softer.

“You okay?”

“No,” Shane breathed. “You?”

“Not really.” He wiped a tear away. “I almost lost you again.”