Chapter Text
When Blake first stepped into the The Voice stage with Adam—a lifetime ago, it seems—he never expected that they’d be back together like this.
He sneaks a glance over at the younger man, who is busy tuning his guitar backstage. They make quite the odd pair: Blake in his faded blue jeans, grey plaid shirt, and black suede vest; Adam in his snug leather pants and his fitted white cotton shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to show his toned, tattooed arms.
Even the guitars they have chosen to use for tonight’s performance are essentially different. Blake listens as the metal strings of Adam’s acoustic guitar produce a clear, bright tone that he knows will highlight the younger man’s falsetto well, in the same way that the softer, mellow sound of the nylon strings of his own classical guitar will complement the twang and timbre of his baritone.
He’s still in a state of disbelief at the absurdity of what they are about to do. Their managers had thought they were crazy. Adam had thought it was ingenious.
“But you two don’t sound anything alike at all!”
“That’s exactly why it’s brilliant!”
Blake shakes his head at the memory of that disastrous pre-production meeting. He never expected that he and Adam would ever attempt to harmonize, because their music couldn’t be any more different from each other. He’s country to the core, while Adam has always leant more towards pop-rock. When they were invited back for The Voice’s benefit concert, they had both already agreed to separately do a medley of their own individual songs.
But then Adam had to come up with the insane idea that they perform it live as a mashup.
Together.
“This,” Blake remembers saying, half-resigned and half-amused as their managers had looked on in horror when NBC actually approved, “will either blow the ratings out of the water, or make us all jobless by the end of the night.”
“Either way,” Adam had grinned at him, “it’s going to be legendary.”
Blake is jolted out of his recollections when Carson signals that they are about to go live in a few seconds. He takes a deep breath and slings his guitar strap over his shoulder. From his peripheral vision, he sees Adam doing the same as the younger man moves to stand beside him.
“Ready, big country?”
Blake catches Adam gazing at him, and the way his features visibly soften when their eyes meet makes Blake’s heart ache.
“Whenever you are, rock star.”
The stage lights brighten as they step out onstage. They strum their guitars as one, and the crowd roars.
Adam’s music is usually upbeat, while his own tends to flow sedately, but tonight they meet somewhere in the middle as Adam slows his rhythm and Blake picks up his. Blake’s eyes flicker upwards from Adam’s hands—strumming and sliding in unison to his—and the way Adam is intently watching him warms Blake’s cheeks.
The corner of Adam’s mouth lifts in a small smile. He inclines his head as a signal, and Blake takes it as his cue to begin singing.
When Adam’s voice follows and layers Blake’s deep rumble with his own smooth tenor, Blake shivers at how it sounds—and feels—so damn right.
The deafening noise of the arena fades into the background as Blake closes his eyes… and remembers.
It began on a night like this.
I never thought you'd pick up the phone
It's Friday night you should be out on the town
Here I am waiting
I'll have to leave soon
Didn't think you'd be
Sitting at home all alone like me
Why am I holding on?
It had been the night before the final results show, and all the tension had finally melted out of Blake’s bones. There had been nothing left to do except to wait for the announcement of the winner the following night. The actual competition was over, and all of them had turned in early after rehearsing for the encore performances they would be doing with some big-name musicians in the industry.
Blake should have felt relieved to finally have the free time he had once so badly craved. He had really missed his family and friends, and he had been happily surprised when they flew in to LA all the way from Oklahoma to support him and cheer for him. It had given him the courage and strength to leave everything he had out there on the stage—including his heart.
(In more ways than one, it had seemed.)
He should have been celebrating with them, thankful for the chance to be reunited after so long. Instead, his joy at finally being with his loved ones had been tempered by an unsettling feeling that was knotting his stomach. He had found himself sincerely apologizing to them as he pleaded for some time alone, explaining that he needed to rest for the finale the following night.
Instead, he had lain there in bed, alone in the apartment the network had designated for him, holding on to his phone and staring at the text message he had typed out on the screen yet somehow couldn’t bring himself to send.
Nothing on TV, nothing to do
Nothing to keep my mind off you and me
And the way it was
We knew this day would come
We knew it all along
How did it come so fast?
Blake had known for a fact that he was going to miss everyone—his coaches, his fellow contestants, the entire cast and crew. While it had seemed so cliché to say so in interviews, he had truly meant it whenever he’d describe how The Voice had become his second home, and how the people making it up had become his second family.
“The Voice has become very dear to me,” he had always said, “and while I can’t wait to be back home or maybe even start touring, God willing, it’s going to break my heart to part ways with these people.”
Thankfully, all of his interviewers then would seem satisfied and pleased with this answer, and wouldn’t ask further.
Because Blake wasn’t sure how they’d react if he had found himself admitting that there had been one particular person who would have had the power to shatter his heart completely… because he didn’t know he already had it.
Are you thinking about it now because
I could be there in five?
This is our last night but it's late
And I'm trying not to sleep
When he had first auditioned for The Voice, Blake hadn’t known what to make of the charming—if somewhat cocky—young man that was waiting with him backstage. The only thing Blake had known about him based from what he had heard from Carson Daly—and from the gossip he had gleaned from the rest of the contestants—was that the man’s name was Adam Levine, and that apparently, he was quite the rising star in YouTube as the frontman for this indie band called Kara’s Flowers.
Blake had looked at his scuffed boots and had pulled down his cowboy hat, already feeling that his chances of going far in this show were getting slimmer by the minute, if his potential rivals—like this ridiculously sexy guy—already had both their looks and their popularity going for them.
He had been too busy feeling sorry for himself that he hadn’t realized that the very competition he had been assessing was actually coming over towards him.
“Hey there!” Adam had flashed a disarming smile, and Blake had thought a little bitterly how unfair it was that Adam would have already conquered the female segment of the voting audience just with that smile alone. “You’re the Austin guy, right?”
“Uh,” Blake had stammered uneasily from having that smile directed at him, “No, I’m actually from Tennessee, though I’m originally from Oklahoma.”
Adam had laughed. “No, no, I’m not talking about Texas. I’m talking about your song!”
Thoroughly confused, Blake had blinked at him. “My song?” he repeated a little stupidly.
Adam had grinned at him. “You’re Blake Shelton, right? ‘Austin’ had spent five weeks at the Billboard chart. It was practically all I heard when my band was touring in Nashville!”
Of course his band already experienced touring, had been Blake’s first sullen thought. But then Adam’s words finally sunk in, and Blake had blurted out, a little dazedly:
“You actually know who I am? And my song?”
Adam had once again laughed and had punched Blake lightly on the arm, making Blake stare, unsure of what to make of it all. Since when had they become this comfortable with each other? They had only just met, for God’s sake.
“You Okies have always been annoyingly modest,” Adam had teased. “Of course I know you, you great hick. ‘Austin’ was brilliant, are you kidding me? It was a hit that actually deserved to be one.”
Blake had shaken his head, and despite himself, he began to warm up to the guy. “I can’t take credit, really. I didn’t write it, I just happened to be the lucky guy assigned to sing it. Besides,” Blake had scratched his head, embarrassed at the way Adam was practically gushing over him, “I’m kind of the one-hit wonder guy. Not like you.”
Adam had looked at him then, and Blake would fondly remember that particular memory as the first time he had felt a weird tug in his chest when the calculated charm in Adam’s features faded into that familiar, softened gaze that Blake had grown to know so well.
“You know what, Shelton, I think you’re wrong.” Adam smiled at him. “I think… you’re here to stay.”
One more, one last time
Cause I know, when I wake,
I will have to slip away
As the season had progressed, Blake couldn’t understand why—out of everyone in the show—it was him that Adam had always gravitated to. Blake had found himself hanging out more and more with Adam, and they would frequently end up rehearsing together, watching each other perform and giving each other pointers, making both of their coaches simultaneously amused and exasperated at them, since they were supposed to be on opposing teams.
Often, Blake would wonder at the way Adam’s eyes would follow him, no matter what he did. It didn’t help that those moments would always be perfectly caught on camera, making Blake even more puzzled whenever he’d watch the recorded telecast afterward and find Adam’s gaze always directed at him.
When the time for The Knockout Rounds had come, and his then coach Gwen Stefani decided to give him an impromptu makeover, Blake had stepped onto the battle ring wearing his elegant new suit and sporting his new hair (“The mullet has got to go, Blake—seriously, what decade are you living in?” Gwen had groused), and he had looked out into the audience where the rest of the contestants were watching—
And Blake had nearly stumbled at the intensity of that gaze.
Because Adam hadn’t even bothered to hide the blatant hunger in his eyes.
He had been so distracted during his performance that Gwen was forced to declare his teammate as the winner—and from the corner of his eyes he had seen the way Adam jumped up from his seat in protest—and Blake could have cried in relief when Michael Bublé pressed his button to steal him.
“I can’t let you go home, Blake, not without getting my hands on you,” the soulful jazz crooner had smiled at him, and Blake had balked when he saw Adam flashing an unwarranted glare at Blake’s new coach, “And I’m very excited to welcome you to Team Michael!”
We don't have to be lonely tonight
Need you, want you, I'm right here
And when the daylight comes I'll have to go
But tonight I'm gonna hold you so close
Later, when all the contestants who were through to the live shows were being interviewed on the red carpet, someone had asked him how he had felt when Michael Bublé had given him this second chance to continue on with the show.
Blake’s answer had been open and honest. “I feel humbled to be onstage with some of the most talented people I know,” and the camera had caught the way he had then glanced over at Adam, who was being interviewed a few feet away from him by another reporter, “And I’m just thankful for this chance to be with them. I’m not even a real vocalist—I’m just a country guy who happens to love singing.”
And then, to both reporters’ great surprise, Adam had turned away from his own interview to walk over to where Blake was standing.
“First of all, Blake,” Adam had interjected, in full view of all the reporters, whose cameras were all trained at them now, “You are a real vocalist, and you’re a damn good vocalist.”
The words were said so fiercely, so passionately, so undoubtedly Adam that Blake had felt something warm unfurl beneath his ribs and course through the rest of his body in a heady rush until it lifted his mouth into a grateful smile.
“Thank you, Adam. Thank you very much.”
And Blake didn’t know if it was the sincerity of Adam’s belief in him, the strength of the bond Adam had determinedly forged with him, or the heat that had emanated from the gaze Adam directed at him, but perhaps it had been the lethal combination of all three at that moment which made Blake’s heart suddenly decide to bypass his brain and go straight to his mouth:
“I love you, Adam.”
And as soon as the words had escaped him, it was also that moment when Blake had suddenly known for sure—not with the horror he had expected from having a revelation that had been literally months in the making, but with a calm certainty in finally understanding why love songs exist—that he had meant it.
For a few heart-stopping seconds, all Adam had done was stare at Blake. But then Adam had responded in kind, and Blake’s heart had leapt to his throat—
“I love you too, Blake.”
—and had instantly plummeted back to his stomach when Adam followed that up with a cheeky wink:
“Totally in a non-sexual way.”
Blake had smiled tightly at the giggles of the reporters all around them and, swallowing back the bile of disappointment that had suddenly coated his tongue, had simply said:
“I can’t say the same.”
And Adam, taking it for the joke that it truly wasn’t, had merely thrown back his head and laughed.
We don't have to be lonely tonight
I know we shouldn't, but I don't care
‘Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own
But tonight I need to hold you so close
Blake had tried to fight it, he honest to God really did. But his heart’s stupid yearning had only grown stronger over the course of the live shows. Adam had been a constant presence by his side all throughout the competition—ever the charming, teasing, supportive best friend Blake had unexpectedly gained—but somehow that had made it all even worse, seeing how nothing had changed for Adam while everything had changed for Blake.
Every week, Blake had been fervently praying that he’d have enough votes to get by, but it was only when Adam shockingly landed in the bottom two during the Top Six elimination night that Blake had started praying even more for Adam too, even though it was obvious that Adam had a bigger chance of winning this competition than him—
But Blake wasn’t in the business of lying to himself, and he had known the simple truth of what he was doing: he had been praying for Adam and himself to stay just a little bit longer, because he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Adam just yet.
(He doubted he ever could.)
And yet all good things did come to an end, and Blake’s prayers could only go as far as the finals night, where Blake had miraculously ended up in the Top 3 along with Adam. Blake had given it all he had for his love of the music coursing through his spirit… and for the man who had finally given his soul something real to sing about.
He never wanted it to end. Even though he had known that tonight would be the last night he would ever see Adam, he never wanted it end.
One more, one last time, he prayed desperately, and he wondered if the heavens were sick of him chanting Adam’s name more than God’s—
—and he ended up nearly dropping the phone he had been staring blankly at for the past several minutes when it suddenly beeped and vibrated with an alert.
His heart slammed against his chest when he saw that it was a text message from him.
With shaking fingers, Blake swiped at the screen… and he stared in disbelief at the words that floated up at him.
| Come over. |
I don't wanna be right, I don't wanna be strong
I just wanna hold you 'til the heartbreak's gone
I never want it to stop
Because I don't wanna start all over
Start all over
Adam was barefoot when he answered the door. He had a bad case of bed hair, the brunette strands sticking out all over the place, and he was dressed in sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt. He stood there blinking confusedly, his pillow-wrinkled face backlighted by the glow inside his apartment.
Blake couldn’t remember looking at anything more beautiful in his life.
Dazedly, Adam stepped out on the porch. “Blake, you…” he swallowed thickly, “You actually came.”
Belatedly, Blake realized that he actually hadn’t been able to reply to Adam’s text. He had simply hopped on his pick-up truck and had driven like the hounds of hell were right on his heels. He hadn’t even bothered to change either—and what a sight he and Adam were at the moment: two grown men in their pyjamas staring at each other out on the street in the dead of the night.
“Yeah,” Blake said quietly, knowing that there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. “Yeah, I’m here.”
Slowly, Adam walked down the steps, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. “Why?” he whispered.
There were so many ways Blake could’ve answered that question—he could’ve simply fallen back into the affectionate, snarky banter that had come to characterize their strange relationship—but right now, there was something unspeakably vulnerable in the way Adam was looking at him, and it rendered him physically incapable to give any other answer other than the honest one.
“Because you asked me to.”
I'd go anywhere for you.
When the sun comes up, we can both move on
But we don’t have to be lonely tonight
I was afraid of the dark
But now it's all that I want
Adam had stopped right in front of him. There were only inches separating their bodies now.
Blake’s hand seemed to have moved on its own accord in answer to an unspoken call from Adam’s gaze. Under the streetlights, the bags under Adam’s eyes were prominent… and Blake’s fingers reached out to caress that sensitive skin.
Adam’s eyes fluttered close, his lashes brushing Blake’s knuckles. The touch was feather-light, and the aching intimacy of it unravelled him.
Blake thought back to the three words that remained unsent in his phone, and decided, as his thumb stroked Adam’s cheekbone, that he might as well say it now.
“I’ll miss you.”
Adam opened his eyes to look at him then, and a heavy déjà vu fell upon Blake at the memory of that one time on the red carpet when he had dared to bare himself to Adam.
This time, he was ready for it. He braced himself for the rejection—again—and simply lightened the weight of his words by adding wistfully:
“Totally in a non-sexual way.”
I can be there in five
All that I want, all that I want
Something in Adam’s face crumpled, and the sound that escaped his throat was small and heartbroken. With a strength Blake didn’t know the diminutive man possessed, Adam fisted Blake’s shirt and yanked him down.
Choking back a sob, Adam breathed roughly against Blake’s lips:
“I can’t say the same.”
One more, one last time