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Blake is still on cloud nine when he makes his way backstage of the studio, retrieving his phone from his trailer that he had accidentally left behind earlier before heading out to the wrap party.
He’s still reeling from the announcement that Craig was the winner of the season and is practically bouncing as he walks towards the back door with his phone and keys in hand, ready to finally go home after a long string of celebrations.
His hand is on the door and he’s about to step outside when he hears it—a soft sniffling noise coming from behind him somewhere to his left.
He freezes and releases the door handle, every muscle in his body tensing as he registers the quiet noises as the sound of someone crying and trying very hard not to be loud about it, which is heartbreaking and confusing for a number reasons—who could be so upset on such a wonderful night? One of the other contestants? Were they upset that they had lost?
Except he’s the only one left in the studio aside from the cleaning crew and they’re all still out on the stage sweeping up confetti.
He frowns and decides the only way to find out is to force his feet to move and investigate. It would be easy for him to pretend he never heard anything and just go home but he’s never been that heartless and if a contestant really has snuck back on set to mourn over their loss, he knows he won’t be able to just sit aside and do nothing.
He sneaks back the way he came and strains to hear the noises again, to pinpoint exactly where they’re coming from.
A quick pained gasp alerts him to the correct location and before he can think to do anything otherwise, Blake is moving and making his way towards the dark corner where the noise came from.
He has to maneuver his way around some old recording equipment and empty boxes before he can see anything but once he does and his eyes adjust to the low lighting, his heart nearly cracks right in half at the sight.
It’s not a contestant who’s crying or an overwhelmed production assistant or anyone else that Blake might have expected to be sitting alone in a dark corner in the middle of the night bawling their eyes out.
No, instead, it’s Adam.
The rock star is sitting on the floor with his legs curled up against his chest and his arms on his knees, face buried in his sleeves as he continues to let out little harsh broken noises, unaware that Blake is standing in front of him and gaping at him like a fish out of water.
He’s long since changed out of his suit from the live show and is wearing a ridiculously large sweater and his trademark skinny jeans, and he looks incredibly tiny as he’s pressed in the corner and huddling into himself like he’s trying to make himself smaller, trying to hide.
Blake struggles to find words to let Adam know of his presence but he can only stare in shock, unable to wrap his head around the fact that his best friend—his cocky, confident, slightly ridiculous best friend—is apparently so miserable about something that he opted to hide himself in a dark corner instead of seeking the solitary confinement of his trailer or his dressing room, or even his own damn house.
He had seen Adam just an hour before at the wrap party and he seemed fine then, joking and laughing with everyone and Blake had watched from the sidelines as Adam and Behati clung to each other and never separated for even a moment, her arm always wrapped around his waist or holding onto his hand tightly with her fingers.
She’s not here now, and Adam is crying and Blake shifts on his feet as he tries to figure out what to do. He’d eventually lost sight of both of them at the party but didn’t pay it much attention at the time but now he wonders, thinks back and tries to remember if they were fighting or if something had happened but in the end he comes up short for an actual reason for Adam to be this upset.
He feels his own breathing hitch when Adam lets out another shuddering gasp and hugs himself even more tightly, his entire body shuddering as he curls in on himself and hugs his knees.
Blake’s mouth is dry and his voice is absolutely wrecked when he’s finally able to speak.
“Adam?” he breathes out in a rush, immediately kneeling down so that he’s at the same level as his friend.
Adam twitches so hard at the sound of Blake’s voice that he thumps his head against the wall after he raises it too fast when he tries to see who’s in front of him. When he realizes it’s Blake he blinks rapidly and scrubs at his face with his sleeves, trying to wipe away the mess of tears as if he thinks Blake hasn’t seen them already.
“Sorry, sorry,” Adam croaks, his voice clogged with tears as he wipes his face and looks anywhere but at Blake. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and are still wet because Adam is still crying—still making little hitched noises with his breath because he’s been crying so hard for so long that his body doesn’t know how to stop no matter how hard he tries.
It breaks Blake’s heart to see him like this and he flounders for a moment as he tries to think of the right thing to say, the right words to bring comfort to his friend who so obviously and desperately needs it. He has no idea what could be wrong because he’s seen Adam experience heartbreak and failure and rejection and sometimes all three at once but even through all of that, he’s never seen him cry, has never seen him look so completely torn apart before.
He reaches out with his hand and it feels like a slap to the face when Adam flinches away from him, pressing himself back against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut, looking so stiff and uncomfortable that Blake feels like maybe Adam doesn’t want him here, that maybe he made a mistake in assuming Adam would want his help.
But it’s too late now, he tells himself, and tries to swallow past the lump in his throat as more tears leak out of Adam’s eyes, clinging to his lashes and rolling down his cheeks in large drops.
“Adam,” he tries again, keeping his voice quiet, “What is it, buddy? What’s wrong?”
Adam shakes his head and gasps and runs his hands through his hair, elbows on his knees as he tries to focus and calm himself down before he manages to make an even bigger fool of himself in front of Blake.
Blake notices how he’s trying to pull himself together and makes a noise of sympathy, reaching out again because the need to touch and comfort is so overwhelming that it knocks aside his better judgment, his fleeting notions that Adam doesn’t want him around and instead it makes him act on instinct. He’s always expressed his happiness and elation through physical touch and it’s been no different when he tries to console relatives or his friends—he needs to touch, to hold and bring comfort because it’s the one thing that feels completely natural to him, feels so incredibly right.
Adam doesn’t flinch this time when Blake rests both his hands on either side of his neck—instead, Adam sighs and bows his head and blinks at the floor underneath him, his breath still coming in uneven puffs that leave Blake feeling like he’s on the verge of his own panic attack.
“It’s nothing,” Adam says at last, his voice so tiny and weak that it betrays the confidence in his tone. “I’m… I’m fine.”
Blake frowns and uses his fingers to run through the length of Adam’s hair and then trail back down to touch his face delicately. “You’re not fine,” he whispers and notes with some relief that Adam leans into his touch a little instead of shying away, “You’re not okay, buddy, and I want to know why.”
Adam laughs—a bitter, sardonic noise that cuts into Blake’s chest like a knife, twisting his heart and his gut and making him feel dangerously out of his element because he’s never had to deal with this before. He’s never had to see Adam like this before and it’s killing him because he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to make it better.
“I’m fine,” Adam stresses and he sounds more hysterical than anything else, “I’m fine, man, I’m just being stupid is all. It’s okay—I’ll… I’ll be okay.”
Blake shakes his head stubbornly. Adam might be willing to brush this off, but he’s not.
The misery on his face alone is enough to make Blake want to fight tooth and nail to fix whatever is wrong and make it better.
“Please,” he begs, letting his tone convey just how desperate he is to repair the damage that has been dealt to his friend. “Please let me help you. Tell me what’s wrong. I want to help you.”
Adam’s face crumbles and he buries his face in his arms, scooting until his back is tucked in the corner again.
“I’m not—” Adam gasps from somewhere inside the crook of his arm, voice shaking so bad that it’s a struggle to even get the words out, “I can’t explain this to you… I… I just c-can’t—”
“You can try,” Blake assures him quietly, confidently.
It takes a moment but Adam finally looks at him with watery, red-rimmed eyes. He looks resigned and defeated, like all the fight has left him in a rush and now he’s too tired to do anything but stare at Blake with wide, miserable hazel-green eyes, biting his lip and betraying the only hint of nervousness that he’s feeling.
“Adam,” Blake tries again when it looks like Adam isn’t going to say anything else, “You know you can tell me anything, right? You know I’m here for you no matter what. If you’re in pain, I want to help you. I can’t stand seeing you like this, Adam. It kills me that you’re hurting and I can’t do anything about it. I just—”
“Are you?” Adam interrupts him, staring down at the floor as he fidgets with his wedding ring.
Blake blinks in surprise. “Am I what?”
“Here for me.”
The question takes him by surprise—how could Adam even doubt that?
His eyes burn and he rushes forward, enveloping Adam in his arms and holding him tight. “Of course,” he whispers into the younger man’s hair, feeling grateful when Adam clings to him instead of pushing him away, “Of course I am, Adam—gosh, how could you even think otherwise?”
He looks down in time to see Adam sniffle and tuck his face into Blake’s jacket to hide in.
“I told you I’m stupid,” he says after a minute, his words muffled but no less dejected than before.
Blake pulls back and kisses Adam on the forehead and wipes his still-wet cheeks with the pads of this thumbs. “You’re not,” he promises and leaves a second kiss on Adam’s hairline. Adam shows little resistance and merely lets out a little sigh as he wriggles and repositions himself so that he’s leaned against Blake’s side, his head tucked under his chin.
Blake thinks vaguely that they would make quite the odd picture—both of them snuggled together in the darkest corner of the studio, one of them crying and other trying his hardest not to do the same—but chooses not to dwell on it because Adam still needs him and he knows he will have plenty of time later to think about tonight.
He wraps an arm around Adam and leans back against the wall with a sigh of his own, legs splayed out in front of him because they were starting to get stiff from being in his kneeled position for too long.
He presses Adam close to his side and tries not to pay attention to the little harsh noises that Adam is still making as he tries to pull himself together. He wants to ask again, wants to plead for Adam to tell him what’s wrong so Blake can take care of it—take care of him—but the more dominant, protective side of him doesn’t want to push the issue and make it worse if Adam isn’t ready.
He’s made his case; all he can do is wait and see if Adam opens up to him.
If he doesn’t, then—well—Blake will just have to keep an eye on him.
It’s a long while before Adam’s quiet sniffling dies down but once it does, it makes little difference because when Blake looks over at him his face is still etched with pain and guilt and embarrassment and a dozen other emotions that are so fleeting Blake has to wonder if he’s only imagined some of them.
When Adam speaks, it’s with that same broken little voice that Blake has never heard in his friend before and it leaves him promising to himself that he’ll make sure he never hears it again after tonight.
“I just feel like an idiot,” Adam admits quietly, the self-deprecation clearly evident in his voice, “I keep screwing things up and I don’t know how to do better. Every year I put everything I have into this show and never… never get anything to show for it.”
The last part he confesses after a moment of hesitation, like he’s too nervous to say the words out loud.
Blake reaches out and squeezes his hand. “Is this about tonight?” he asks worriedly, afraid that maybe Adam is taking the loss harder than anyone thought he would. He’s seen the younger man lose in the past and he’s never seemed this broken up about it—but then again, Blake would have walked straight past him earlier had it not been for the quiet undisguised noises Adam was making that Blake had happened to overhear. It’s an alarming thought to think that he might have done just that in the past—walked right on by while Adam suffers, heartbroken and alone.
He hopes that wasn’t the case and that this is an isolated incident—otherwise he’s going to feel like a massive dick.
Adam swallows thickly. “I told you it was stupid,” he says.
“You’ve won twice, buddy,” Blake reminds him gently, “That has to count for something.”
Adam lets out another one of those bitter chuckles that Blake has recently come to hate. “It doesn’t,” is all he says.
Blake sighs and tries for another tactic. “You know you did all you could for your team, Adam. I saw you pour all your energy into your guys this year. There’s nothing you could have done differently. You did your best.”
He knows immediately that his words have struck a nerve because Adam tenses against him suddenly.
“I do my best every goddamn year,” Adam says at length, practically vibrating with the anger he feels towards himself, “and it’s never enough. I do my absolute best and it still amounts to fucking nothing.”
Blake tries to intervene but Adam is on a roll and continues talking, a bitter edge lacing his words, “I mean, what kind of a fucking idiot has three contestants in the finale and still loses? I’m like the shittiest coach ever but people still keep choosing me, keep expecting me to change their lives when all I fucking do is screw it up instead. And every year I think it’ll be different but it never is, and it always fucking bites.”
Adam wipes furiously at his eyes when he finishes talking and Blake sits there feeling like someone has punched him in the stomach repeatedly, self-loathing creeping up inside of him as he remembers all the times he’s called Adam a bad coach on live television, teased him mercilessly for his song choices and telling the whole wide world that it was a problem when Adam got involved with his team—that it was all Adam’s fault when they lost the competition because he wasn’t doing a good enough job.
Fuck, he wants to kick himself now.
“I know it’s stupid,” Adam says again, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes, “It’s so fucking stupid but you… even you always boast about how fun it is when I lose and how it’s always my fault and—and I know you’re only joking but it still fucking hurts because it’s true and I’m never good enough for my team and I just…” he trails off and shakes his head, his resolve starting to crumble as he lets the final admission slip from his lips. “Sometimes I just think it would be better if I wasn’t here at all.”
He lets out one last strangled little noise and buries his face in his knees again, deliberately hiding himself from view as if his confession is too humiliating for him to even be looking at Blake.
Blake feels blindsided, like someone has slapped him in the face a dozen times without warning and then kicked him in the stomach for good measure. His heart pounds and he feels a cold numbness spreading through him as he takes it all in and tries desperately to not fucking cry because all this time—all this fucking time—every teasing word and personal jab he’s ever made at Adam’s expense has hit home, has added to the piles and piles of insecurities that Adam already had in the first place.
And now he’s been crying for God knows how long, sobbing in the corner of the studio and too afraid to even look at Blake for fear of what he might see, for fear of what other harsh words he might hear from the country singer because it’s clear at this point that Adam has just merely accepted the fact that Blake is going to hurt him with words—and that makes Blake want to shoot his own face off more than anything else.
He had tried to fight his initial reaction after Adam’s confession but now he embraces it and gently pulls Adam into his lap and wraps his arms around his slender frame, holding onto him more tightly than he ever has before. Adam burrows into him, clutching at Blake’s jacket like it’s his only lifeline and he starts crying so hard his entire body shakes with the effort.
There’s so much anguish pouring out of him that Blake can practically feel it seeping into his own skin, making his own eyes well up with tears as he cradles his friend against his body and acknowledges how tiny and vulnerable Adam suddenly feels in his arms. He’s not used to this and the worry he feels is like nothing he’s ever felt before.
He’s more accustomed to the bouncy little fellow that climbs on the back of chairs and lays on the floor of the studio when he’s bored and responds to all of Blake’s quips with one of his own, chatting animatedly with anyone who will listen and laughing and smiling the whole time.
The man crying in his lap is someone Blake has never seen before and someone he desperately wishes to never see again, someone that Blake will do anything to keep from reappearing in the future because it aches to see him like this. It fucking hurts and it’s even worse that Blake knows he’s part of the reason for it.
He wants to stab himself a thousand times over for not noticing the pain he’s been causing and wants to shake Adam for not telling him about it sooner.
He does neither, and instead simply holds onto Adam as the younger man shakes himself to pieces in his arms, rubs soothingly at his back and whispers hushed reassurances when Adam’s gasps get so violent he’s borderline hyperventilating.
There’s so much he wants to say but he needs to find the right words before he does.
He can’t screw this up, refuses to let it even be a possibility.
Adam’s tears have soaked through his shirt on his shoulder and when Adam finally pulls away after several long moments, he tries to apologize profusely and squirm out of Blake’s arms, embarrassment taking over once more.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Adam gasps and wriggles, pushing uselessly at Blake as he tries to dislodge himself. “I’m so—”
Blake throws all caution to the wind and cuts him off and kisses him, pressing his lips firmly against Adam’s and smirking with delight when Adam makes a cute surprised little noise and stops struggling, practically melting back into Blake’s lap.
He does it to make Adam shut up and breathe but when Adam relaxes and kisses him back like he’s starving for it, Blake wonders why he never did this years ago when he had multiple chances to do so because kissing Adam feels like the last piece of a very complicated puzzle sliding into place and he doesn’t know how he’s gone this long without it.
Blake pulls back at last, smoothing a hand through Adam’s hair and pecking him on the nose where it’s rosy red and heated from all the crying and blushing he’s done in the last thirty minutes.
Adam sniffs and looks at him with confused wonder. “Blake, why—”
Blake shushes him and kisses him on both cheeks, noting with satisfaction how Adam shivers again but for entirely different reasons than before. He wipes away Adam’s tears for what feels like the millionth time and presses one last lingering kiss to his brow before standing up with Adam still in his arms.
Adam jerks with the sudden movement but makes no move to get down and wraps his legs around Blake’s waist, his arms around his neck and tucks his face into his shoulder, hiding again.
Blake walks them to his truck outside because when he tells Adam everything he wants to tell him he doesn’t want it to be in that dark corner that will forever be mentally marked in Blake’s brain with Adam’s tears.
He’s screwed up so bad and when he tries to make all of it better, it needs to be right.
So he steps out into the night and crosses the parking lot with Adam clinging to him like he thinks Blake is going to drop him.
He deposits the younger man in the passenger seat of his truck and Adam doesn’t even ask questions, merely huffs at him but stays absolutely still, curled up against the door when Blake closes it and looking decidedly snug in his big sweater and tiny jeans.
Blake makes it a point not to drive in L.A. but he’s certainly not incapable of doing so, and tells Adam just as much when the front man makes a quiet yet scathing comment about red lights and body bags.
The ride to Adam’s place is silent other than the low tune of the radio and Adam softly telling him that Behati won’t be at home when Blake asks because she had a modeling event she had to attend and wouldn’t be back until next week. Blake nods and after that, neither of them make an attempt to break the silence because it’s not an uncomfortable one and they’re both too consumed in their own thoughts anyways.
Blake steals a few glances when he trusts himself to take his eyes off the road and notices that Adam still looks like a hot mess but at least he’s not crying anymore, which brings him some relief.
Adam is half-dozing by the time Blake pulls into the driveway and he has to rouse the younger man and can barely suppress a smile when Adam yawns and scrubs at his face with his sleeves. He looks exhausted and Blake makes a mental note to get him to bed soon.
Bones and Charlie greet them at the door, tails wagging enthusiastically as they sniff and lick both their hands. Adam makes a beeline for the couch and flops down onto it unceremoniously while Blake continues onward to the kitchen, deciding that he needs to make himself useful.
He rummages through cabinets and drawers until he finds an empty mug and some chamomile tea that he hopes will calm Adam down and relax him a little more.
As soon as the water is boiled and saturated with crushed tea leaves, Blake makes his way back to the living room and feels his heart clench at the sight of Adam slumped on the couch and looking more sleepier and uncomfortable than Blake has ever seen him before.
He perks up, though, when he sees Blake re-enter the room and takes the mug of tea from him, peering into it with some suspicion.
“There’s no alcohol in it,” Blake says and sits down on the coffee table, “I promise.”
At that, Adam takes a small sip and hums his pleasure before setting it aside to let it cool down.
He’s sitting cross-legged and somehow looks both miserable and bewildered as he stares up at Blake with wide, incredulous eyes.
Blake lets the silence fill the room for a few minutes longer, scratching Charlie behind the ears when she comes padding over to say hello. He still isn’t entirely sure what he wants to say to Adam but he knows it’s now or never because the more time that passes by, the more uncertain Adam is looking and the last thing Blake wants to do is to make him feel even worse.
Feeling a little ridiculous but equally determined, he gets down on his knees in front of Adam and takes both his hands in his own much larger ones, squeezing them together and rubbing his thumbs across Adam’s knuckles. “Adam,” he says in the most clear and precise voice he can manage, “I’m an idiot and I’m sorry.”
Adam looks like someone took his puppy and he shakes his head wildly, desperately, gripping Blake’s fingers. “No, no, Blake, I told you, I’m just being stupid. You’re not—”
“I am,” Blake says firmly and offers a smile, trying to let Adam know that he’s not angry, not at all. “I’m an asshole and a giant dick and a terrible friend. I never meant to hurt you, we both know that, but I did and there’s not a single part of me that doesn’t wish I could take it all back and start over. I would never hurt you on purpose, Adam. It kills me to even think about all the pain I’ve caused you but you have to understand that it was never intentional, that I never meant a single word of it.”
As he speaks, Blake carefully watches for Adam’s reaction, plowing onward when he notices that Adam still looks increasingly doubtful.
“You’re too important to me, Adam,” he continues, “You’re so important to all of us and you don’t even realize how much we all love you, how much we adore you. I mean, gosh,” he reaches up and touches Adam’s face with his fingertips, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotion, “what would I do without you, huh? If you were gone, what would I do?”
Adam blinks at him and smiles shyly. “Drink less?” he offers.
Blake barks out a laugh, surprised but grateful that Adam is making jokes. “That might be true,” he admits, “Mostly, though, I think I’d just be lost.”
He waits for a moment and tries to let that sink into Adam’s brain—his beautiful, beautiful brain that holds so much creativity and imagination but lets the front man doubt himself at every turn, lets his insecurities get the best of him while he puts on a cocky smile and pretends that everything is fine.
Long moments pass and Adam is looking down at their joined hands, his brow furrowed as if he’s trying to make sense of what Blake had said, as if the words were too unbelievable for him to wrap his head around.
Blake feels his heart break once more and he uses his hand to force Adam to meet his gaze. “You’re my best friend,” he says, realizing he’s never said it out loud before, that Adam has shouted it to the world multiple times on national television that Blake is his best friend but Blake himself has never mentioned it, never once returned the words and assured the front man of his place in his life. He always just assumed that Adam knew and took it for granted.
The same thing must occur to Adam because he’s silent for a long while and then his eyes are suddenly welling up and he launches himself forward, wrapping his arms around the country singer’s neck and burrowing deep into his shoulder.
“Thank you,” Adam whispers in a rough voice and Blake tightens his hold on the younger man, pressing a kiss to that spot below his ear that his lips always seems to gravitate towards when they’re in this position.
They sit for a few minutes longer in silence with Adam clinging to him and Blake rubbing small circles on his back.
When Adam finally pulls back and offers him a tiny smile, Blake pecks him on the nose.
“Drink your tea,” he orders and musses Adam’s hair, smirking when Adam bats his hand away with a soft laugh and sprawls back out on the couch, reaching for his now-cooled tea and downing half of it in one swallow.
When he’s done Blake takes the empty mug back to the kitchen and rinses it out and takes a quick bathroom break.
It’s a few minutes before he comes back but when he finally does, he smiles and feels a warmth spread through his chest because Adam is curled up on the couch fast asleep with Bones tucked snug against his side, his arms loosely wrapped around his furry body. Charlie lay similarly on the floor, her tail thumping against the hardwood when she catches sight of Blake approaching.
He stays quiet and simply watches the scene in front of him with a familiar ache in his chest. He still can’t believe how much of a royal fuck-up he is and how damn good Adam is at hiding his own pain because it’s been years and Blake has never once even suspected.
This won’t change them. He knows that for sure because they’re both too competitive and they like talking shit far too much to ever actually stop doing it. He’ll always give Adam a hard time because that’s what they do; they’re achingly sweet one moment and obnoxiously rude the next and he doesn’t think either of them will be able to stop even if they try, not even after the events of tonight.
The only difference now is Blake knows he needs to be a little more careful in the future, be more mindful of the words that come out of his mouth and the impact they might have.
He knows he’s an asshole but he promises himself to work on it, to maybe be a little less of an asshole when it comes to Adam’s skills as a coach because now that he knows the younger man is oddly sensitive about that particular subject, he’ll be sure to stay clear of it.
Adam is a wonderful coach and Blake wishes he knew that and believed it.
He looks down and Adam is breathing deep and even, looking more relaxed than Blake has seen him in hours.
He doesn’t want Adam to wake up and think that he left him alone, wants Adam to know that he’ll come back later to check on him, so he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it across Adam’s smaller body, the fabric swallowing him whole as the front man curls up under it and lets out a tiny sigh of appreciation.
Blake lets out a sigh of his own and leans down to press one last gentle kiss to Adam’s temple, his fingers running through the dark strands of hair as he whispers goodnight and reminds himself to never be an insensitive jackass again.
But if he ever is, he’ll gladly let Adam punch him in the face for it.