U-N-I

Spending time writing about Robbie and Mark has always been my little getaway. I haven't spent any time with them in five years, but I rediscovered something I had written while writing the story from Damien’s perspective and for some reason, I started to develop it. it was a fun opportunity to spend some time with Rob and Mark again! I'm not going to lie, I wrote it for myself but if you remember the story, you might enjoy it, so I thought I might as well post it, and who knows, maybe I'll want to write more later.

You really don’t need to have read the story to enjoy this, but if you want to read it from Mark’s point of view, Damien appears in the story in chapters 11, 13, 15, 16, and 17

Plus, I also spent time revising the story. I focused on making it a smoother read and added a few details/ dialogues here and there that I thought were needed. (I changed the conversation with Damien a little in Chapt 11 or with nathan in the car in chapt 13, added text exchanges in chapt 15/16, stuff like that...)

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A peek through Damien's eyes

I stand in the doorway of their home studio - yes, they have a home studio - watching three of the band members and fighting the urge to turn around and leave. I know them, not personally, of course, but in the way everyone knows them. They’re always at the top of the charts. Every record they release goes straight to number one. I’ve never seen them live, but I know their work, and I love their sound.

Dylan and Damon, the pianist and drummer, are sitting on the chairs. Jordan, their bass player and Patrick O’Boyle, their record producer stand beside them.

Robbie is in the recording booth. He’s running through a take, I stand there watching and listening, completely mesmerized.

And worried.

I am one of the best sound engineers they could hire in London. Over the past few years, I’ve made a name for myself in the industry. But right now, I can’t shake the feeling that this job might be too much. Working with a band like U-N-I feels overwhelming. They are massive. The pressure to be perfect is crushing. I’ve never worked with artists with this level of global success or a producer as well-known as O’Boyle, but I know how impressive this will look on my résumé and the doors it could open.

I am also intimidated for another reason. Robbie is gay, and so is the band’s guitarist, his boyfriend. I’m not sure how to act because I don’t want them to know that I am too. I can’t afford to give them any reason to see me as anything but professional. They need to know I’m here for one reason only, to make their record sound as good as it possibly can. No distractions. No mistakes.

Robbie steps out of the recording booth. He’s no more than ten feet away from me. His hair is tousled, and he wears a grey tank top and jeans. I cannot help thinking that his arms look really good.

Their manager tells them I’m here. Jordan notices me and walks over. He speaks first and introduces himself. They know who I am. They know why I’m here.

Robbie’s right behind him. I force myself to pull it together.

“That was really something,” I say about his singing, pointing toward the recording booth as I extend my hand, deciding to try and pull off cool and confident.

Robbie shakes my hand firmly and thanks me for coming. The touch of his palm sends electricity straight through me. He is even more attractive up close. His eyes are a captivating mix of cool grey and vibrant green that seem to shift with the light, framed by long black eyelashes. His lips are full and bow-shaped, and his nose looks like it belongs on a Greek statue. He’s very handsome.

And very intimidating.

I look at him for longer than I should, because I see his gaze flicker for a moment. Damn it, I tell myself. Do not stare. I do not want them to get the wrong idea.

I hope I’m not making him uncomfortable.

The next thing I know, Mark enters the studio and stands right next to me.

“Hey, this is the new sound engineer you’ve been waiting for,” Robbie tells him.

“Hope it’s not another gay one,” Jordan says, which would have made me do a spit take if I’d been drinking anything.

I wonder why he says that, but later I realize that his bandmates’ sexuality is something he jokes about often.

I don’t say anything as Mark shakes my hand and says a few words to me. Instead, I find myself staring again, but this time, I’m staring at him. If Robbie intimidates me, what I feel when I see his boyfriend is something else entirely. I can’t explain it. He takes my breath away the second I lay eyes on him. He’s tall, as tall as Robbie and… I don’t know, everything about his face just fits - his jaw, his cheekbones, his smile, his eyes, his nose... His hair falls perfectly, his skin’s smooth and sun-kissed, and the shirt he’s wearing hints at a toned, strong body underneath.

He’s… he’s just unreal.

They invite me to sit at the recording desk, and I happily accept. O’Boyle starts talking to me, but he’s soon pulled away to deal with something else, and Mark takes over. He explains which songs they need me to work on and what they expect from me, and all I can think about is how beautiful he is. I even catch myself thinking that if the situation were different, I would try to get him. It’s a completely irrational thought. He’s out of my league and in a relationship with Robbie, but I cannot stop myself from thinking about it.

The more he talks, the more I wonder why I am always attracted to the wrong men. I already know how this story ends. I get hurt. Again. My last boyfriend cheated on me for months, and I am only just beginning to recover from that heartbreak.

As Mark explains exactly what he needs, I stay silent but observant. I listen to his voice. I love it too, I love the accent, not British, not American, just a very light Irish accent, probably softened by travel.

I know I’m staring at him, but I can’t help it. Even if I never see him again, I want to remember his face. I want to be able to recall it whenever I need proof that the world is full of beauty.

He talks a lot, often directing his attention to me. Sometimes he’s pulled away too, like O’Boyle, and I watch him as he speaks with other people. But he always comes back, probably to make sure I feel comfortable working with him.

If I were not feeling so intimidated, I might think he liked me. But I’m careful not to make any assumptions. He’s just a kind and friendly human being, I tell myself.

Do not fall in love, I repeat in my head. But I already know it is too late.

I’m shocked to learn that he speaks French fluently. Just like me, he grew up speaking it with one of his parents, and suddenly we have so much to talk about that has nothing to do with the job I’m here to do. He speaks it with ease, without hesitation, better than I do, almost like a native speaker and I understand why his Irish accent is so light, it makes sense. Of course, I find it ridiculously attractive.

Over the next few days, as we work together, we talk about everything and anything. Mostly in English, but sometimes in French or a mix of both. Food. Cities. Music. Travel.

I love the connection we build so easily. I realize that he quickly starts seeing me as a friend and that he genuinely enjoys my company. But as the days go by, I begin to see him more and more as a man I would love to sleep with. I know nothing can happen and nothing will happen, yet I cannot stop myself from fantasizing about it.

And there is Robbie.

I watch him too. A lot. He is undeniably attractive. Charismatic. Incredibly funny and quick-witted. Every time he walks into a room, the atmosphere shifts. There’s more laughter, more noise, more energy, more passion. Everyone seems more inspired when he’s around.

He sings constantly. Not just their own songs, but other people’s too. He fills the room with music and happiness. Everything is simply more fun when he’s there. Every time he opens his mouth, I find myself thinking that this guy really does have a beautiful voice, with an incredible range.

And I hate him.

I hate him because he has it all, the talent, the charm, the attention… Mark. I wish I could be him. To live like that, to feel that rush, it must be intoxicating. I’ve always secretly wanted a taste, a glimpse of what it’s like to be that famous, to have that career, to feel it for myself. What a thrill that must be. I know I’m just jealous… and a little in awe of him.

But I hate him.

One day he’s about to record a song that needs quite a large vocal range, and he starts warming up by singing Adele, Set Fire to the Rain. He begins softly, but soon he’s hitting every note, every climb, every fall with such precision, just like her. And if I’m honest, when he hits those final high notes the way Adele does at the end, I’m completely flabbergasted. I can’t think of another word.

Mark smiles. “Are you trying to break your voice before we even start? Where’s Lucy?” he asks, scanning the room for his vocal coach, knowing very well she isn’t here.

Robbie just laughs, says it works for him, and starts singing “Rolling in the Deep” hitting the same high notes as Adele again.

Another early afternoon, I walk into the studio and one of their instrument technicians calls me over, so I start setting up and checking levels as soon as I arrive. The five of them are chilling together, laughing about something. It looks like they’re taking a break.

Only a few minutes later, Mark starts playing an acoustic guitar, flawless as usual. I don’t recognize the rhythm as one of their own songs. It sounds more like a country tune I’ve never heard before, very different from their usual sound. For a moment, I almost think he’s making it up on the spot, and it’s so good, so entertaining, that I can’t help but be drawn in.

He plays for a few minutes while Damon joins in on the harmonica, tentative at first but encouraged by the others to really give it his all. I drift around the room, doing my job, but I keep pausing, mesmerized by the way they play and laugh together. I settle at the recording desk, tweaking levels, but my eyes keep wandering back to them.

Suddenly, Robbie starts singing, and the others jump in behind him, following his lead. Mark presses on, strumming stronger and louder, matching the room’s growing energy. Damon keeps experimenting with new harmonica riffs, doing pretty well, while Dylan keeps the rhythm, clapping or shaking a tambourine.

The energy in the room is insane.

The song is about being drunk at the bar, inviting girls to party and drink with them. They keep repeating the same playful, cheeky, infectious chorus, singing it together with such ease and in perfect sync that I can’t help thinking that it might not be the first time they play it, but that they must have made it up themselves. Robbie seems to improvise fun lyrics on the spot when they’re not repeating the chorus, because they all burst into laughter, as if hearing it for the first time.

Jordan and Robbie fall into some kind of playful country choreography, dancing in a way that’s so much fun to watch, sometimes with an arm around each other’s shoulders, like they’re performing a private show just for themselves. Yet everyone in the room is drawn to it. I can’t tear my eyes away. Their joy, their chemistry, their happiness, their laughter, it’s so fucking contagious. Soon, everyone is watching them, clapping along, even singing the chorus with them.

When they finish the song, they just laugh, a little breathless, and like everybody else in the room, they go right back to whatever they were doing before, as if it was just a quick break to burn off some energy.

I watch them for a moment longer and envy them so much, the way they live, the way they exist together. I think to myself that they really have the best life, and I love witnessing these moments, even if only for a short while.

So, I start watching these little moments more often and I also pay closer attention to how Robbie and Mark interact and work together.

They make such a good team. All five of them, really. Everyone contributes and there’s a rhythm between them I can’t quite explain but it’s impressive how well they operate as a unit. At first, because he draws so much attention, I expect Robbie to be the leader, to be the one calling all the shots, but I quickly realize he isn’t.

Mark seems shy at first, but I soon discover that he is far more confident than he lets on. From the start, they tell me there is no leader in their band. In a way, that’s true. They do work collectively, but I notice quickly that when a real decision needs to be made, everyone turns to Mark, even Dylan, who they jokingly call the dad of the band, defers to him. And Mark gets the final say. Every single time. And I love it. It just draws me to him even more, the way the others naturally trust him.

The guy knows exactly what he wants and he takes control. Whatever he decides, even if someone argues, that is what happens. He has a way of bending the world to his will.

And watching him with Robbie, seeing how Robbie follows him completely, I feel a rush of something I can’t name. Something about him that pulls at me, that I can’t stop thinking about, that I can’t stop wanting.

Every day in the studio, I steal glances at him when I think he isn’t looking. The way he plays, fingers brushing the guitars strings like it’s second nature. The way his eyes light up when he talks about music, it pulls me in every time.

And I don’t even want to think about when he sits at the piano and plays.

Once, Robbie sings Diamonds by Rihanna and Mark accompanies him on the piano, sometimes even singing along with him, and even though I may hate Robbie, I can’t deny it - it is fucking beautiful.

They’ve recorded a duet with Rihanna for their album and I know they’re practicing ‘Diamonds’ to sing it live with her on a TV appearance. They connect with the lyrics, so when Robbie sings, “you and I, you and I, we’re like Diamonds in the sky, you’re a shooting star I see, a vision of ecstasy, when you hold me, I’m alive, we’re like diamonds in the sky,” his voice is so clear and honest, Mark’s playing so fluid, and effortless. He isn’t just playing the simple melody, it’s a much more complex and challenging version with richer chords and it is - fucking perfection.

Often, when Mark’s bored, waiting for something or someone, he plays. Just little melodies for fun. He does it constantly. I don’t think he knows the songs by heart, there are far too many. It’s more like he hears the music in his head, and simply translates it into sound, on the guitar or the piano.

And he’s so talented that when he plays, it’s never just a few notes, it feels complete, like he’s already mastered it without even trying.

Not the most impressive thing he’s ever played, but for some reason, the one I loved the most. One day, he starts playing Mardy Bum by Arctic Monkeys, singing softly under his breath, casual, and I just watch him.

I forget where I am. I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.

When he notices, he stops and looks at me, suddenly unsure, a little uncomfortable.
“I just like the song,” he says, shrugging.

I don’t want him to stop, so I tell him. He smiles, and that smile makes it worse.

He makes it so hard for me to focus on the work, on the songs, on making the recordings perfect. My attention drifts back to him no matter how hard I fight it. Every time he talks, every time he smiles, I feel the pull to be closer than I should.

He’s magnetic, not in a loud, show-off way like Robbie, but in a quieter way that draws people, including me, toward him. I love it. I love him. And I know I’m walking straight into trouble, into exactly what I didn’t want to happen when I took the job.

I keep reminding myself that I have to be professional. And I also remind myself constantly that he’s with Robbie. Nothing will happen. But my mind refuses to listen.

One afternoon, I’m adjusting levels at the mixing desk when he leans over to check something. He’s closer than usual, and I feel the heat of his body behind me. His hand brushes mine as he points at a knob, and I freeze. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t seem aware of the effect he’s having.

“Try it like this,” he says softly. I nod, my fingers trembling a little as I twist the dial. “Or try bringing up the mid-range here,” he adds. His fingers hover just above mine for a moment. Too close. I fight the instinct to flinch. He doesn’t notice or he doesn’t let it show.

Every time he’s near me like this, so attentive, it makes my imagination spiral.

Sometimes we laugh together over a mistake in a track or a joke in French only we understand, and the sound of his laughter makes me smile. He’s being professional, friendly, it’s harmless, but every moment feels charged and I really can’t stop myself from wanting to be closer to him.

I know I can’t though.

Because of his boyfriend. His fucking boyfriend.

 Their dynamic is hard to figure out.  They rarely act like a couple, at least not in the studio with others around, so I rarely see what he’s like as a boyfriend. I remember the first couple of days working with them, if I hadn’t known they were together, I might not have noticed. I don’t see them kiss or even touch each other much when people are around.

There’s something I notice though - and it surprises me - is how different Robbie is when he’s alone with Mark. I can’t explain it. He’s quieter, less cocky, more … grounded. I see it in the little things. He really follows him completely.

The first time it hit me was on my second day in the studio so, right away really. Mark stood, walked past him, and said his name with a simple hand gesture. Robbie froze for a moment, then followed. A little later, Mark tapped a rhythm on the mixer and Robbie immediately adjusted the track, or Mark pointed to a cable and said ‘here’ and Robbie plugged it in even though someone else could’ve done it.

Maybe three weeks into working with them, coincidentally, I arrive at their building at the same time as Mark, around 11.30. As he parks his car, I wait for him and we exchange a few words. Once in the corridor, we walk toward the apartment they’ve turned into a studio but he stops short.

“Hang on, I left my Seagull at my place last night. Can you help me grab the Les Paul too?” he asks over his shoulder, already turning around. “And while we’re at it, the Stratocaster wouldn’t hurt either.”

Of course I agree. I follow him back and stand beside him as he unlocks the door.

I almost hope Robbie won’t be there. The idea of a few extra minutes alone with Mark is so tempting. But of course, Robbie is there, slouched in an armchair, shirtless, pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips, a huge mug cradled in his hands.

Hot.

I hate him, but I have eyes.

I hesitate in the doorway like I’ve been caught trespassing and try not to stare at his chest. I don’t want him to see that I’m checking him out.

Too late, he glances up. His gaze is lazy, but there’s something in the way he looks at me that says I don’t belong here. That he doesn’t like me.

Which is fine. I don’t like him either. And I’m pretty sure he knows it.

“Hey,” he says and I say it back.

Then, louder so Mark can hear, he calls toward the room he disappeared into. “When did you leave?”

“Pretty much around the time you got home,” Mark says, loud enough for him to hear.

“Bullshit. I got home at five.”

“Yeah, and you crashed into bed at five-thirty and fell asleep pretty much instantly. That woke me up, so I got up around six and went for a run.”

“Outside?” Rob asks, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah.”

Robbie shakes his head. “You’re insane.”

Mark reappears and says playfully, “Well, how else am I supposed to look perfect for you?”

Robbie giggles and flicks a quick glance at me, almost embarrassed that I heard the teasing.

“You’re perfect whatever you do!”

I couldn’t agree more. And at that moment, I suddenly ache. For a second, I wish it were me he was saying that to. I wish I could be the one he wants to be perfect for.

I stand there, watching Robbie take a sip from his mug, amused by how easily they keep teasing each other, which is something else I’ve noticed.

Mark drops a guitar case into my hands as he says, “then I went to our gym for about an hour, came home, showered, changed, but I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Robbie shakes his head.

“See? That can be done,” Mark says, then disappears again to grab another guitar.

Robbie glances at me like he doesn’t quite know what to do with me, and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself either, so I scan their apartment.

It’s nicely decorated, probably done by a professional. There’s a subtle masculine vibe but there’s also splashes of color, deep green cushions, a warm rug, and colorful art, it was clearly made for musicians. It’s big, too, with stairs, so it’s a duplex. There’s also a gorgeous grand piano along one wall. Strangely, I don’t see any awards on display, they probably keep those somewhere else, except for one that looks like a Grammy, maybe. The place looks… expensive.

Finally, Mark comes back out.

“When did you get up?” he asks.

“Just now.”

“So, how was last night?”

Robbie grins.

“Fun. The movie was brilliant. You should’ve come, though.”

“I should’ve come, huh?” Mark says, in a tone I can’t quite read.

Robbie laughs, like he’s been caught.

Mark looks at me. “I just can’t let him and Jordan go out alone. They always end up doing something they shouldn’t.”

Robbie smiles, then looks at me and mouths, It’s not true.

I smile despite myself.

“So what’d you do between your Cinderella curfew and five?” Mark asks.

“Nothing. Really. It just got a little wild after the premiere, you know how it is. Lots of press, lots of fans…”

“So if I ask Jordan, he’ll say the same thing?”

“Obviously!”

“And I’m not opening my phone to your face today?”

“Absolutely not,” Robbie says, smirking a little.

Mark pulls out his phone anyway, seems to open an app, taps for a few seconds, then shows him.

Robbie bursts out laughing the second he looks at the screen. He shakes his head and laughs louder as he watches it.

“How is that already online?” he exclaims between laughs, still grinning and I can’t help cracking up too. It’s kind of contagious, and that annoys me so much. I’ve only been in the room with him for a few minutes and I’m already laughing. Why does he have to be so much fun to be around?

When Robbie stops watching it, I glance at Mark’s phone and see Jordan and him sitting on some kind of platform, performing acoustically for a crowd of people holding their phones up, filming them.

“How did you even end up up there?” Mark asks, laughing too.

“I’ll let Jordan tell you. You’ll yell at me if I do, and I literally just woke up.”

“So,” Mark says, “let me guess, you turned the rooftop party into your personal stage?”

“They made me,” Robbie says, leaning back in his chair, grinning like he’s proud of it. “Jordan dared me not to, and honestly…the guitar looked lonely. I couldn’t just leave it there. And you know me, I can’t say no to an audience.”

Mark exhales, amused. “Jesus Christ.”

“Did you see that Olly Murs joined us after?” Robbie asks and Mark just nods.

“It was seriously the coolest thing. People were loving it. You know, I need to practice for the tour,” Robbie adds, smiling.

“Of course you do,” Mark laughs. He leans down to kiss him, and it’s the first time I actually see them kiss. It’s not a quick peck, it’s a real kiss. Robbie grabs the back of his neck and keeps him there an extra second. I know why he does it. He knows I’m watching. And yeah, it kills me a little to see them like this, so perfect together.

Then Mark brings his mouth close to Rob’s ear and says something to him. 

So, I may be wrong but I’ve got a pretty good ear, I wouldn’t be doing this job if I didn’t. I’m about eighty percent sure he says something like, “want me to come back and teach you what happens when you don’t respect your curfew?”

Robbie’s reaction is enough to tell me I probably got it right because he lets out a small sexy laugh and nods. So, it’s no surprise later, when we get to the studio and drop the guitars that Mark disappears. He doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going and comes back maybe thirty minutes later.

Mark kisses him again, a slow sexy kiss which Rob returns with a smile. Then he pets his cheek as he pulls back. When he steps toward me, Robbie asks, like he already knows the answer,

“Do you really need me in the studio?”

He keeps it casual because I’m here. I know they’d be doing something entirely different if I weren’t in the room and I can’t help but wonder what that would be. I kind of love what I witness and I’m not entirely surprised that Mark also enjoys to take charge behind closed doors. He just keeps getting better. Even so, I still find their dynamic hard to figure out, but maybe only because it isn’t what I expected.

“Always,” Mark says, soft and certain. He checks his watch. “Come by at two?”

“Alright,” Robbie says easily.

And around two, he does show up at the studio and falls right back into Mark’s rhythm. He goes along, lets Mark lead, and does exactly what he asks.

It’s disarming because his usual cocky, unstoppable energy melts around Mark. Something about him pulls Robbie in, and he just goes with it. He doesn’t resist.

I feel it too. I wouldn’t resist either.

Even seeing this, I still have trouble believing they’ve been monogamous for over six years, since they were barely eighteen, as Mark told me when I asked.

Robbie is very sexual, too sexual, in my opinion, to want to be tied down. He’s a handsome face on a perfect body, and he draws attention everywhere he goes. I’m sure guys are constantly making passes at him, especially now that he’s out. How could he not want to enjoy it?

But the more I work with them, the more I watch them, often late in the evening, the more I notice their bond. They hug each other often, especially when they’re tired. Robbie likes to hold Mark, I can tell. He caresses his neck or arm softly, lovingly, sometimes giving him a quick kiss. He seems to take care of him in the truest sense.

What stands out most is that Robbie watches him more than he touches him. There’s a kind of awe in his gaze. He’s completely in love, and watching it changes the way I see him. I understand why. Mark is captivating. It’s easy to see why Robbie would be so devoted.

Maybe he really is monogamous after all.

I can’t help myself; I want to find out. So, one evening, when the opportunity presents itself, I take a risk and suggest a threeway to Mark. I can’t believe I actually have the balls to do it, but the words slip out as he’s about to leave.

“Mind if I join?” I ask.

Robbie had just made out with him.

Mark and I are alone, and being the perfectionist he is, he isn’t happy with the guitar solo he just recorded. He’s tired, and he tells me so, saying he can’t focus properly. But like me, he knows it’s better to finish what we started rather than leave it for another time. I can tell he’s had enough for the day. I’m about to ask if he wants to take a break when Robbie shows up before I can.

“Hey, it’s 1 a.m already. Is it taking longer than expected?” Robbie asks.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll be done soon, promise. Go to bed if you want,” Mark says. “It doesn’t sound like what I have in mind. I know I can make it better.”

I don’t agree but I don’t argue. If he thinks it can be better, he’s probably right. He’s so musically gifted and his sound is so unique, I mean, who am I to contradict him?

Robbie massages his shoulders, then leans down and whispers into his ear. I don’t hear what he says, focused on what we’ve just recorded, but seeing the small smile appear on Mark’s lips, I bet he told him he wanted to go to bed with him.

Mark stands up, and they move away from me, settling together on a large sofa not far from where I’m sitting. I know Robbie makes sure I’m watching. He glances at me briefly, catches me staring, and I quickly look away, but it’s too late. He saw me. I tell myself that if he wants me to watch, I might as well enjoy the show.

They lie close to each other on the sofa. Rob caresses Mark’s face and arms and holds him close for a long moment, pressing him against his body, then he brushes a few kisses across his forehead. It’s barely anything, just his lips moving over Mark’s face, but it’s hot. Just the way he holds him, with his arm wrapped tight around his upper chest, is hot as fuck.

Their eyes are closed but when Mark opens them and turns his head slightly to look at Robbie, they both smile and their lips meet. I catch myself thinking I’d love to be Robbie as I watch them. The kiss is slow, deep and passionate, I can see it in the way they move into each other that they’re both turned on.

I feel a rush of heat through me, aroused instantly by such a private, intimate moment.

Robbie slips his hand under Mark’s t-shirt, pressing more firmly against his skin. A glimpse of his stomach catches my eye, hard, toned, abs flexing under Robbie’s touch… damn.

Mark pulls back slightly, holding Robbie’s hand in his, smiling, and whispering something to him. Robbie leans in, murmurs in his ear again, then stands and walks away.

He doesn’t even look at me, it’s as if I don’t exist.

After he leaves, I ask Mark if he’s ready to record again. He shakes his head. “No, we’re done, you can go, we’ll finish this tomorrow,” he says.

I can’t help but tease him, “He got you all worked up?”

Mark laughs, completely unbothered, and blurts out, “Yeah, I’m gonna have sex now.”

He says it so easily, so naturally, that I can’t help stealing a glance, trying not to let my reaction show.

Then, as if testing me, he asks, “So Rob was right, you are gay?” as if he doesn’t already know - but of course he does, and Robbie does too.

I know he can see how much I like him. He knows. And of course, he turns me down when I tell him, teasingly, that I wouldn’t mind being the middle man. But now the knowledge lingers, heavy and thrilling.

When I leave their studio that night, I can’t stop replaying it in my head. I’m completely consumed by them, and I know it’s dangerous. I tell myself I’ll stay professional. I’ll do my job. But deep down, I know I’ve crossed a line I can never uncross. And the thought terrifies me, excites me, and consumes me all at once.

----

When I come back the next day, I find out I have to work with Robbie on some vocals. The moment he talks to me, I feel a tension I cannot quite place. It’s like he’s flirting, but maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s testing the waters. I have no idea how to act around him, so again, I try to stay professional.

After he records a take, he sits next to me. Mark comes up behind him, leans down, and pecks him on the cheek.

“I’m going out with Jord for a bit,” Mark says.

Robbie just nods and Mark glances at me, with a smile on his face I can’t quite read. It almost feels intentional, like he’s leaving me alone with Robbie on purpose.

I watch him walk away. I don’t just watch, I stare. I can’t help it. He’s so damn attractive. I don’t even know if I fully realize how much I’m staring, though in the moment I do. And I’m not the only one. Robbie notices too. When our eyes meet, he gives me that look. Annoyed. Intimidating. Uneasy. I feel it all at once.

I don’t understand him, at all. The Robbie Myers everyone sees in interviews is witty, charming, funny. But with me, he’s different. Sharper. More professional. He doesn’t bother trying to be nice or make me laugh the way he does with everyone else in the studio.

I don’t know what to say. My mouth opens, closes, opens again, but the weight of his gaze pins me in place. Finally, I manage,

“Hum… are you gonna record another take?”

“Why?” he asks, flat.

I don’t answer, so he adds, testing me, “Should I?”

“I dunno. I thought maybe… you might want to try different vocals,” I say.

He sighs, annoyed. I like that I annoy him.

“I don’t. This one’s perfect,” he says.

“Sure. Forgot I said anything,” I reply, awkward, shifting under his stare. And I can’t help thinking that if he’d been Mark suggesting another take, he would’ve agreed immediately.

He leans back slightly, still watching me, his eyes narrowing. “So,” he says suddenly, his tone casual, but the edge is there, “I hear you’d like to be the middle man.”

My anxiety rises instantly. If I was uncomfortable before, now I’m downright embarrassed. Why is he asking me this? Is he… flirting?

I look into his eyes. No. He’s not flirting. He’s mad.

“Uh…” I stammer.

“Dude,” he leans closer, keeping his voice low. “I get to choose the middle man. And you’re not on my list. Never will be. So back off if you want to keep your job, alright? You’re not the only sound engineer in London.”

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“Are we clear?”

I nod, too fast.

He pauses, studying me.

“Mark likes working with you,” he continues as he starts to stand. “So, if he likes working with you, I’ll let you keep your job for a little while longer. But I’m watching you. Don’t overstep.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I start.

He waits for me to finish, but the words never come. Then he steps even closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. There’s an intensity in his eyes. He knows exactly what I can’t say.

“You didn’t mean to stare at him so much?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. What am I supposed to tell him? That I fell for his boyfriend?

He exhales through his nose, almost amused. “That’s my problem with him. He has no idea how fucking attractive he is. He’s not even trying and…” He makes a vague gesture, like he doesn’t even need to finish the thought. Like guys like me are inevitable.

Then his voice drops.

“So do me a favour. Stop staring at him like you want to fuck him. I’m the only one who gets to look at him like that.”

I shake my head quickly, unconvincingly. “I don’t,” I mutter.

“You don’t?” he says, voice teasing now, low, sexy, a small laugh escaping. “So maybe you’d like him to fuck you?”

“No…”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “That’s what I thought. Well…,” he pauses, eyes lingering on me. “Maybe you should.”

And just like that, he walks away.

Fuck. What does he mean, you should? I should want Mark to fuck me? Is that what he’s saying? I really don’t understand this guy, I really don’t. All I know is that he could fire me in a heartbeat, and I need this job. It’s the best paycheck I’ll ever get. I could probably take a few months off with the money I’ll make here. Not to mention the connections I’m building and everything I can take away from the experience.

And then it hits me, “I get to choose the middle man.” Has he just admitted they’re not monogamous? That a three-way might actually have been possible? Fuck. I should have handled this differently. I should have said something else. Done something else.

But I didn’t. And now… I’m stuck, spinning, completely consumed by what just happened, and by them.

I sit there for a moment, trying to convince myself to breathe. I can still see him walking away, that smirk lingering at the back of my mind, and I know I’ll replay every word, every look, every pause, for hours.

I tell myself to focus on the mixing board, on the track, on anything else, but my mind refuses.

All I can think about is him standing over me, the intensity in his eyes, the way his voice turned a simple warning into something impossibly sexual. And that laugh… fuck, that laugh. Low, knowing, teasing, I can still hear it in my head.

Mark comes back half an hour later, and it doesn’t get any easier. I keep thinking about the threeway I suggested, the way Robbie shut me down, the way he owns Mark in every sense. A twisted part of me envies it, wants it.

I force myself to adjust the levels and scribble notes, but I’m painfully aware of every sound in the room. Robbie’s words echo in my head. Maybe you should.

My imagination runs wild, twisting it into something else entirely. I picture what he might have meant. I picture what I might be missing. After what I saw when I was in their apartment, I can’t stop thinking that Robbie must like to bottom and Mark must like to top him - that he said it as if I were overlooking something important, as if I only see half of who he is.

And now I can’t stop thinking about what might have been. About what will never happen.

And yet, beneath the embarrassment, there’s a thrill. I know I’m way over my head, risking everything, but the tension, the desire, the forbidden, it’s just … intoxicating. I’m stuck between staying professional and letting myself be completely consumed by them.

Every glance, every small movement between them makes me realize I’m more obsessed than I’ve ever been, and there’s no turning back. I just hope I can keep doing my job without losing my mind.

I work with them on and off for about five months. Robbie is often in the room when I work with Mark, and when he’s here, I can feel him watching me. Sometimes he gives me a look that I can’t read. He could fire me on a whim, and yet he doesn’t. He keeps me close, testing me, reminding me of the rules, of my place as a spectator in their world.

By the time my job is done, I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. I did my best to focus on the music, to do the work I came here for, but as I’m about to leave, I can’t stop thinking about them, their intimacy, Robbie’s dominance, Mark’s magnetic pull. I can only hope I’ll see him again one day.

I keep working with other bands in London for a while, but eventually I fly back to New York for another job. I tell myself the distance will help. That I’ll forget him once I’m surrounded by new studios, new voices, new faces but I know better than to pretend it’s that easy. Because I know I want him and because I’ll be back in London soon.

And I already know exactly what I’ll do then. I’ll try to see him again.

And I do.

I call him one day, casual, like it means nothing. I ask if he’d come by the studio to help a young band with their songwriting. I tell him they could really use his perspective.

He agrees.

Of course he does. He always shows up. That’s who he is.

The second he walks into the studio, everything I worked so hard to bury comes rushing back. The way he moves through a room. The way the band gravitate toward him without realizing it. The way he listens like what you’re saying actually matters. We work. We laugh. We fall into that same easy rhythm we had when we worked on his record, like no time has passed at all.

And when it’s time to leave, I don’t give myself time to think.

I hug him. And I kiss him. Just for a second. Just enough. A glimpse of what it must be like to have what Robbie has.

His lips are warm. He freezes for half a heartbeat, then kisses me back, not fully, not freely, but enough to tell me I’m not imagining it. Enough to ruin me all over again.

I tell him how I feel. He’s touched, but I already know where his heart is so we talk about Robbie. I ask about him. I want to know exactly what he loves about him. And I hate the answer he gives me, because it tells me everything I need to know. How sure he is. How deeply he’s in love.

And I hate how much I respect him for it.

When he finally says maybe it’s better if we don’t see each other for a while, I nod like I understand. Like I accept it. But when I tell him to call me when things go downhill with Robbie, I mean it. I really believe it will. And I really hope he will. And when I step closer, when my hand brushes his thigh, when I press my lips against his again, when I test the line one last time… I mean that too.

He stops me. Firmly. Cleanly. There’s nothing I can do even though I can sense he’s curious about me, that he likes me, but he’s not emotionally available. Maybe one day, he will be.

I watch him walk away, jacket over his shoulder, refusing the guitar I’d gone out of my way to get for him. And that’s when I know, I’m not done.

So I go to their concert, and even though he gave me backstage passes, I know he doesn’t want me there. This time, I don’t hide it. I let him see exactly how I feel. I let Robbie see it too. I make it clear, I want him. And I’m not afraid of his boyfriend.

When I spot him backstage, I know he might try to avoid me. He’s surrounded by friends, still glowing from the show. He looks flushed and alive, still riding the adrenaline.

Seeing him again hit harder than I expected.

I walk up to him anyway.

He doesn’t look surprised. Just cautious. Guarded. Like he already wants me gone.

I tell him how incredible the show was. And it was, easily one of the best I’ve ever seen. Watching him on stage, owning every note, I understand why the world is in love with him, in love with them. Their connection on stage is undeniable.

We talk about the band I worked with that they chose as their support act. We talk about the concert, about Bono singing on stage with them. He keeps it polite, distant. But he still holds my gaze and I feel the connection again.

Then he tells me I shouldn’t have come. That it would be better if I left. It stings, but I don’t back down. I know how we left things. I know I crossed lines. I know I made it impossible for him to pretend this is just friendship. But I can’t pretend either.

So, I stop pretending.

I tell him that he was hot on stage, and my god, he really was. I let him see that I want him. I tell him I miss him. That I can’t just disappear like he wants me to. He calls me out for lying to myself about wanting to be just friends. And he’s right. I’m not here to be his friend. I’m here because I want him to know how much I like him.

I tell him he likes me too. That I see it in the way he looks at me. In the way he hesitates.

And I see it again when he doesn’t walk away.

But Robbie is watching. I see him moving toward us, I see Mark calling him over with a look. It’s subtle but I know the moment is over before it even finishes.

I try to give Mark the guitar I brought for him, the one I went out of my way to get. He doesn’t take it.

Robbie does.

He steps in like a wall between us, claiming his territory. His arm around Mark’s shoulders says everything.

I ignore him even though he tells me Mark doesn’t want me here and is just too nice to tell me off.

I only look at Mark. I want to know why he lets Robbie fight his battles for him.

Mark tells me to leave. He’s firm. It hurts, but I understand. He’s choosing the person he loves.

But I’m not walking away quietly. I lean in close to Robbie and tell him exactly what I think of him. I tell him I’m waiting for the day he fucks things up.

Because men like him always do.

That’s when he shoves me. Hard. For a moment, I think he might actually hit me. People are staring now. Security is already moving in.

I back away slowly, smiling like I’m not shaken. I make sure Mark hears me when I hint that since he told me he never listens to Robbie, he could choose me if he wanted. I say it just to get under Robbie’s skin one last time, enjoying the flicker of frustration I see in him.

It works. Robbie shoves me again, harder this time. I let them drag me toward the exit. I don’t fight it. I don’t look back. I don’t need to. Because I already know one thing for certain, I’m going to tell him exactly how I feel. I’m going to tell him I love him, even if he doesn’t feel the same way. I don’t care, I want him to know, that’s all.

I call him. He doesn’t answer.

So I text him. I don’t hold anything back. I tell him everything.

And once again, he lets Rob speak for him. The reply comes a few minutes later. Not from Mark.

From Robbie.

Mate, quick heads-up: the feelings are one-sided, the hope is misplaced, and the answer is no. Like… permanently no. Wishing you strength and a hobby. Cheers, Rob.

I stare at the screen, so annoyed by him I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because it’s exactly what I should’ve expected. My hand tightens around the phone. I want to smash it against the wall. I want to erase his words. I want Mark to be the one telling me no.

But he isn’t.

And that hurts more than anything else.

Lying in bed that night, I can’t help imagining what it’ll look like if he walks away from Robbie, from the band. I know it’s wishful thinking, but I allow myself to dream. I imagine Robbie fucking up, I’m certain he will, sooner or later. What will Mark do then? I asked him once during recording if he had ever considered a solo career, and he said no. I know he doesn’t have that ambition, he thrives on being on stage with his friends, sharing it all with them. He doesn’t want to be a solo artist; he tells me he’d rather write for others than perform for himself.

But he could do it. Easily. He has the talent, the voice, the presence, the instinct. And I start dreaming. I’d love nothing more than to help him, to see him soar on his own, even if he never chooses to. It would be incredible. Of course, it will never happen, I think, as I drift off to sleep.

-----

A few months later, I’m back in New York, turning a corner on Broadway, heading to meet friends for a night at the theater.

I’m not looking straight ahead, and in an instant, I collide with someone. The impact knocks me off balance, and I fight to keep from falling to the sidewalk.

"Whoa," the person says, reaching out to steady me. He is larger than me and put me back on my feet with ease.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I say, looking down at the ground out of embarrassment. 

"Damien," the man says, his English accent low and sarcastic. I look closer at him, pretending that I am not quite sure I know who he is.

"Josh," I said my hands moving to my hips.

"Well, look at that, it’s really you,” he laughs, grabbing me into a hug and patting me on the back. He is a good two inches taller than me and for a second, I think that I might take another tumble.  "You know, I've been meaning to call you."

"Don't worry about it," I grin, politely pulling away from him. "It's only been, like, what, six or seven years?"

"Has it been that long?" he asks, reaching his hand behind his head and scratching at his blond, short-cropped hair.  He is still a terrible liar.  "Well, let me buy you a cup of coffee to make up for that. Or maybe a razor to help you get rid of that beard."

"That's ok," I say, straightening my jacket. "I have to meet some friends for dinner soon and then we’re going to see a play." 

Either he doesn't hear me, or he doesn't care, because he’s already heading down the street, and I find myself following behind. 

"A quick cup," I say catching up to him.

“So, what have you been up to?” he asks once we’re sitting on a well-worn sofa in the back of a coffee-shop. “Are you actually working in music now, like you always said you would?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m a sound engineer. I’ve been working a lot in London recently, actually. I’m surprised we’re running into each other in New York instead.”

“Well, I don’t live in London anymore. I just moved back there for a couple of years after college, but I’ve been living in New York for the past four years or so…”

“Sounds like life’s taken us in different directions,” I say, smiling.

“So you’re a sound engineer? Pretty lame, you didn’t become a rockstar, then?” he teases.

“Fuck off!” I say with a smile. “It may not look like the version I used to daydream about but I’m in rooms with instruments more often than not and I’m getting paid for it.”

He laughs and suddenly, I’m twenty again. He stands to order the coffee, and when he comes back, he drops into the seat beside me and slides my cup across the table.

"You still take it black?" he asks.

"Nice try," I say, reaching for the cup.  "I never did." 

He shrugs, jumps back up and returns with cream and sugar. 

"You still know how to make a girl feel special," I laugh, pouring a bit of sugar into my cup.

“So, what have you been up to?” I ask him.

“International finance,” he says. “I split my time between a bank here and one in London.”

“Okay, so we could’ve run into each other in London.”

“Yeah, could’ve happened. Maybe we were meant to run into each other again someday,” he says, almost flirtatiously.

“Well, I’ll be flying back soon.”

“Flying back?” he raises an eyebrow. “So basically, you’re famous in my home country now.”

“Famous might be overstating it,” I say, laughing. “But it’s definitely… interesting. And exhausting.”

“Oh yeah? Why? What kind of gigs do you usually land?”

“I’ve worked with a bunch of different artists, some just starting out, some already established.”

“Anyone I’d know?” he asks, leaning forward a little.

“Well… I did some work with U-N-I. Had to live in London for a few months for that. And a few other bands, too. Honestly, I’m almost more in demand there than here now, since I’ve worked for them.”

“Wow. U-N-I, huh? I didn’t think I’d actually recognize any of the bands you’d mention,” he admits. “I don’t know if you remember but, back in college, you used to say you’d never be able to leave New York for more than a week.”

“Yeah, I know. I did say that,” I say, smiling at him. “People change. I wasn’t supposed to stay that long, but working for a band like this… I couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity.”

“What was it like?”

“Awesome,” I say, feeling a little nostalgic.

“It’s funny,” Josh says, shaking his head. “Watching you mess around in bands, pretending to be a rock star… and now you’re mixing for bands people actually know.”

“You never took me seriously,” I say, grinning. Josh had always acted like music was a phase I’d grow out of.

“I didn’t have to,” he smiles. “You were always so serious about everything yourself.”

“This has been fun,” I say, putting my cup down and standing dramatically. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again in another six years.”

“Damien,” Josh says, grabbing my hand firmly. “I was just teasing, please, sit back down.”

I do.

“Yeesh,” he breathes, sinking back into the couch. “Such a drama queen.”

“I had goals,” I retort.

“Yeah, but you didn’t become a rock star!” he teases again.

“How many times are you gonna say that?”

He grins. “Until it stops being funny.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t become a rock star, but… I may have fallen in love with one,” I blurt out and immediately realize that I’m insane for admitting it and that I’m still way too into Mark if I can’t stop myself from mentioning him.

“In love? With who?” he asks, startled.

I feel stupid for saying it, but now it’s too late. “One of the U-N-I guys,” I confess.

His face lights up. “Oh, wait, which one? One of the gay ones, I’m guessing?”

“Obviously.”

“So, which one? They’re both hot!”

“The guitarist.”

He laughs so hard he nearly chocks. “Yeah… you don’t stand a chance.”

I want to be offended, but he’s not wrong.

“Oh, I know. But he’s… so special. I can’t get him out of my head.”

“I was so sure you were gonna say Robbie Myers. You’re telling me you’re crushing on his boyfriend?” He shakes his head, still laughing. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

“Fuck off!” I say and recalls what Robbie told me backstage at the O2, that I was out of my mind.

“Robbie Myers, dude. Come on. How do you even think you can compete with that?”

“You don’t know what it’s like. I’ve spent six months working with him. There’s… a connection. He sees me as a friend, but he knows how much I like him.”

“A connection? So what? You expect him to drop Robbie Myers, his band, and his career for your beautiful blue eyes?”

I shrug. “You don’t know. Maybe one day…”

“You really do have goals in life,” he says, smirking.

“I do,” I reply, smiling back.

He pauses for a moment. “So… who have you been dating, for real?”

“Uh, I’ve been with someone for a couple of years, until I found out he was sleeping with half the city,” I say with a smirk. “Kind of like you, who were sleeping with half the campus when we were dating."

"Whoa," he says with a bit of a laugh. "You're not suggesting that I was the reason we broke up, are you?" It is strange to be talking about our break-up as though it is a recent event.  We were just kids in college when we dated.  It seems like a million years ago and I seriously think of it rarely.

"You're the one who left me," I say. Josh is enjoying talking about this so I continue, “which was fine with me considering, as I’ve just said, that you were sleeping with half of the campus." 

I take another sip of my coffee. I’m enjoying this too. Josh nods his head, suggesting that he is accepting his culpability.

"People change," he says. 

"No, they don't," I say, folding my arms.

"You just said five minutes ago that they did."  He looks around the room as though he’s trying to find someone to confirm what I said. 

"I was just a kid, Damien."

"Fine, fine, it's all forgotten," I say, waving my hands down.

"Come on, now, it's been over six years.  What other fabulous things have you been up to?"

We spend the next half-hour catching up. Josh has made a great deal of money for himself and for several companies in relatively few years. Still, he doesn’t come across as someone obsessed with money. He simply does something that he’s good at and reaps the rewards. I ask him about his family and he asks me about mine. As he talks, I can't help but start to see his familiar gestures, the way he holds his hands or postures his head. It isn't that I’m remembering how I used to feel about him, it’s just, well, that I’m remembering he’s someone I used to know.

He's very handsome, tall and broad shouldered. The years has made him look a bit more distinguished, a little less reckless than when he was in school. He is also, as I remember and as he still demonstrates, the least complicated person I’ve ever known.

He isn't simple by any means; he just always seems to be able to look at everything in proper perspective. He never worries what anyone thinks of him, and he’s always a great friend to those he likes.

Eventually, or inevitably, the conversation turns toward relationships again. 

"I don't know," he says. "There were a couple of people I thought I might settle down with, but it always felt just like that, settling."

"They expected too much from you," I say.

"Exactly." His eyes widen like I’ve cracked some great mystery. "I've realized a few things about myself over the years. For one thing, I realized that I can't be everything to somebody. I don't want to be. I spend half of the year here, half in London, and I love that. I love the freedom to go where I please, but I realize that it would be a lot to ask of someone to enjoy living like that.”

“I enjoy living like that,” I say, then let the words hang between us.

He smiles. The air shifts. There’s flirting now, unmistakable.

“Yeah,” he says lightly. “We could make it work.”

I smile back.

“But you’re in love with a rockstar,” he teases again, sipping his coffee. "Although that sounds like a pretty terrible idea."

“Yeah, it is.”

“I’m not a rockstar, but I am available.”

Suddenly the conversation feels a little too real so I glance at my watch.

He notices. “Didn’t you say you were meeting friends for dinner?”

“Oh, so you were listening?” I tease and then I start laughing, a little too loudly, a little too quickly.

“What?”

“I’m meeting Logan and Nicole," I tell him, pretty sure he hasn’t forgotten about them.

His mouth drops open. "My goodness, you really know how to stay in touch."

"We’ve stayed very good friends over the years," I said. "I never get tired of them.”

"That's great," Josh says.

We continue to talk about them as we step out of the coffee shop.

"Do you want to come with me and say 'hi'?" I suggest. "Maybe stay for a drink?"

"I don’t know," he says. "I think that Nicole may still try to make good on her promise to ruin me for breaking up with you. This has been really nice though, Damien."

"It has," I admit. Josh reaches into his coat and retrieves a business card, which he hands me.

"I'm in London and in New York all the time," he says. "Maybe we can chat again before another six years passes us by."

"That would be great," I say, taking the card from him.

"Yes, it would," he says, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. His lips linger for a moment, and for one second, I think he might actually kiss me. I let myself imagine it, but I don’t move. He pulls back, tightening his overcoat around him.

"Well then," he says. "Have a good evening."

"You too," I say, watching him turn to leave. 

He heads north and I stood there for a moment watching him.  If he turns around, I think to myself, he still feels something. This is a frequent game I play with myself, and apparently, right now, I have nothing better to do. 

The traffic light at the next block turns red and I see Josh come to a stop, his hands slipping into his pockets. Slowly, he turns back, glancing toward the front of the coffee shop where I’m still standing.

 I grin and he catches my eye. He lifts a hand to his face, mimicking a phone and silently mouths, “Call me.”

Then he turns and crosses the street. I can’t help smiling to myself. As I start walking toward the restaurant where my friends are waiting, I wonder if I should actually call him.

But do I really want to get back together with an ex? an ex who cheated on me, no less? That too, seems like a pretty terrible idea.

The weather is colder than I dressed for, but I barely notice. Honestly… I’m thrilled to have run into Josh again.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll make me forget about Mark.

------

I return to the hotel and begin packing my things. I have to take a late flight back to New York.  Josh has been working in London for the past few weeks, so he won’t be coming back with me.

After running into him months ago, I’d decided to call him. One conversation turned into many and before long, we were spending time together whenever our schedules overlapped, traveling between the U.S. and England.

More than a year later, it’s still all very uncomplicated without being boring or superficial. 

We’re very much two career-oriented individuals who like each other very much. Josh has changed since college in ways that surprise me. I don’t even have to consider his faithfulness.  Very early on, he tells me that he wants us to be exclusive, which is exactly what I want too. I’ve been cheated on enough.

It’s odd being with him again at first after my long relationship with my ex but he’s familiar too, and so, slowly, I allow a different person into my life, and into my bed.

It's after four pm when Josh returns to the hotel. He tosses his room key onto the desk and walks toward me where I’m sitting on the bed, my suitcases packed and lined up against the wall.

"Where do you think you’re going?" he asks with a smirk.

"Um, to New York," I laugh.  "You remember, right? I start a new job on Monday."

"Damien," he says sympathetically.  "Have you watched the news today?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask dismissively.

"They shut down the New York airports because of the snow," he says.  "Looks like you're here for at least one more night."

“Are you serious,” I say, already grabbing my phone.

I feel Josh's strong arms wrapping around me from behind. 

"You know what I think?" he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “I think we should light the fake fireplace … order room service … take a long, hot bath,” His mouth trails along my jaw. “And fuck until we can’t catch our breath.”

I turn to face him, my eyes locking with his. 

"I think that can be arranged," I say, crushing my lips against his.

Josh and I really get along. We don’t fight. There are no arguments. Everything still feels smooth after more than a year together. We both fly back and forth from London to New York, and when we’re both able to be together, we are.  When we aren't, I don’t find myself missing him much.

And that’s what feels strange.

Because I still miss Mark.

I try not to think about him. I know this ship has sailed. But he’s everywhere, in the media, in interviews, in the band’s success, in their music I hear on the radio, in their social media I scroll past even when I shouldn’t, and even in people I know and work with who know him, who sometimes even see him. All of it reminds me that I miss seeing him in real life, too. I really do.

It feels like he’s still in my life, without actually being in it.

I try not to compare Josh to him, that would be really stupid. I have a real relationship with Josh. I never had anything with Mark. But sometimes when Josh says something, does something, a quiet voice in my head wonders what Mark would’ve done in that moment.

Maybe I do it because a part of me still wishes I had something with him.

 Josh tells me that he’s prepared to be all that I want him to be and more. If it’s true, what am I supposed to do? I don’t know if I love him. It’s ridiculous, but when I think of Mark, I still feel it. I still feel something I’ve never felt for anyone else. And I don’t feel it in the same way for Josh. But with Josh, it’s nice, it’s safe, it’s familiar.

I try telling myself that I’m in love with Josh, but I can’t really get myself to believe it. I also don't get the feeling that he’s in love with me. Still, I understand that feelings can change over

time, and given how compatible Josh and I are, I don't want to throw the relationship away. I know that I have to take things as they come.

That night I wake around three in the morning. I’ve been sleeping soundly for months, but tonight, something has changed.

I reach for a small light, careful not to wake Josh and roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling as I try to collect my thoughts. I know what I’m thinking about, but I don't want to admit it, even to myself.

Mark.

After months, he’s back in my mind. But only because I’m reassessing my relationship with Josh and wondering if it’s normal not to feel for him what I felt for Mark, that fire in my chest, that electric pull, that awe-struck fascination, that reckless desire…

This is all because of a couple of Instagram stories Jordan posted that afternoon. I usually try not to watch their stories, because I know they often share more private moments than on their feed, moments I’d rather not see, but this was on Jordan’s insta, so I wasn’t cautious.

I open my phone, the stories are still there, for a few more hours so I watch them again.

Jordan grins at the camera.

“Hey, remember that coming-out picture, right? The one everyone loved?” he asks. “I took it. Snuck in when they weren’t looking. I never told you that, did I? you didn’t know, did you?  Because embarrassing them is my hobby,” he laughs, walking across the room.

“Come with me. I’m about to expose them again.”

I’m already uneasy when the next story starts. I don’t know if I want to see it again.

Robbie is stretched out on a couch, probably in a dressing room. And Mark is literally asleep on top of him. His head rests on Rob’s chest, his arms draped on either side of him like he belongs there.

Robbie is basically trapped beneath him, so he just slowly runs his fingers along the back of Mark’s neck, eyes open, just watching him, the kind of touch you only give someone you’ve done this with a thousand times.

Then Robbie notices the camera.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicious.

“What are you doing? You know soundcheck’s in like ten, right?” Jordan says.

Rob shrugs and whispers, “it’s like a cat on your lap. When it’s this comfy on you, you don’t move.”

I swallow.

Mark shifts at the sound of their voices, and Robbie freezes, worried he’s woken him. But Mark only snuggles closer, settling into a different position, even more comfortably against him.

Jordan lets out a soft chuckle.

 “Nope,” Robbie says to the camera. “Sorry. Won’t move. Turn off that damn phone.”

“Too late, you realize this one’s gonna top the coming-out pic, right?”

Rob looks at him, worried. “Jordan, don’t you dare post that on Insta.”

“What are you gonna do, you can’t move,” Jordan teases.

“I will absolutely ruin your life,” Robbie whispers fiercely. “I can post stuff too.”

Jordan snorts.

Robbie just waves him off, giving up and pulling Mark a little tighter against him. He closes his eyes, his hand still resting on Mark’s neck, staying right there with him.

The story ends and I finally breathe. I’m left staring at my phone, my hand tight around it.

It shouldn’t hurt like this. It shouldn’t mean anything. But it does.

Like Jordan said, it’s just like their coming-out picture the world loved so much, showing again their comfort, their love, their intimacy. And even more than that, it shows their friendship, the playfulness between them as a band. The easy jokes. The way Robbie pretends to complain but never lets go. The fact that the stories are still online, not deleted, proves it.

I rewatch the way Mark fits against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s what twists the knife. Not that Mark is on top of Robbie. Not even that they look close. But how natural it is. How safe it looks. How at home.

Like that is where he belongs. With Robbie, not with me.

I drop the phone onto the bed beside me and roll onto my back, blinking hard at the ceiling.

Is this what love is supposed to turn into?

I think about it for a while. I remember the first time I laid eyes on Mark, it was pure physical attraction. I’ve always wanted him in that way, I still do.

But what Mark has with Robbie isn’t just fire. It’s comfort. It’s history. It’s knowing where you belong.
And what I have with Josh is easy. It works. It doesn’t hurt.

I stare at the ceiling, my heart finally slowing, and I wonder if what I feel for Mark is really love, or if I just love wanting him. The what-if. What if he loved me back? What if I had him in my life? what would that be like?

But is that love?

Maybe love looks like falling asleep on someone’s chest. Choosing each other when nothing exciting is happening. Maybe that’s what love turns into. Not the spark. But the place you rest.

If that’s what love is… then maybe Josh and I are doing it right. Because I do feel safe with him.

And if it isn’t, if love is supposed to still feel like that electric pull, that ache, that wanting, then what does it say about me that I still feel it for someone I never even had?

I look at Josh asleep beside me, how steady he is, how good he is, how easy everything feels.

And yet. I don’t ache for him the way I ache right now.

I turn onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest, trying to ground myself, trying to breathe past the feeling. Maybe this is just nostalgia. Maybe it’s fantasy. Maybe I’m in love with a fantasy.

But the hurt feels real.

I look at Josh again. Even in his sleep, he looks like he’s smiling. The sheet hangs low on his waist, exposing his wide, smooth chest and his pajama bottoms.

I reach out to tap him on the shoulder, not sure why I’m doing it.

"Everything okay?" he asks after a few moments, startled out of his sleep. He turns to look at me.

"Yeah," I say, sitting up, my bare back against the headboard. "I just needed to talk to you about something."

He looks at me as though he wants to say 'Now?' but he doesn't.

“That sounds serious,” he says and rubs his face to wake himself up.

"Here's the thing," I begin, not really sure where I’m going. "I think you’re perfect. I know you are.”

“Thank you,” he says playfully.

“But ... well, I don't know if I’m in love with you."

His eyes open wider, fully awake now. He nods once and then smiles.

“Of course … ‘cause you’re in love with the guitarist,” he teases.

I laugh. He saw Jordan’s stories too earlier, he knows why I’m bringing this up.

"Let me get this straight," Josh says, his accent thick with sleepiness.  "You wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me that you’re not in love with me?"  he asks, looking at me like I’m nuts.

"Are you in love with me?" I ask.

"Uh," he says and takes his time answering. He rubs his face again. "I think I could be. Yeah, maybe I already am, I don’t know. I like you a lot. But to be honest with you Damien, I just don’t really overthink it. I don’t let myself…"

"That's kind of how I feel too," I interrupt, a bit shocked that he feels the same way.  "But isn’t that wrong? After all this time, shouldn't we know where we’re going?"

Josh rolls over onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows.

“Do you see a countdown clock floating above us or something?” he says gently. “We don’t have to be going anywhere. We can just be here. The rest will sort itself out.”

"You're saying if it's meant to be, it will be?"

“Exactly. Love doesn’t have to look like a movie,” he says. “Don’t convince yourself something’s wrong just because we’re comfortable. We can care about each other without needing fireworks, marriage, or a dramatic forever. You know how I feel about that.”

I laugh quietly. “I always thought being in love was supposed to feel like…”

“Like the guitarist,” Josh finishes with a chuckle.

I freeze.

“Damien,” he says softly, “that’s a crush. A fantasy. People fall in love with celebrities every day, it doesn’t make it real. He’s in love with someone else. That video made that pretty damn clear.”

“Yeah, it’s just I haven’t thought about him, like that, in so long, and now, maybe I want that with you.”

“Oh, you wish I would sleep on your chest,” he teases. “Or you want to sleep on mine?”

“You don’t get it.”

He smiles, still sleepy. “Fine. Then come here. You can sleep on my chest.”

I don’t answer and I don’t move.

Josh reaches out, his hand gentle, and slides me back down onto the bed.

“You want to pretend I’m him?” he says with a laugh.

He doesn’t care that I’m confessing my feelings for someone else. He doesn’t get jealous. He doesn’t make it a big deal. Probably because he knows, like he said, it’s just a fantasy.

But is it?

He kisses me passionately, making me feel like I’m drunk and I know what I have with him is good. He moves on top of me so that his body slid between my legs, and for the first time I begin to think that Josh might be someone to fall in love with. That I may even already be in love with him. And even though my mind drifts to what I cannot have, even though part of me still aches, part of me also rests.

We have sex again. It’s intimate, it’s sexy and it’s comfortable.

----------

A few months pass, and then it happens. The moment I’ve been waiting for without admitting I was waiting at all.

I get a text from a friend who knows about my thing for Mark, probably because I couldn’t stop talking about him for weeks on end.

"Mark Emery is in New York. Alex saw him yesterday. Just thought you’d like to know. He wasn’t with any of his bandmates either… just him ;)"

My head starts spinning immediately. I don’t even know why, he just does that to me.

I don’t sit with the information long. I call Alex. We’ve been working together a lot lately, close enough that I know he won’t think the question is strange.

He confirms it. He really did see Mark. He even had dinner with him, and he was alone. Alex tells me that he’s working on the band’s fourth album with Jimmy Wright. I know they’re supposed to release it in a few weeks so it seems normal but it still feels weird that he came alone. Alex tells me exactly where and when I can find him. I know Jimmy really well too so I call him next. I keep it casual and asks him what he’s up to. We chat a bit and he soon talks about Mark briefly. He’s been staying with him, they’re good friends and Mark didn’t want to stay at a hotel.

We talk about his 30th birthday party I’ve been invited to. I ask him if Mark will be there and he tells me that he might although he’ll be leaving soon.

His words keep replaying in my head. He didn’t hesitate when I asked. The confirmation sent my thoughts spiralling. For two years I convinced myself it was better not to know where Mark was or how he was doing.

Now suddenly I know exactly where he is, and when. Should I go? Should I try to see him again?

I pace my apartment for maybe thirty seconds before I give up pretending I’m not going to go. I don’t have a plan or a reason that sounds sane. I just have that familiar pull in my chest, the one I never managed to shake. The studio where he’s working isn’t far, and if he’s only a few blocks away… and by himself… I have to see him.

Some people would probably call it stalking. Maybe they wouldn’t be wrong. But I tell myself I just want a glimpse of him. Maybe exchange a few words. Enough to know he’s okay.

I know that’s a lie I tell myself. The truth is simpler and uglier.

I want to know if something is wrong with Robbie. I want to know if Mark is hurting. If the relationship is finally cracking. If Robbie has finally messed things up the way I always suspected he would.

When I reach the studio, I don’t go inside right away. I sit on the stairs instead, pretending to scroll through my phone while my eyes keep drifting to the sidewalk. Every passing stranger makes my pulse jump.

Then I see him.

And two years of trying to move on evaporate in a single breath. I realize those two years haven’t changed the effect he has on me at all. Somehow, I think he looks even better, a bit older, but he doesn’t look different, a faint stubble along his jaw that somehow makes him even more magnetic.

I can see the surprise in his face, the hesitation, the way he clearly hasn’t expected to find me there.

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, something stupid but honest enough to break the tension. I tell him I’m not stalking him, even though, technically, I kind of am.

I just look at him. Is he tired? Is he stressed? Is there something behind his eyes that wasn’t there before?

We talk about him being in New York and he tells me the band is taking a break, and every word only fuels my suspicion. A break this close to an album release doesn’t add up. It smells like burnout, like pressure, like everything isn’t as perfect as it’s supposed to be.

And then I test the question I’ve come for without asking it directly.

I watch his face carefully when Robbie comes up, when I ask him if he’s taking a break from him too. The pause. The look away. The tension in his jaw.

It isn’t the reaction of someone blissfully happy.

He confirms that something’s wrong when he tells me not to look so happy. I don’t even realize I am. But he also tells me that he’s still with him and that nothing has changed.

I try to keep things light, teasing and casual, even when all I want is to ask more questions. I offer coffee, offer help, offer time, anything to keep him there with me a little longer. I even mention Josh, making it clear I’m taken so he knows I’m only here as a friend.

But he’s already leaving, already putting up walls.

When he turns toward the studio door, it feels like losing him all over again.

But I know one thing for sure now. Something isn’t right in his life.
And for the first time in two years, I hope that maybe, just maybe, there is room for me in it.

---

A couple days later, when Josh comes home from work, he asks me about Mark. He shrugs off his jacket but keeps his shirt and tie. There’s something oddly exciting about being with a man who slips into a suit every morning.

“Good day at work, dear?” I say sarcastically. I always get a kick out of pretending to be a housewife.

“Yes, very productive. And you?” He drops onto the sofa. “Heard from the guitarist?” he asks, already knowing I worked with Alex all day.

“No. I didn’t bring him up, and Alex didn’t either. It’s probably best I move on from my celebrity crush,” I say, quoting him dramatically.

“No way. What makes you say that?”

“Fuck off.”

He grins, mischievous. “Didn’t you say something felt off with his relationship?”

“Yeah, but… that doesn’t mean he’s single. He made that pretty clear.”

Josh laughs.

“Why aren’t you even a little jealous that I went to see him?”

“Because I knew how it’d go. And because I’m confident you can’t do better than me.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I say, smiling.

“I told you Jimmy Wright’s thirtieth is this Saturday, right? and I got invited. And Mark is staying with him, so…”

“Ohhhh yeah.” His grin widened.” So are we going?”

“We?”

“Yeah, I want to see this guy in the flesh!”

I laugh. “There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“With all due respect,” he says. “I’m not the one lusting after a celebrity while my boyfriend is sitting right here looking incredible in a tie.”

I laugh. “So, why do you even encourage me to go?”

“Because if he crushes your dreams, I want front-row seats to pick up the pieces.”

“You only ever think about yourself.”

“Obviously,” he says, completely unapologetic.

I hesitate. “It’s tempting. He’ll probably be there. But honestly… I don’t think he wants to see me again.”

Josh leans back, hands behind his head. “I say we go. And you know what … I challenge you to suck his dick.”

I stare at him.

He burst out laughing. “What? I’m a nice guy.”

“Hm.”

I step closer to him and climb onto the sofa, straddling his thighs, bracing my hands beside him.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be nice. Maybe I want you to scream and shout and say that if I so much as say Mark’s name, you’ll throw yourself out the window.”

 “I couldn’t do that,” he smirks. “That would imply I care more about your life than my own.”

“Asshole.”

“And also, if he won’t let you suck his dick, I’ll let you suck mine… as much as you want.”

“Oh yeah, Such a nice guy.”

“Yeah, I’m not just an asshole.”

I lean down and kiss him. His lips are warm and full. His hands slide up my legs as I loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt, revealing his smooth, muscled chest. Then, I open his trousers and wrap my hand around his dick through his underwear.

“You want to practice,” he teases with a moan as I pull his hard dick out and let my thumb brush over the head.

“You think I need practice?”

“Well, I’m just saying…,” he says slowly, his voice sexy. “I mean… Robbie Myers sucks his dick, so…”

“Fuck off,” I laugh. He knows how I feel about Robbie. He knows I hate the guy, and he knows it’s only because I’m fucking jealous.

“You might need to impress him. Who knows, maybe Robbie Myers is bad at sucking dick.” He pauses. “It’s unlikely this guy is bad at anything, but…”

“Stop talking,” I order as I tighten my grip around his cock and give it a few tugs. I’m tempted to go down on him right then, but first I decide to enjoy his chest and press my lips against his skin, licking his right nipple, my hand slowly moving up and down his erection.

He places his hand under my chin and guides my mouth to his. The kiss he presses on my lips is passionate, his tongue wrapping around mine. I return it, and when I pull back, he keeps his hand on my face, forcing me to look at him. We lock eyes for a few seconds, and I see something in his gaze, lust, yes, but more than that. Something I’ve started noticing since I asked him if he was in love with me. I think he’s beginning to let his barrier down, and I feel myself doing the same.

My mouth returns to his cock and I swallow him completely and give him all I’ve got, but he doesn’t let me fully, He stops me before he comes too close to cumming. He grips my hair lightly and I feel that delicious mix of control and trust between us.

A few moments later, we’re in bed together, I’m on my back, being drilled by Josh’s dick. My own dick is hard as rock by this point, though Josh doesn’t seem particularly interested in it, aside from shifting his eyes from my abs where it lies, to his hard pole sliding in and out of me. 

I’m sweating way more than usual as I grip the sheets tighter. My hole is burning, and I’m trying to decide if that’s a good or bad thing. Josh is covered in sweat too and the muscles and veins in his neck bulge. I can feel his balls slapping against my ass, and inside me, I feel the head of his cock pressing hard against my prostate.

Precum begins dribbling out of my cock. "Fuck," I moan and Josh starts putting more of his weight on me, practically pinning my knees against my shoulders as he licks the sweat off my chest.

"Oh fuck, yeah," he practically cries as he jerks against me. I release my grip on the sheets and grab his muscular back, feeling him begin to orgasm inside me.  He thrusts against me quickly, moaning in high-pitched tones as he comes hard, which makes me want to cum as well. I reach my hand down between us and start jerking my cock. As I feel his load pour deep inside me, I come as well, yelling out as my cum splashes between us.

Josh keeps moaning and thrusting, his eyes closed tight and I keep my grip on his him. Then he groans, his head tipping back toward the ceiling before he collapses against me. I lie there, my skin still tingling from the friction. I bring my hand to his hair. Feeling my touch, I can feel him start shifting, sliding out of me, forcing me to give a slight groan.

Then he rolls off and hops out of bed. He disappears into the bathroom and I struggle to catch my breath as the cool air hits me, the warmth of his body on me gone too fast.

He comes back from the bathroom a few moments later, sitting up in the bed, lighting up a cigarette.
“Don’t smoke in my bedroom, it’s gonna smell like cold tobacco tomorrow morning,” I say, staring at the ceiling.

“Come on. Let’s live like rock stars.” He brings it to my lips. I take a drag and blow the smoke upward.

“You know the only time I ever smoke is when I’m with you.”

“Happy to help,” he laughs.

We lie in silence for a moment.

“So,” Josh says finally, “Talking about living like rockstars, should I make myself available saturday night?”

I just shake my head. I can’t believe he’s talking about this again, especially now. It’s strange how direct he is, never jealous, never threatened.

I shrug. “I don’t even know what’s going on with him,” I said softly. “I just feel like … I don’t know, I want him to know that I still…”

“Want him?” Josh finishes.

“Like him.”

“Want him.”

I exhale slowly, my eyes fixed on the ceiling again. I know I’m going to go. I know he’s going to shut me down. I know I’m going to get hurt.

I can already feel it, the tight chest, the sinking stomach, the quiet hope I pretend I don’t have.

Because every time I see him, I fall straight back into him. It’s like I have no control over my own heart. Like everything I’ve built without him collapses the second he’s in front of me.

I hate myself for it. Hate the way my breath catches when he smiles, hate the way my pulse spikes when he laughs, hate the way my mind runs to him when it should know better.

I have no idea why I keep doing this to myself. Why I walk back into something that I know will hurt me.

But I do. Every time.

And maybe… maybe I need to try one last time. Even knowing it will break me all over again.

---

So, I go to Jimmy Wright’s 30th and Mark is there. I find him helping out the catering staff in the kitchen, of course he is.

Josh is with me. I introduce them, and naturally Josh embarrasses me before disappearing, leaving me alone with Mark.

We talk, and right away the conversation flows easily. When he tells me about his family, something clicks. We could have been friends - really, really good friends - if I hadn’t pushed for more, if I hadn’t been stupid enough to fall for him. I’m sure he would’ve liked that version of me. I’m sure part of him regrets that I wanted more than he could give.

I know it’s impossible now. And as the night goes on, that knowledge turns into urgency. I can’t be his friend, so what do I have to lose?

I watch him from across the room, laughing by the drinks table, hair damp from dancing, eyes bright in that way that always pulls me in no matter how hard I try to fight it.

Hours pass. Josh keeps daring me to do something. Eventually, I stop pretending I won’t.

I go to Mark, slide in close, wrap an arm around his waist before I can overthink it. His body stiffens for half a second, then he doesn’t pull away. He stays.

That tiny moment of not being pushed away filled me with stupid hope.

I lean in close to his ear, let him feel what I’m doing, guiding his attention toward the stairs. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we could finally talk, or maybe stop pretending.

Then I walk away without waiting, not knowing if he’ll follow, knowing I want too much again.

I step into the upstairs bathroom. A moment later, Mark comes in and closes the door behind him.

The noise of the party disappears and finally, it’s just us, in a small, dim space that suddenly feels too intimate.

He looks nervous and flushed from dancing, breathing a little too fast.

God, he’s beautiful.

I search his face, trying to read him. For a second neither of us speaks. We just stare at each other, and I can feel everything I’ve been trying to control rising up again and the longer I look at him, the harder it becomes to breathe.

I wonder what this is for him. Another goodbye? Another line he needs to draw? Or finally a chance?

I don’t like his first words. He tells me he didn’t follow me up here for what I want. And the only thing I manage to say back is how exhausted I am from the way he makes me feel.

Honestly the tension becomes unbearable. It feels like something inside me snaps.

One second I’m standing there, the next I’m in front of him, hands in his hair, pulling him into me, my mouth on his. I kiss him hard, not gentle, not careful. Everything I’ve been holding back spills out at once. I push him against the wall, needing him close, needing this to be real.

He freezes for a heartbeat but I feel him respond.

And that’s it. Heat rushes through me so fast I almost can’t think and it almost make my knees weak. This is what I’ve wanted for so long, his lips, his body responding, the proof that it isn’t just in my head.

When he pushes me away, reality crashes back in.

I stand there breathing hard, hands still tingling from touching him.

And I see it clearly, it isn’t that one-sided. He is attracted to me, he doesn’t even deny it, even if it’s not enough to choose me.

I force myself to slow down, to stop chasing him with my body and try to reach him with the truth I’ve been holding in for months.

That I love him. That maybe he doesn’t love Robbie as much as he wants to believe. I know even as I say it that it’s a lie but I try anyway, I know he loves him completely. But I tell him that he could chose me, that he could give me a chance.

I brush a kiss against his cheek, testing the boundary again. I see fear there, not rejection. Fear of wanting something that would change everything.

When I kiss him again, he resists only for a second before melting into me.

That’s all it takes.

Relief and desire surges through me as we kiss deeply, urgently. I hold his face like I’m afraid he’ll vanish, memorizing the feel of him, knowing this is the only time I’ll ever get him like this. His body presses close, responding even while his mind keeps trying to pull away.

For a few perfect seconds, nothing else exists. No party. No boyfriend. No consequences.

Just us.

My lips and my hands move without thinking, I kiss his face, his jaw, his throat as I unbutton his shirt and start reaching for the button of his jeans, desperate to keep the moment alive. I can feel how close he is to giving in completely as my hands caress his toned chest.

And God, I want him to.

And I don’t just want his body. I want his life. His mornings. His future. I want to be the one he choses.

When he stops me, the firmness in his voice hits harder than anything before.

This isn’t hesitation. This is a decision.

I search his face for doubt. For something I can fight. But there’s nothing there. He’s sure.

And it finally lands. I can make him want me, but I can’t make him choose me. I can’t make him leave the life he already has.

Every word he says after that hurts. The band. His career. The years with Robbie. That life he loves so much and that doesn’t include me.

Being with me would mean destroying everything.

And he won’t do it.

I’ve always known that but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I look down, jaw tight, trying to breathe through the ache. Wanting him has always been easy. Accepting that I’ll never be chosen is the impossible part.

Still, I step closer one last time. My thumb brushes his cheek and I kiss his hand softly, like a goodbye I’m not ready to say.

He pulls away gently but firmly.

There’s nothing left to fight.

So I kiss him once more, slow and careful now, not hungry, just aching. A kiss full of everything we’ll never be.

When I pull back, his eyes are glossy, and my chest feels hollow.

I tell him I hope he’ll be happy with Robbie, even though the thought of Robbie giving him that happiness still makes me jealous. Still, deep down, I know he truly belongs with him.

Then I walk out and this time, I don’t look back.

The noise of the party rushes in again. Josh sees me and starts asking questions. I just tell him we’re leaving and he follows me without pushing. But once in the corridor he stops me.

“So… you stayed up there a long time, I can’t believe he followed you.”

“See, you lost the bet!” I say, pressing the elevator button.

I stay silent as we wait for it. I’m not quite over what just happened and I think Josh knows better than to fill the silence.

When the elevator doors open, we step inside. I lean against a wall and Josh does the same, facing me. I don’t look at him.

“Well,” he says, unable to help himself, “did you suck his dick?”

I shake my head.

“What happened then?”

I finally look at him, and suddenly wish I could feel for him what I feel for Mark. And then I realize… I can, if I let myself. He sees it too, in my eyes. I watch him studying my gaze, as if trying to read every thought behind it.

“This,” I say, and close the distance, pulling him into a kiss.

I kiss him hard. Desperately. With the same intensity I gave Mark.

I can tell he’s a little lightheaded. I don’t think I’ve ever kissed him like this, with that much urgency, that much need.

When I pull away, he looks at me, stunned, breathless, but hungry. Then he kisses me back and finally lets go too. There’s more passion between us than there ever has been before, like something he’s been holding down just broke loose.

We’re at a loss for words when the elevator doors open. There’s no one there. Neither of us moves.

The doors slide shut again and his hand slips into my jeans. He starts jerking me and I know immediately I’m not going to last. My body is already too far gone, Mark had me completely worked up, all that tension, the release I never got… and now Josh.

I kiss him hungrily, my mouth everywhere, on his lips, on his face, as his hand moves faster. The orgasm hits hard and sudden, ripping through me before I can even catch my breath. I come in his hand, my mouth still on his, my whole body shaking.

After a few seconds, he whispers, “I don’t even have any pieces to pick up, do I?”

“No,” I say quietly. “I’m done. I know I can’t have him. It’s okay, it was always impossible, just a fantasy. But you’re real.”

“I am,” he simply says, his eyes saying everything.

“Shit,” I say, as he tries to clean his hand with my underwear.

“Let’s go home,” I laugh, “I can’t leave you like this.” My hand slides against him, feeling how hard he is.

“My place or yours?” he asks.

We look into each other’s eyes and I think we both have the same thought.

He says it before I do. “My place. It’s better than yours,” he laughs.

“Asshole,” I say playfully.

“Or… we could call it our place. Would you like that?”

I smile and nod.

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