strangerthingsocweek

“You guys do understand this is a big ask. A private plane isn’t cheap, and this is for a personal matter. The publicity team will have to explain why the hell you guys are using a private plane.” Meg sighed. “Why am I even trying to change your minds?”

“You’ll love Erica. She’s a blast,” Gareth smirked.

“That feels like sarcasm. What have I told you about using sarcasm?” Meg pulled her phone from her pocket and sent a text to the only person who wouldn’t give her an immediate no. “So Dustin and Erica are your favorites or what?”

“We don’t have favorites,” Robin said before getting interrupted by Steve.

“Yes. And Eddie and I are both his best men, so we have to be there.”

“I don’t understand why all of you are going,” Meg said as she typed furiously on her phone.

“Gareth’s gonna be the flower girl,” Eddie said, alarmingly serious.

Meg looked up and blinked at Gareth’s very serious face. “You’re joking. You’re fucking with me.”

“Why would we joke about that?” Gareth asked.

“Because you guys joke about everything. You choose this to be serious about?”

Gareth shrugged.

******

They were not, in fact, joking.

Gareth was wearing a suit, but had a tiara on his head as he walked down the aisle with a basket of rose petals, sprinkling them every foot or so.

Meg watched from a middle row, Robin already in tears next to her.

“I cannot actually believe this,” she whispered.

Robin smacked her arm. “Erica bonded with Gareth once Eddie, Jeff, and Freak all graduated. This is important for them.”

Meg rolled her eyes, but smiled when she saw a small boy start walking down the aisle whispering to himself as he carried a box in his hands carefully.

“That’s Lucas and Max’s son. He just turned four and takes this job very serious,” Robin supplied without Meg even having to ask.

“And Lucas is Erica’s older brother?”

“And one of Dustin’s best friends.”

“That must be…awkward.”

Before Robin could respond, the music started and Erica was standing at the beginning of the aisle with her father.

She was beautiful, wearing a ballgown fit for a princess, but with a presence fit for a queen.

Everyone was crying.

Meg turned to look at the guys and saw them all wiping tears themselves. Steve was the worst about it, sniffling loud enough for almost everyone to hear. But it seemed like Erica’s presence was enough of a distraction that no one was bothering to stare at him.

As she walked down the aisle, the photographer snapped pictures from multiple angles while trying to stay out of the way. They were good at it, and Meg leaned over to make a comment when Robin smirked.

“That’s Jonathan, Nancy’s ex-boyfriend. He’s good, right?”

Meg looked at Robin, who had insisted on wearing a sundress for the wedding, her hair wavy from the braids she’d slept in last night to prepare. She was never one for a lot of makeup, but she’d still used some lipstick and mascara for today, and her blue eyes seemed brighter because of it.

She was always beautiful, but today she was glowing.

“Do you think he’d do our wedding?” Meg whispered.

Robin was still staring at Erica as she made it to the front. “Hm?”

“Jonathan. Do you think he’d be willing to do our wedding?”

Robin’s eyes shot to hers. She let out a strangled squeak, which drew attention from the people in front of them and next to Meg.

Meg whispered an apology on her behalf and then everyone sat so the ceremony could start.

“Did you seriously just ask me to marry you at Erica and Dustin’s wedding ceremony?” Robin hissed out of the side of her mouth.

“Not in so many words, but kind of.”

“I almost want to say no just because you couldn’t wait until the reception,” Robin was squeezing her knee so hard, she was certain she’d have fingerprint bruises on her skin.

“But you’re saying yes,” Meg smiled.

“I’m saying yes and to not even look at me until Erica and Dustin have said I do because I will ruin this wedding with my tears,” Robin said before letting go of Meg’s leg and folding her hands in her own lap.

Meg mirrored her, mostly so she wouldn’t lean over and kiss Robin until neither of them could breathe.

As she watched the ceremony, she thought about what it will be like to be sharing vows with Robin, while all their loved ones got to witness how much they loved each other. It hadn’t even really occurred to her how much she wanted that until she’d asked Robin about Jonathan being their photographer.

But now that it was out there, she realized she’d actually been thinking about it for a while, maybe longer than she should have been.

She couldn’t focus on the ceremony, but she knew it had to be perfect because there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

******

The reception was surprisingly casual after the elegance of the ceremony. Meg immediately ran to the open bar for a rum and coke and grabbed Robin her usual white russian with chocolate syrup drizzled in the glass, not mixed in.

Robin was standing with Nancy and Jeff at a table already, laughing and relaxing into the evening.

Meg came over to hand Robin her drink. Robin took it and chugged it.

Nancy cleared her throat. “Everything okay, Robin?”

“Mhm. I’m great. Meg proposed to me during the ceremony so I felt that was deserved,” Robin said casually.

Nancy coughed. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I sort of accidentally proposed. And Robin said yes even though she wanted to kill me. Which really just kinda seems fitting for our entire relationship,” Meg said.

“Oh my god!” Jeff cheered. “This is amazing! I won the bet.”

“Bet?” Robin glared at him. “What bet?”

“We all had a bet going for who would propose first and when and I said Meg would propose by tomorrow.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Everyone welcome, Mr. Dustin Henderson and Mrs. Erica Sinclair-Henderson!” The room went wild and the discussion was dropped, but Meg knew it would be brought up again later.

The bride and groom made their rounds as everyone settled with drinks and appetizers were brought out. When they made it to Meg’s table, Dustin pulled her and Robin into a hug.

“So glad you could come! Gareth said it would be a close call. Thanks for making it happen,” Dustin said. “This is my wife, Erica.”

Erica rolled her eyes. “He’s said it about 84 times since we stepped into this room.”

“And I’ll say it 84 more, honey,” Dustin teased, pinching her side. “You seen Steve since we all came in here? He owes me a beer.”

“It’s an open bar,” Meg said, monotone.

“Oh, I like her,” Erica said. She reached out a hand to shake Meg’s. “You’re Robin’s girlfriend I’ve heard so much about.”

“Well, as of an hour ago, I’m her fiance.”

“Oh?” Erica glanced over at Robin, who was gesturing wildly towards where Steve had last been seen while Dustin rambled about something. “Bold choice to propose at a wedding.”

“It wasn’t on purpose.”

“Even better. Come on, I need a drink before I finish making the rounds. I’m leaving the worst for last,” Erica tugged on Meg’s arm. “Tell me all about how you keep those idiots from doing stupid shit all the time. They never give me the good stuff.”

“Oh that’s because they’re embarrassed. I can make them do just about anything and they hate it,” Meg laughed. “Watch.” She nodded towards Gareth. “Gareth Emerson, is that a beer in your hand?”

Gareth immediately hid the beer behind his back.

“No!”

Meg turned to Erica with a smirk. “There isn’t even a no drinking rule for them at this wedding.”

“As you were!” Meg called to him.

Erica’s eyes were wide as she looked at Meg. “You’re the coolest person at this wedding besides me. I’m definitely more impressive, though. Watch.”

Erica’s face fell from the smile she’d had to something bordering on murderous.

“Gareth!” Gareth dropped his beer. “Why are there no flowers at my table?”

“I didn’t know you wanted them!” Gareth replied.

“So now that you do, you should probably go put the petals from your basket in there.”

“Yep!”

Gareth rushed to do it and Erica turned to Meg with a smile. “I don’t know how it still works. I haven’t even been demanding like that since before they got famous.”

“You and I could do amazing things together,” Meg said.

Meg tried not to take it personally. Robin went home for her parent’s 25th wedding anniversary and the band had tons of interviews set up over the next three days that basically left Meg and Steve to their own devices.

They agreed sharing a room made sense since the guys would be coming and going at weird hours and neither of them liked being alone for too long.

But Meg was rethinking that right now.

“I can call the front desk. Maybe they just assumed we were together or something,” Meg shrugged.

It was nearly 11 at night, and they’d been busy all day, so their patience was hanging on by a very thin thread. Meg didn’t wanna snap on him and she knew Steve didn’t wanna snap on her.

“I’m gonna change while you do that. I can feel my jeans making me meaner.”

Meg snorted as she walked to the phone by the bed.

She dialed down to the front desk and spoke casually for a moment with the woman who checked them in.

“So, our room is a king and we kinda need two beds. Any way we can be switched? I can pay more if we need to,” Meg saw Steve nearly fall while changing his pants out of the corner of her eye and tried not to laugh.

“I’m so sorry about that, ma’am. Um, I don’t see any doubles available.”

“Any suites? I will pay.”

She heard typing and clicking, but already knew what the answer would be.

“Unfortunately, I only have king rooms available. I can check with our sister hotel a few miles up the road, but I do believe they’re fully booked for this weekend due to the concert.”

Meg groaned, but didn’t want the woman to feel bad. “Okay, I understand. Do you have any kings? Maybe my friend could just get his own room.”

Steve looked over at her and shook his head. “It’s not that serious. I mean you don’t take up that much room. We can manage one night and maybe something will be available for tomorrow night.”

Meg thanked the woman on the phone – May maybe? – and hung up, turning to Steve.

“If you kick me, you’re going to the suite with the guys and you get to deal with them getting back at three in the morning and having to leave again at seven. Bet they won’t even shower.”

They both grimaced, realizing that was probably true. On press junkets and tour date weekends, they rarely had time to shower if they wanted to grab a couple of hours of sleep. The smell was…not good.

“I’ll put pillows between us,” Steve offered.

“But then how will we cuddle?” Meg pouted.

“You’ll just have to make do,” Steve rolled his eyes as he went to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. “Heard from Robin yet?”

“No,” Meg answered, changing into her comfy clothes while he was in the bathroom. “She said 16 of her cousins showed up uninvited. I’m not sure if she’s dead or if she’s just doing damage control.”

Steve looked around the bathroom door with bubbles covering his face. “16? I thought she only had three.”

“She thought she only had three. Apparently she has about 50 second and third cousins who decided to make themselves a part of the celebration.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Meg walked into the bathroom to start on her skincare routine, smiling to herself at how much Steve sounded like Eddie. It shouldn’t be surprising; They were attached at the hip and apparently had been long before Meg even met the band.

They continued getting ready for bed in a comfortable silence, Steve’s phone playing a playlist almost certainly put together by Eddie on a low volume.

And then they both looked at the bed.

“I claim by the air conditioner,” Steve said. “I get hot at night.”

“Oh I know,” Meg said. Robin had told her how often she woke up next to Steve sweating because of his body heat. “All yours.”

They kept the bathroom light on, door cracked open just enough for a tiny glow to break through to the room so it wasn’t pitch black. Neither of them commented on it, neither of them needed to. Steve didn’t like not being able to see a little in an emergency and Meg wasn’t going to deny him his comfort.

“You know, I don’t remember the last time just the two of us hung out,” Steve said quietly as he turned to her in bed. “Been a while.”

“Yeah,” she answered. “At least six months or so. Miss me?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

One thing about Steve was he was honest, sometimes heartbreakingly so.

“You did?”

“Yeah. I mean, obviously Robin is my platonic soulmate, and Eddie is my actual non-platonic soulmate, but I think you’re probably a soulmate by proxy or something.” Steve smiled. “Or at least one of my best friends. Kinda wish we had more time without everyone else.”

“Is this the King Harrington I’ve heard so much about?” Meg teased, pushing on his shoulder. “Your charm is pretty impressive.”

“Is it? It barely works on Eddie anymore so I figured I lost my touch.”

They both laughed. “You think it doesn’t work on Eddie? He wrote an entire song about being charmed by you. Literally called it King of Charm.”

“He writes about a lot of stuff.”

“Yeah, and all of it is based on truth. You think I don’t know what Tied Up is actually about?” She could see Steve blush even in the darkness. “Or the new song?”

“New song?” Steve perked up at that. “They recorded it?”

“Mhm. And we are all sworn to secrecy on it so don’t even try,” Meg closed her eyes pretending to be trying to fall asleep.

“You’re seriously falling asleep after that.”

Meg opened one eye and grinned. “You should too. Busy day tomorrow.”

“I don’t have fuck all to do tomorrow. I’m not in the band,” Steve huffed.

“Oh, I just figured you’d wanna be there for the first performance of the new song,” Meg sighed. “But I guess I could give your ticket to a fan or something.”

“Shut up. They’re performing it tomorrow? Before releasing it?” Steve sat up in bed. “Tell me what’s so special. Why are they doing this?”

“I can’t. You should go to sleep.” Meg turned away from him, smiling to herself when she heard Steve muttering under his breath. “Steve. Sleep.”

“Meg. Awake.” Steve reached over and turned the lamp on. “Does Robin know?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Sworn to secrecy.”

“But that doesn’t count with me!” Steve looked like he was one second away from getting out of bed and pacing the floor. “You have to tell me.”

“Steve, if you ruin this for yourself, you’re gonna be very mad. Trust me.”

“He promised he wouldn’t write about the lingerie thing. He promised. If I hear one word about the way the red lace touched my thigh, I’m gonna divorce him,” Steve crossed his arms over his chest.

“Uh huh. Well, it’s not about lingerie. But that’s all I’m saying about it,” Meg double checked her alarm to make sure it was set properly.

“Well now I can’t sleep.”

“You can and you will. Gotta look rested for tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“Eddie.”

Steve took a breath in like he was gonna argue, but decided against it. He laid back down in the bed and groaned.

“Fine. Fine. But you all are on my shit list. I don’t trust any of you.”

“Okay, bud.”

“And I don’t appreciate the attitude.”

“I know.”

“And you’ll never be on the receiving end of my charm ever again.”

“Oh, however will I cope?” Meg snorted. “Go to sleep.”

*****

When Eddie performed the ballad he’d written for Steve the next night, followed by a proposal on stage, Steve gave one look at Meg before crying through his yes.

Meg had Robin on Facetime, both of them crying while watching everything.

“God, he’s insufferable. They’ll be so happy together,” Meg said.

“Hey! Watch it. That’s my soulmate,” Robin said between sobs.

“I woke up in soaked sheets from his sweat. I deserve to complain a little,” Meg sniffed. “And at least tonight he gets his own room with Eddie.”

“You act like it was torture.”

“I’d just much rather be sharing a bed with you, Robbie. You land at ten in the morning, right?” Meg walked away from the side of the stage so she could hear her better as the band started playing their final song.

“Yes and I promise to cuddle in bed with you and not sweat,” Robin said. “Except a little maybe. You do owe me for three missed nights.”

Even worse, Hawkins High School was her worst nightmare. Her school back home wasn’t the best either, but at least she had her small group of friends who she could be herself with. Just looking around here made her realize she would probably spend the next two years alone.

She’d been a pretty good student for the most part, passed every class with As and Bs, only got detention once for a fight where she was defending her best friend from bullies, had almost perfect attendance except for that stupid flu in freshman year that nearly put her in the hospital.

But her teachers here looked like they were just going through the motions, and the students were clearly segregated into their cliques, and it was too late in the year to join clubs, not that they had any that interested her. She’d been in music appreciation club at home that met once a week at the record shop by the school where they got to preview a lot of new records as they came into the shop thanks to the owner who had basically adopted them as his children.

She didn’t even think Hawkins had a record shop. Or any radio stations that played anything other than country or worship music.

She spent lunch on her first day hiding behind the cafeteria, eating a bag of chips she got from a vending machine and hoping that her mom would change her mind and move them back home.

******

By day four, she’d decided to brave the cafeteria.

She couldn’t hide forever, and she definitely couldn’t keep living off of chips.

Most kids left her alone in class, only one guy bothered her to ask for a pencil and she was too shocked by the attention she handed him her own. She had to go the rest of the class without one since the rest of hers were in her locker. Luckily, English Literature was one of her best subjects and she probably didn’t need to take notes.

The cafeteria was loud, students sitting and standing in corners, talking and yelling and being obnoxious. It wasn’t much different from home in that respect, but still overwhelming. Not a single person here seemed to pay any attention to her.

She managed to find a seat alone at a corner table, clearly there for outcasts like her. Lunch today was meatloaf and mashed potatoes, which she normally didn’t like, but she’d skipped breakfast this morning and needed something to get through the rest of the day.

She was startled mid-bite by a loud voice coming from a long table on the opposite side of the cafeteria. She’d already clocked that table as a nerd table, which she wasn’t necessarily opposed to, but she wasn’t interested in making her life any harder by joining them.

A guy with long hair was standing on the table, all of his minions looking up at him from their seats surrounding him, as he gave a speech about the perils of high school hierarchies and sports being the downfall of the education system.

He made a lot of valid points.

A teacher came by and tugged him off the table, invited him to after school detention for disrupting lunch, as if that was even a thing, and the people in the cafeteria continued on as if nothing happened. His table seemed to move on quickly, laughing and talking amongst themselves while the guy in a battle vest shoved meatloaf into his mouth.

Maybe she had one potential friend here.

****

It took her another week to build up the courage to try to sit at their table. But one awkward pep talk in the bathroom before school and she was confidently walking up to the guy with the long hair and a shirt that read Hellfire Club.

Actually, all of them had matching shirts today.

Was this a cult? God, her mom would be pissed if she got involved with a cult.

There was one empty seat next to the only other girl at the table, so Meg sat down.

All eyes were on her immediately.

“You a lost sheep?” The guy at the end of the table asked.

“Is that what I need to be to sit here?” Meg asked in return.

The silence around the table was deafening. The guy at the end of the table smirked.

“It’s what all of us were at one point. You’re new here, right?”

Meg nodded.

“I’m Eddie. This is Hellfire Club. We play D&D and allegedly worship Satan. If you wanna sit here you definitely have to do at least one of those things,” the guy, Eddie, said.

“I’m Meg. I’m not into either of those things, but the shirt’s cool, so I guess I could be persuaded.”

Eddie took her in silently, gauging if she was serious or fucking with them.

Less than a minute later, he clapped his hands together and stood on his chair.

“Everyone welcome Meg! Introduce yourselves or whatever. You only get a shirt if you join a campaign. We meet on Thursdays. You in?”

Meg shrugged. “Might as well.”

“Great!” Eddie sat back down and watched as everyone took turns introducing themselves. He started eating a sandwich he pulled from his backpack. A lunchbox sat on the table unopened.

****

After a few weeks of joining them at the table and joining their dragons game on Thursdays, Meg got a shirt.

And while the shirt was basically a target for any popular kid to throw insults and punches, Meg felt protected.

Being a part of the group was nice, even if it wasn’t quite what she left behind in Boston.

She was seen now, by people who seemed to have a lot more in common with her than just being outcasts, and she didn’t feel the pressure to get out the moment she graduated. At least not as much as Eddie seemed to.

But Eddie sometimes mentioned traveling the world with his band, who Meg could admit had a decent sound for a high school band in the middle of nowhere, maybe heading east to Boston and New York to try their hand at big city life.

“I can see why you like it,” Tig hears Dom say, surprisingly sincere. His walls are down, the armour’s gone, and any lingering worries Tig had about their date night disappear with a small, relieved sigh.

“Yeah?” Gareth asks.

“Mhm, fucking great drum line. And the singer’s in your range, so that’s a bonus.”

Gareth snorts. “Dunno if that’s a bonus–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dom says kindly, “do you really think I’d lie to you if you weren’t a good singer?” Gareth’s bark of laughter makes Tig’s grin widen. “Fuckin’ thought so. Christ.”

“You’re shit at this complimenting people thing.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving–”

There’s some shuffling, but from Dom’s tone Tig knows he’s joking. He leans against the wall and listens to Gareth's protests, laughter in his voice, and does his best to keep from laughing too.

“Oh my god, you drama queen, get back here.” 

Dom scoffs in offence, complains some more. Gareth teases back, and there’s more shuffling, but it sounds like Gareth’s wrangled Dom back into the bed again with very little effort. Once they’ve settled in again, Gareth says, “Your song next, anyway.”

“Fine,” Dom sighs, his annoyance completely fake. There’s silence before a familiar song starts to play, and Dom starts to sing.

“We sail through endless skies

Stars shine like eyes

The black night sighs”

Tig closes his eyes and listens. He’s heard Dom sing this before, and it clicks that they must be showing each other some of their favourite songs. Singing them to each other.

This is what Tig imagined, back when he first met Gareth and wanted to introduce him to Dom so badly. Well, not this exactly. This is so fucking sweet he can feel cavities forming. But the teasing, the bitchy jokes, the laughter. He knew they’d fit well and it feels pretty damn good to keep being proved right.

There’s a break in the lyrics and Gareth chuckles a little. “Are you really playing air bass right now?”

“Yes, fuck off–” Dom cuts himself off to start singing again and Gareth laughs at him for it. Tig bites his lip hard so he doesn’t make a sound. When the song ends, though, Dom asks, “Any others you got?”

“Uh. Maybe. Just don’t, like, judge me for it.”

Dom gasps. “Me? Judge someone?”

A smack of skin on skin, and Dom gives a muted, miffed ow, my tit while Gareth says flatly, “I mean it.”

“I won’t judge you.” Dom says it lightly, but with a seriousness that makes Tig ache a little.

After a moment, Gareth says, “Okay,” still seeming a little unsure, but then the music starts and Tig straightens up. Gareth’s sung this to Tig before and now he knows why he’s a little nervous.

“When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see

No I won't be afraid, oh, I won't be afraid

Just as long as you stand, stand by me

So darlin', darlin'...”

Gareth still sings, even though he’s nervous, his voice a little unsteady as the cover plays. But as soon as the chorus starts, Dom begins to harmonise with him. It throws Gareth off and he fumbles the lyrics a little, but Dom urges him on with an encouraging keep going and they sing together as the music swells, Gareth getting more confident as the song goes on.

He can’t bear it. It’s so fucking tender. They’re singing a love song to each other. Tig uses every bit of his restraint to keep from running in there and smothering them with affection because he refuses to break the moment. But then he hears them start to kiss between the lyrics and Tig cannot be expected to hold out any longer, he figures.

When Tig joins in for the last lines, his deep voice complimenting the other men’s in a way that feels so satisfying, so right, he hears them both laugh as the song fades out and he finally peers around the door with a grin.

They’re lying under the covers, shirtless and propped up by pillows against the headboard. Gareth is tucked under Dom’s arm, curled into his side. Their hair is a little messy, and they both look relaxed, so Tig does a knowing eyebrow wiggle that Dom copies and makes Gareth roll his eyes.

“Well aren’t you two just the cutest darn things,” Tig says, hamming up his accent. Both men flip him off simultaneously with deeply unimpressed faces and Tig laughs so hard he has to hold himself up on the doorframe to keep from falling over. Dom and Gareth can’t seem to help laughing too.

Fuck, he loves them both so fucking much that he feels like the luckiest bastard alive.

When he can finally breathe again without breaking out into giggles, Tig walks into the room, avoiding the clothes scattered on the floor. “Looks like your date went well,” he says with an encouraging smile. Dom nods just as Gareth wobbles his hand from side to side with a bored look, which gets him a glare and a pinch in the side.

“Don’t fucking,” Dom mockingly wobbles his hand, “when you said like ten fucking minutes ago you had a great time.”

Gareth’s cackling as he says, “You’re so touchy, jesus christ. Fine, yes, I had a great time. Nine out of ten date, would date again.”

“Nine out of ten?” Dom’s outright incredulous and Gareth looks like the cat that ate the canary. Tig’s so contentedly happy he wants to shake something. Instead, he decides he needs to be in bed with them right fucking now, so he strips all the way down while they bicker and climbs under the blanket—pleased to find them both naked still—to wrap himself around Gareth. Tig sneaks an arm under him and tucks it around his waist, pressing a kiss to Gareth’s hair while his other hand finds a home on Dom’s hip, pulling them both closer.

“Don’t wind him up too much, love, or he’ll explode,” Tig warns with a smirk at Dom, who turns his harmless glare onto Tig. He can feel Gareth giggling against his chest and can’t help but squeeze the both of them.

“You have a good time with Charlie and Eric?” Gareth asks.

“Yup. Fucked around and played some games. Roger stopped by too.”

“Sounds nice,” Gareth says, then tilts his chin up for a kiss. Tig kisses back with a pleased hum.

Dom’s free hand rests on Tig’s, his thumb brushing over his knuckles. “How long were you spying on us for?”

“Just before Planet Caravan. I knew you two were sweet, but singing your favourite songs to each other? That’s the cutest shit I’ve seen in a long time.” Both men grumble half-hearted protests and Tig grins into Gareth’s frizzed-out hair. Being able to smell Dom’s cologne in Gareth’s hair makes heat stir low in his gut, but he pushes it down. For now.

“Since you’re mocking us, we should get to hear one of yours,” Dom demands. Gareth nods, enthusiastic, and Tig really can’t resist either of them so he folds like wet tissue paper and grabs Gareth’s phone to unlock it.

He has a song in mind already, though the thought of sharing it does make his heart beat a little faster. But if Gareth can be vulnerable, so can he. So Tig searches up the song, the first few yearning piano notes ringing out before Tig starts singing, low and quiet.

“When the road is long

And the night has come

I will stay with you

We will see this through…”

Tig’s voice shakes a little at the first pre-chorus, emotions crowding his throat as he sings the harshes clean instead, and he feels Dom squeeze his hand while Gareth leans further into Tig’s chest and kisses his collarbone. It buoys him up through the rest of the song, and when the piano fades out his gaze is drawn straight to Dom.

Dom’s face is a potent mix of heartbreak and so much love that Tig can only sheepishly shrug at. Scoffing, Dom sits up, keeping his arm around Gareth as he reaches over to cup Tig’s cheek. Tig lets himself be pulled closer, sighs into the kiss as their lips meet in a way that’s both familiar and still a little new. When they part, Dom’s giving him this fond look that also somehow conveys how ridiculous he thinks Tig is, which he returns with a goofy grin.

“You’re both such fucking saps.”

That shocks a laugh out of Tig. He and Dom turn to Gareth, who’s doing a poor job of hiding his own fondness. Dom looms over Gareth, gets into his space, and says, “You started it.” He starts to sing Stand By Me again, but Gareth slaps a hand over Dom’s mouth. That, Tig knows, is never a good idea.

Gareth yelps and wrenches his hand away, clutching it to his chest and he stares, affronted, at Dom, who’s smirking down at him. “You fucking bit me!”

“Not for the first time tonight, darling.”

A blush paints Gareth’s cheeks pink, and Tig easily gives into the urge to lean down and pepper his face with kisses. Gareth complains, but it’s just a front. The way he squirms between Tig and Dom says he’s more than happy where he is.

It was tough for a while. Living on your own in a major city with only two part-time jobs kept money tight.

But her boss at the record shop liked her and would always put her in charge of local band appearances and events, even sent her to a conference in Chicago for her to network in the industry. He believed in her even more than she believed in herself.

During that conference, she met a new producer at a local studio, a guy who wanted to focus on rock, metal, and punk bands. Without even thinking, she told him about a band local to her, Corroded Coffin, who always had the biggest crowds at the bars and small venues they played. She told him about their sound, more metal with a surprising hint of bluegrass if you listen closely. He was intrigued.

They were signed to the record label a month later and part of their contract stated she would be considered part of the band as their manager.

The recording process was long, but it gave her time to grow closer with the band, get to know more than just their music and personality on stage.

Like how Jeff was the baby, but the most mature, and the one who usually made them focus again when they got off track. And how Gareth was shy outside of the group, but in it, he was the life of the party. How Freak truly preferred being called Freak instead of his real name. How Eddie prioritized his relationship with his boyfriend, Steve, over almost everything else because that was his reason for doing everything else.

And how Robin quickly became her reason for doing everything.

Meg learned quickly that where the boys went, Steve went, and where Steve went, Robin went. It was only a matter of time before something happened.

Something was fucking in a closet at the studio while the guys were in a meeting.

“Fuck me, how are you so good at this?” Robin said as her head hit the wall behind her, hands tightening on Meg’s shoulders.

“Which part?” Meg asked just to be cocky. She knew exactly which part. Hearing Robin say it, or moan it, would be better.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Robin’s voice gave way to a much louder moan than this closet could contain. “I’m so close.”

Meg had two fingers inside her, pumping slowly enough to drive her crazy but hard enough to make her come, while her thumb rubbed circles around her clit. She was good at this, years of perfecting it on herself finally paying off when she moved to Boston and now Chicago.

“You’re close? Then come. I’m waiting,” Meg smirked. She watched as Robin’s eyes closed and her lips parted around a whimper. She’d never been with anyone as responsive as Robin was. Even just a kiss to her neck had her knees shaking.

She was perfect.

“You look so fucked out on my hand, baby. Bet you’ll love riding me later,” Meg whispered against her jaw before nipping at the skin. “Bet you take it so well. Bet my cock was made for you.”

Robin squeezed around her fingers as she let out a high-pitched moan. Meg used her free hand to cover Robin’s mouth as she moaned through her orgasm, biting her own lip to resist making a desperate noise.

She wanted to fuck Robin against the wall for hours, and then she wanted Robin to fuck her against the wall until they couldn’t stand on their legs anymore. She wanted them to get so lost in each other, everyone at the studio would leave for the night and forget they were there. She wanted to taste every single inch of Robin now, when she was leaking over her fingers and her palm.

Nothing could stop her from doing that, at least.

When Robin shifted from small whines to panting, Meg moved her hand from her mouth and licked into her mouth. Robin was barely aware of anything until Meg started to pull her other hand from between her legs.

Robin’s thighs squeezed together, trapping her there.

“Again.”

Meg’s eyes widened.

She may have completely misjudged Robin Buckley.

“Again? Now?”

“That’s what I said.”

Where was the woman who barely made it through their first conversation? The woman who blushed and looked away anytime Meg tried flirting with her? The woman who couldn’t even look at a picture of Meg in her bathing suit without stuttering through an awkward apology about not wanting to objectify her?

Meg dropped to her knees and looked up at Robin’s nearly black eyes.

“Fine, but my hand’s tired. I’m using my tongue,” she said leaning in to place a softer than necessary kiss right under her bellybutton.

“Only if I can go after,” Robin sighed out.

“Think we can make that happen, Robbie.”

******

Meg hadn’t been home in years.

She called her mom every other Tuesday, usually tried to time it so she could catch one of her siblings.

But this Tuesday, she was passing through on her way to a meeting in New York with the band and a video director for their first single.

As soon as she walked into her childhood home, she was bombarded with hugs. Her mom came around the corner as all of her siblings and a couple cousins fired question after question at her.

No one had noticed Robin standing awkwardly, silently, by the door.

Except her mom.

“Who’s this?” She asked not unkindly. “A new friend in the band?”

Everyone around Meg immediately stopped talking and turned towards Robin, who absolutely hated every second of this, but loved every bit of Meg.

She wiggled her fingers in a wave. “I’m Robin.”

“Robin’s my girlfriend,” Meg added, not wanting Robin to feel like she had to hide. They’d talked about it on the way already, but Robin was still unsure of what she could say and do in front of everyone. “She’s friends with the band, too.”

Everyone crowded around Robin, asking her a million questions. Meg smiled to herself. They had a signal for if Robin truly got overwhelmed, but she seemed okay.

“How’d you find someone so cute in Chicago?” Meg’s mom asked, nudging her shoulder.

“Technically it was Boston. Lots of cute women in Boston.”

“Ah, but this one seems more than just cute, sweetie,” she said knowingly.

“Yeah.” Meg nodded, watching as Robin accepted a friendship bracelet from her youngest cousin, Penelope. “She’s my everything.”

“Everything, huh?”

“All of my reasons, mama. She’s all of them.”

Meg’s mom had never been one for physical touch once her kids had grown out of the need for kisses when they got hurt. But now, she pulled Meg into her, kissed her cheek, and pet the back of her hair.

“Then I’m glad you brought her back to us.”

And no matter how far Meg went, no matter the distance between herself and her home, her family, she always took Robin back home to visit.

It's in the bigger things too - how she never minds answering questions about her siblings, an older sister and a younger brother, but clams up if he or Robin ask about her parents. How pressing will get an answer, but a clipped, almost aggressive one - but a careful prompt or an offer of an own uncomfortable story will get her to open up about what Steve quickly realizes, between ambivalent wording and careful implications, is a story of a broken home, and her running away from it. 

There are things, too, that change over time. At first, she always startles at casual touches but frowns when he and Robin consequently pull back, like she enjoys being touched but isn't used to it, and doesn't know how to ask. Steve and Robin never actually have a discussion about it, but they don't need to - one movie night Robin just looks at Steve, and Steve looks at Robin, and when they settle on the couch it's not in the usual Robin - Steve - Kicks order. Instead, it's the two of them on each side of Kicks, and Steve tossing his legs over her lap, and Robin putting her head on Kicks’ shoulder, and Kicks freezes but then sinks into the sofa with an overwhelmed little snuffle, and that's that. 

Steve knows Robin is just as glad for it as Kicks is. She's told him how she never was comfortable sharing the easy hugs and elaborate grooming rituals of the other girls, how it made her feel too predatory and gross to consider anything but shying away until the girls stopped initiating, leaving her even more isolated. How casual touches with male friends weren't even an option, too easily misconstrued as intentions she never could force herself to have. Steve's the first person she's let close like that since kindergarten, and he takes that very seriously, honors it with a mixture of the soft hugs and head scritches he'd share with dates, and the rough-housing and shoulder claps regularly exchanged with his teammates. 

Robin and Kicks end up sharing just the girl touches, both clumsy with lack of practice in a way that makes Steve's heart squeeze. He himself tries to stick just to the boys’ touches with Kicks in return - it seems fitting, with him and Robin two halves of the same whole, but there's also the fact that those close, soft touches would tempt him, in a way that they wouldn't with Robin. 

Steve isn't blind, is the thing, and at least a little bit self-aware, thank you very much. He knows his eyes linger on Kicks when they swim together. She wears a sports bra and board shorts to the pool, and he's always been more of a tits than an ass man but she has the perfect goddamn handful of both, startlingly there under the wet, clinging fabric, where her usual clothes completely conceal her body's shape. 

Or maybe not conceal, more… re-emphasize. She's naturally flat, for a - for - well, she's got a straight waist and a toned stomach, narrow hips and strong arms and legs. She tells him she used to dance ballet, which makes sense because so did Nancy, who has a similar build - but Nancy would shave from head to toe when Steve dated her, most likely still does, and while Kicks isn't exactly hairy it's clear that she doesn't shave anything, and she wears her body more like a gay man than a straight woman, and it's - 

Well. It's scary. Steve feels like he's attracted to all the wrong things about her, or the right things but in the wrong way. To both things he knows he likes, and things he didn't know he did, and really he's not supposed to be attracted to her at all because she's his friend and he is done fucking up his life because he keeps fumbling his relationships like he's fourteen. He doesn't even know if she likes men - okay, so he thinks she might, because he’s noticed her staring too, at his jaw and his thighs and his chest, but maybe that's just envy? Because they both keep catching each other watching, but he can't make the first move and she doesn't, so it's probably all in his head anyway - 

It's just a bad idea all around. He's never been good with hypotheticals anyway, so he keeps it as platonic as he can and fuels his pent-up energy in his actual dating life, which is - well, honestly, it's so fantastic he doesn't even have reason to complain, not really. He never meets The One, but he enjoys the dating just for itself - he's always loved meeting new people, enjoys even that fumbling excitement of the talking stage, of learning the shape of someone's mouth. 

And of their other bits, of course. Sex is something that's gotten better with age and experience, and he earns himself a bit of a reputation for a skilled tongue and stamina enough to provide multiple orgasms. It gets to a point where it's unusual for him not to end a Friday night buried in some girl’s twitching cunt, which doesn't just feel fantastic physically but is also great for his ego. 

Now if only his brain wouldn't keep snagging on stupid shit. He doesn't need to think about how Kicks has taken to making sexual innuendos at him and teasingly patting his head, he doesn't need to think about how Eddie fucking Munson is buttering up to his entire social circle, he doesn't need to think about the cold, empty space in his bed when he wakes up from another monster-filled nightmare, he doesn't need - 

He doesn't need to let all his emotions get mixed up, to let those little things eat at him until the frustration bubbles over and makes him do something insane like, say, flirt so blatantly with Munson that even Dustin takes notice. He does so anyway, which solves exactly nothing, and leaves him with the additional weight of now knowing that he's also into boys. 

Into men? Shit, should he be calling the girls he dates women? 

God, this is all so fucking stupid. 

It's not like he even does anything about it - well, nothing significant. He keeps flirting with Munson, who is startlingly and infuriatingly charming, but he only does that after Hellfire, when they're forced to interact by virtue of Steve picking up the kids to ferry home, and doesn't waste any more thought on him. 

… Except on those three or so dates with Annie Brown, where he always takes her from behind because her dark, curly hair is similar enough to forgive the lack of tattoos, and when that doesn't work out, he fucks his way through three busty blonde chicks whose names he can't even remember in an effort to pretend he doesn't have a type. 

(And then there's that one catastrophic date with Carrie Mistrel, who practically begs him for anal because she enjoys it so much. Which turns out not to be an exaggeration because she actually comes from him fingering her in preparation; that part is not the catastrophe, to be fair. That honor is reserved for the part where he's two pumps inside her and suddenly it occurs to him that this is how two men do it, and suddenly he's imagining Munson spearing him open from behind and immediately cums his brains out - ) 

His life isn't only about dating, anyway. He works fun shifts with Robin and boring ones without her, he ferries the kids around and does brunch with the Hendersons on Sundays. He keeps up swim training with Kicks, compliments her on her diligence and her fast progress; she's a strong enough swimmer at this point that he can teach her Marco Polo, and they spend an entire session just goofing off, playing the game with increasingly ridiculous and profane callbacks. At some point he laughs so hard he gets water up his nose, which makes her laugh so hard she has to get out of the water so she doesn't sink, and as she sits on the edge of the pool kicking water at him with a mean cackle he knows she picked up from Munson, he realizes he cannot date her, because if he has to swap this for meaningless oneliners and pretentious movie dates and 2.8 nights of sex before an awkward, “You're just not what I'm looking for, sorry,” he might as well call up the Russians and ask them to finish the job.

Everyone jumped at Freak’s loud outburst, silence falling over the tiny boardroom they were all piled into as they looked at him. He was massaging his forehead, a grimace clear in his expression.

Glancing at the screen of his phone, Gareth flinched as he realized they had been sitting there for forty-five minutes, and forty of those were dedicated to Eddie and Chrissy arguing in circles. Jeff had had his head on the table before Freak’s shout, and his mouth was still a tense line.

“You’re right, Eddie. This is our band, and that includes Chrissy,” Freak said pointedly, and Eddie actually had the grace to glance away, shame-faced, his mouth snapping shut. Seemingly satisfied, Freak said, “Stop being a dick and let her actually finish what she was saying.”

“Thank you, Freak,” Chrissy sighed, sitting back in her chair at the head of the table. “Now, as I was saying, the label can’t have us canceling shows if we’re headlining.”

“Gee, thanks, Chris,” Eddie bit out, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“It was different when we were openers,” she continued a bit shakily, shrugging a shoulder, “but we’re about to start what the label’s anticipating being a sold-out arena tour.”

Jeff’s expression went slack, and Gareth knew his own eyebrows had disappeared behind his fringe.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Jeff asked, tilting his better ear toward her. “Did you say sold-out?”

“Anticipated, yes,” Chrissy replied, smirking just a bit smugly about it.

Gareth scoffed incredulously. “Fuck ‘sold-out’, did you just say arena tour?” He looked around the table. “How the hell did we score an arena tour?”

“Between your explosion in popularity and the docuseries deal…” Chrissy said, trailing off as she looked at Eddie a bit sadly. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I know how much you wanted to make this the tour you were back for, but canceling two of our appearances and needing a sub on guitar at the end of Ghost’s tour has the label spooked.”

Gareth sneered at the mention of the sub they were saddled with. When he looked over at Eddie, though, his chest squeezed at the way his oldest friend was staring up at the ceiling and blinking rapidly. All the fight had left him, and Gareth could tell he was resigning himself to the decision. Jeff leaned over to wrap a hand over Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath. “Whoever we bring on better be good,” Eddie bit out eventually, his voice thick as he turned a flat look on Chrissy. “We’re not slowing down for them.”

At that, Chrissy actually broke into a grin and clapped her hands together. “Well, you’re in luck because I’ve already brought someone on and he’s ridiculously talented,” she said in a rush, and they all just blinked at her. There was a sinking feeling in Gareth’s gut about the whole thing.

“He should actually be here soon to talk to you— oh, that might be him,” Chrissy continued, hopping up when there was a quiet knock at the door. When she opened it, she smiled politely and said, “Yeah, just send him back.”

Turning back to them, Jeff gestured for her to elaborate. “Are you going to tell us who it is?”

Chrissy frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, c’mon guys, don’t act like you don’t know who it is,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Gareth immediately thought of the smug behemoth that subbed for Eddie’s guitar parts and grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. At the same time, however, the rest of the band’s faces lit up excitedly, even Eddie’s. Of fucking course Eddie would be fine with being coddled, babied— nay, treated like a fucking invalid if it meant some hot, overrated giant was going to be around more often.

There was another knock on the door and Chrissy immediately opened it with a grin. “Morgan! Welcome back,” she said brightly, and the name threw Gareth off just enough that his shoulders relaxed and dropped down from around his ears.

He didn’t know a Morgan, he didn’t think, but that was fine! At least it wasn’t—

“Ugh, that’s the name the lawyers use for me,” came an impossibly deep, slightly accented voice as Chrissy stepped back, staring up at the man coming into the boardroom with nothing short of awe.

Sure e-fucking-nough, in walked the very giant Gareth had hoped wouldn’t be returning. The asshole actually ducked his head under the door frame is if it was too fucking low for him to clear it.

“Please, just call me Tig,” the man said before looking around the room with a giant grin, his blue eyes pausing on Gareth just long enough to wink at him.

It had been months since the band saw Tig last, and Gareth hated that he looked good. His hair was a vibrant pink at that moment (very much not the blue it was when he was touring with them) and with complete and utter dismay, Gareth realized he had a new fucking tattoo on his throat. It was almost a blackout tattoo, but on the front of his throat it looked like a honeycomb. The pattern faded into proper blackout where it wrapped around the column of his neck and up to the line of his jaw. It was distracting, and Gareth just wanted to chew that shit off.

Tig had been brought in as quickly as possible at the end of Corroded Coffin’s tour with Ghost when Eddie’s nerve pain flared up to the point that he could barely perform, let alone play his guitar. Despite being unable to play and upset about that, Eddie and Tig immediately hit it off. They had been nearly inseparable, between Tig’s (admittedly genius level) skill on guitar and Eddie’s passion for finding the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable. What was worse was that Tig had the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable tattooed all over his body.

Even Freak had taken a shine to him, actually finding his fucking childish antics hilarious. Jeff barely even hesitated about returning Tig’s over-the-top flirtations, too.

Gareth couldn’t fucking stand him.

Across the table, Freak was looking at him with an eyebrow raised and a little, smug smirk. Gareth flipped him off before crossing his arms and slouching back in his chair.

The first problem he had with Tig was that the man was so goddamn tall. It honestly hurt Gareth’s neck to meet his eyes most of the time, and then the dick went and wore fucking platform boots as if he needed three more inches. Whenever he did that, Gareth was practically eye-level with Tig’s goddamn bellybutton (and the man’s stupid fucking piercing there) which filled him with something that could only be rage with how hot he felt all over. Hot like flames were engulfing him, flames of anger and shit.

The second problem was that Gareth was, apparently, Tig’s fucking fan.

See, Tig used to be part of a masked, anonymous band named Rake as the lead guitarist and unclean vocalist. Their whole get-up, especially in the last era of their career as a band, were full suits and bird-themed masks, leaving only enough skin visible for the guitarists to play and the vocalists to sing. Rake was up there in popularity, even for a metal band, somehow making it big while maintaining their anonymity. That was until, of course, a fateful music festival in Nevada during a record-breaking heatwave.

Gareth was a huge fan of Rake— they were literally his favourite band, so when he found out Corroded Coffin was going to be playing at the same festival as Rake and they were scheduled perfectly so he was going to be able to see Rake perform? He was ecstatic and he weaponized his elbows to get to the barrier.

Their entire aesthetic looked fucking rad but watching them perform in triple-digit weather really put it all into perspective.

Mid-set, it was obvious that the lead guitarist was suffering. Somehow, Tig was still hitting all the correct chords and nailing every single one of his lines, but between songs he was guzzling water, pouring it on himself, turning his back to the crowd to lift his mask up off his face even. He had already shed as many layers of his costume as he could just short of showing off skin. The other members were also having a rough time, but none of them seemed nearly as bad as Tig.

(Since meeting him, Gareth had come to learn that Tig is just annoying and dramatic, especially in any amount of weather hotter than 90 degrees.)

Eventually, Tig swayed unsteadily enough that the other vocalist had to grab his arm to keep him from eating shit. There was a moment where they were clearly arguing, though it was hard to tell with the beaks of the masks being in the way. Eventually, Tig began to roll up his sleeves, exposing very distinctly tattooed forearms that had more than a few audience members shouting in excitement.

The thing was, Gareth recognized the tattoos, but where he recognized them from was escaping him. The tattoo that stood out to him in that moment was the Lichtenberg figure that started on his thumb and crawled up his arm, branching out into a perfect mess of lines and angles. It had been almost thrilling to have that moment of knowing, that split-second where he knew who was under that mask even if he couldn’t actually immediately recall who it was.

But then there were gasps in the crowd, and people began shouting something that Gareth couldn’t quite hear properly, and Tig’s shoulders drooped a bit. Looking around himself, Gareth took in the sea of people around him and noticed that a few of them had their phones out. The girl next to him at the barrier was on Twitter, frantically scrolling through the people she followed.

Upon realizing that his favourite guitarist (after Jeff and Eddie, of course) was apparently Twitter famous, Gareth was pissed. It just felt ridiculous that a metal guitarist would be famous on the fucking bird app without their music as the reason. It felt like they sold out, like some influencer was behind the music.

Then Tig stepped up to the microphone and— in an impossibly deep and slightly accented voice that Gareth absolutely fucking knew in a way that had him blushing in the middle of a crowd of metalheads— he said, “well, I guess the cat’s outta the bag now.”

See, Gareth knew on some level that the members of Rake were probably recognizable in some way other than their looks off the stage because none of them ever spoke. They would go on stage, perform their set, and leave. It wasn’t that weird, given their entire gimmick with the masks, so Gareth really didn’t think too much about it. Now that Gareth heard that voice and recognized it immediately as one that frequently featured in his horniest daydreams, the gimmick made a whole lot more sense.

The thing was that Gareth knew that voice and those tattooed arms— and, yep, the man was unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the massive and distinctive tattoo of a cicada across his chest— and they belonged to the one OnlyFans creator he was fucking subscribed to.

“Let’s get back to the show, then,” Tig growled into the mic, and the music immediately picked back up as if a quarter of the crowd didn’t just get their shit rocked.

Later that night when he was back at his hotel, Gareth pulled up Twitter and sure enough, there was a new post from xX-Tamer Tig-Xx. It was a selfie of Tig standing in front of a mirror, completely naked while he held his iconic plague doctor mask over his cock. Black body paint was still on his hands, throat, and around his mouth, as if he just stripped and took the selfie after the concert. It was posted with a caption that read, “So, big news incoming 😳 IYKYK 😏”

The ensuing chaos the news threw part of the metal scene into was nothing short of fucking batshit insane. Gareth and Eddie were eating it all up as they watched YouTube reactors express their opinions on the matter. They watched the way Rake blew up on TikTok now that it was known that at least one of the band members was already a well-known “accountant” on the app. After about a week, the rest of the band unmasked too, and it turned out all of them were sex workers by trade.

It was shortly after that when Rake announced that they would be permanently disbanding now that they were unmasked, which was devastating for Gareth. He mostly understood, of course, because the anonymity was ultimately important to them, so their sex work and music was wholly separated. Plus, Rake was very vocal as an entity on their socials that they were always intending to complete a trilogy of albums and they achieved that. It just felt wrong, as if their hands were forced to announce it early, or they were robbed of their chance to just quietly disappear forever without revealing anything.

After a couple months, Rake sat down for a full profile piece for an article about them unmasking, their feelings about it and the end of their careers as Rake. All five of them seemed happy with the way the band was ending things, that they could finally be more open about their friendships with each other, even outside of their working relationships. Hell, the drummer and the lead vocalist were fucking married. Like, real-life married, and they had to hide that on stage. In the interview, they said they were most excited to be able to actually interact with their opening bands, and something in that made Gareth realize how much that anonymity probably felt very isolating. Thinking about how much Corroded Coffin got to learn from the bands they were opening with and for, he couldn’t imagine that lack of collaboration.

The article itself had images of all the members unmasked and in various states of undress. Tig’s photo was the most provocative, with him standing in profile and completely naked except for his platform boots, one leg bent just enough to keep his modesty. His arms were held up, hands tangled in his own hair, but he was looking directly at the camera over the muscled curve of his biceps.

Despite being subscribed to his OnlyFans, Gareth still saved that image to his phone and told himself that was completely normal behaviour. He had lots of photos and videos of Tig naked on his phone. It wasn’t weird.

Plus, he foolishly thought, it wasn’t like he was ever going to fucking meet the man, especially since Rake was breaking up and none of them had immediate plans to return to the stage, even as a solo act.

Gareth jumped as someone knocked on the table to get his attention, and he glared at the heavily tattooed hand that was there. Turning his sneer up at Tig’s face, he felt something squirm in his gut as the man just smirked knowingly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tig crooned as he sat down, leaning close to Gareth to ask in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “miss me?”

“Like a fucking toothache, Slenderman,” Gareth spat, and Tig only grinned broadly at him, showing off all of his perfectly white teeth. They weren’t perfectly straight, but they were so fucking white, it was ridiculous. Unfair. Disgusting even.

“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” Tig sighed before turning his attention to Chrissy as she stood back up to start going over the details of him temporarily joining Corroded Coffin.

This was going to be the worst, Gareth thought— nay, he knew.