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The stage is empty now, all of the instruments are in the back, slowly, piece by piece, being pulled out the janky exit door and out to the van. Alex doesn’t know how to help when he’s part of the cause that ended their show early. They’ve never fought the way that Alex is fearing right now. He knows they won’t get mad at him, not like that.
He’ll pile an extra helping of blame on his own plate anyway and swallow it down like he’s a starving man and it’s a five star meal. Still, Alex can’t sugar coat it. Won’t. He can’t sweeten it.
But, he feels like he’s being force fed the same glass meal. Dripping through his chest all over again. Something burns in his stomach, the hot dog he ate before the show, maybe. It feels too wrong, Alex wants to shove his hand into his stomach and rip it out.
It’s not exactly quiet, it never is after a set. The tech crew are walking around, trying to make sure all of their stuff is off the set and being taken out of the building while the owner of the place is talking to Bobby and Luke. There’s still a ghost of sound hanging in the rafters, feedback echoing like something unfinished.
Luke won’t look at him. Alex knows that before he even lifts his head from where he’s sitting on the edge of a chair backstage, drumsticks loose in his hands as they threaten to fall down. His shirt clings damp to his back, the band logo stretched across the front.
They made the merch by hand. All matching, a simple white and the logo on the front with a custom design of each of their names on the back. They sell them before and after the show, sometimes it’s a competition for whose shirts get sold faster. Usually it’s Luke or Reggie who win with Bobby getting last place nearly every time.
“Pack up, ‘Lex.,” Luke says.
It isn’t even sharp, but that’s the problem. It would have made more sense if it was because it makes Alex startle, shoulders jerking like someone struck a cymbal too close to his ear. He looks up to see Luke is turned away, coiling cables with quick, practiced hands. He’s not looking at him.
Something sour curls in Alex’s stomach. Acid and static. Alex missed the cue then broke down on stage, ruining everything. Luke isn’t acting like he’s mad, not showing that he’s mad. His breakdown had thrown everyone off. Cut the show that people paid for short.
His fingers feel wrong now. Everything does, really. He drops his sticks finally. They clatter against the stage, loud to his own ears. He doesn’t pick them up, he can’t, just stares down at them. It feels like if he moves, he’ll shatter completely. Like glass dust that never fully gets cleaned up.
“Alex.” Luke’s voice is closer now, too close for not having seen him come over.
Alex’s breath hitches and drags his gaze down to meet Luke’s somewhere between his legs. His hand is on his thigh, warm and real, the other capturing the fabric of Alex’s shirt that he didn’t even realize he was curling his hands in to get it off.
“I’m fine,” Alex says, except it comes out shredded and thin, not even convincing to himself.
He reaches for the hem of his shirt instead of trying to pull his hands through the sleeves. He tugs at it, like maybe he can peel the night off his skin with it. The fabric sticks, damp and stubborn, clinging to him.
Luke’s hands are one the shirt suddenly, steadier than his own, but that makes sense. He touches Alex’s hands to keep him from tangling his hands completely. It’s grounding enough to make Alex freeze into a stop.
“Hey- Bud, easy.” Luke pulls up the shit, quick and careful, freeing him from it in one smooth motion,
The air hits his skin and it helps a little. The air is both cool and startling. The shirt hands limp in Luke’s hand now. Just cotton and ink that isn’t trying to strangle him anymore. He’s so cold. He didn’t realize how cold he was until now.
“Don’t do that,” Luke murmurs.
Alex isn’t even sure what Luke is saying not to do, but Alex nods. He can’t help but feel stupid, his brain sluggish. He’s gasping, desperate for air, lungs stuttering. He widens his legs, leans forward, and wraps his arms around the back of Luke’s neck. He presses his face into his chest. He’s tired of being cold, so tired of having to think. He can’t stop the way he melts into Luke when he feels fingers spread across his lower back.
He leans forward even further until his chin is gliding against Luke’s muscle, until he can see the underside of Luke’s jaw. His lips part to puff out a single, soft breath. A bead of drool gathers at the corner of his mouth and he tries to swallow it down, but more is quickly gathering again.
“‘Lex, come on.” There’s movement, Luke’s trying to shift and pull away. Alex whines, pained and small, panting and helpless. He tightens his arms, back arching as he chases the contact. He makes another sound, something pathetic. Worse than an exhale.
Behind them, there’s movement. The faint shuffle of cases being closed and then Reggie patting his knees, straightening up. “Yo, are you guys good?”
Alex freezes. The world snaps back into focus all at once. The stage, the cables, the empty venue; the fact that they are very much not alone in whatever this is.
“Shit, is he okay-?”
Luke doesn’t move away, knowing Alex wouldn’t let him. “We’re good,” he calls without raising his voice.
Reggie lingers, tapping his fingers against the doorway. “...You sure?”
“Yeah,” Luke says, firmer now.
Another pause as neither of them say anything. Alex isn’t supposed to be like this. He’s not supposed to be sick, but he’s back in whatever this thing is that’s bleeding into him and spreading. Trapped in it.
“Okay. Van’s out back.” Footsteps retreat and the silence folds back in.
Alex swallows, his throat burning. “Luke… I can’t-” It comes out wrong, too wet, too shaky.
“Yeah, you can,” Luke says immediately. It isn’t harsh, but it’s non-negotiational. Luke pulls back just enough to look at him, hand stilling Alex’s shin, not pulling away. “Come on,” he says, quieter now. “We gotta move.”
Alex nods, just barely. Still, he wants Luke to wrap around him completely. He wants every inch of Luke to be flush with him, organs and flesh intertwined. Luke helps gather the rest of his things. Does most of it himself honestly. Alex tries, but his hands are all clammy like they belong to anyone but him.
His muscles tighten with effort. Alex presses closer, squeezing Luke with a frantic need. Then he lets go of Luke all at once, arms slipping away, his chest easing backward, and legs closing together. The cold encases him once more.
Eventually, they’re walking, he doesn’t really remember even leaving the backstage. Alex’s legs are numb, knees shaky. Luke has both of their bags and Ales follows behind. He keeps his head down but he can feel the way Bobby and Reggie look at him.
Reggie must have said something to Bobby because neither boy addresses him. He doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not. Luke slides open the side door and sets their things inside before waiting. Alex climbs in, slow and heavy. Luke takes the seat beside him. Their legs press together automatically, Luke’s thigh flushed against Alex's like muscle memory.
Warmth spreads through Alex’s chest. The van starts and the city lights of Hollywood smear across the windows like watercolor. Alex wonders what it would feel like if he just completely surrendered to whatever this thing is that’s been hanging between Luke and him. He’s fighting so hard to keep his above this thing, but he almost wants to let himself fall into it and fill his lungs.
He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, recognition maybe, in Luke, but Luke is sitting with his head tucked into his phone. There’s the smallest sheen of sweat still gathered at Luke’s temple and hairline that he hasn’t wiped away. Alex almost lets his hand drift up to brush it away before he grips onto his knees. He does, however, let his body lean over, just until he head rests against Luke’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Alex croaks, throat dry.
Luke doesn’t answer right away. “Yeah,” he says finally. Alex’s chest tightens as his throat closes up so fast he almost panics. “Me too.”
Oh. That wasn’t– Alex wasn’t expecting that. Then Luke shifts, pressing his cheek briefly atop Alex’s head and into his blond hair. Alex lets out a shaky exhale, the noise in his head quieting. They sit like that the whole ride. Alex sinks further into Luke, pressing his own nose against the dip of Luke’s neck and collarbone.
They inhale at the same time like their lungs and hearts are connected as one, sharing the esophagus. Their fingers brush together before Luke grabs onto Alex’s. Alex’s body tenses until Luke gently pinches his knuckles one by one and Alex lets himself hold Luke’s hand in turn.
Eventually, the rhythm of the road changes. They start slowing down, the high-pitched squeal of the old brakes sound off and bleeds into the crunch of the parking lot gravel beneath the tires. Alex doesn’t get up right away, lips brushing against the soft skin over Luke’s neck, a puff of air brushing against it.
Luke turns to get up before Luke makes a noise akin to a whine and curls his fingers into Luke’s shirt. Luke lets him for a mere moment before gripping his wrist. “Come on, ‘Lex. Inside.”
Alex sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to move again, but he knows that inside the garage will be a lot more comfortable. So, he moves despite his legs still being jelly. Luke picks up both of their bags again. Alex follows behind Luke again as Bobby and Reggie trail ahead of them.
The night air washes over him and clings to him, cool and sharp. The second he steps inside, warmth is greeting him because Reggie left the heater running on accident. Behind him, voices blur together. Reggie is light and uncertain while Bobby is quieter, asking something that Alex can’t quite make out. It all comes through like he’s in a fish tank, words bending and stretching around the vowels.
Luke answers them but Alex can’t quite catch any of it. He just feels it, the way Luke’s voice moves, but nothing really more than that. A hand presses flat against the chaos to keep it from spilling over. There’s a small pause. Then Reggie’s footsteps, heavier on the wooden ladder as he climbs up to the loft. A small thud overhead. The creak of shifting weight as Reggie settles in.
Bobby doesn’t come inside, but the door to his house clicking shut tells Alex distantly that Bobby must have gone in for the night. Alex sways where he stands. He doesn’t realize how much he was holding himself together until there’s nothing left demanding something from him.
“‘Lex,” Luke distantly calls, “here.”
Alex flinches as something sails toward him and lands at his feet. His teeth clench together when he sees a little pond of teal with Luke’s name right on the back with their dumb Sunset Curve logo on the other side.
He picks it up and stares for a moment before his nose dives into it and it doesn’t smell exactly how he wants. There’s too much laundry detergent smell and not enough of Luke. He thumbs at the neckline of it, pulling it up until his lips are pressed against the fabric too. He breathes deeply and slowly.
He flinches as something cold drips onto his knee. His vision comes to a slow focus on himself. A line of spit runs across his skin and has dripped down to his knee where his jeans are torn open. Another drop splashes into the growing wetness. He realizes that he’s drooling. Panting feverish puffs of air with a flushed, dazed face.
“Fuck, ‘Lex…” Luke’s voice appears nearby. “You keep… going out of it.”
Alex whines, but it crumples into a whimper and sounds too distant for him to think it’s actually coming from him. He fists his hand into the fabric that’s growing a wet patch like his knee has accumulated.
“C’mere,” Luke says, softer now.
His face presses into Luke’s shoulder again, but this time there’s no expectation waiting for him, just the low hum of the garage and the faint rustle from the loft above. His thighs widen further so he can slot Luke’s leg between them. He needs him close and all over, draping over him.
“Woah- Easy, bud.” The younger mutters, running a hand against Alex’s back. Then it moves to the back of his neck, fingers spreading and anchoring him back to the current world. His other hand finds Alex’s hip and squeezes.
Alex gasps out, breath hitching into a throaty, thick swallow. Slowly, Luke slips his hand lower to train a finger along the seam of Alex’s jeans at his inner thigh. Alex’s leg twitches, clenches tighter around Luke’s knee. He’s slipping further instead of coming up.
“‘Lex?” Alex’s spine gives out at the soft tone. “Can you get up onto the sofa?”
Alex’s breath stutters out of him, shaky and uneven, and he shakes his head, pressing further into Luke. He clutches at Luke’s shirt, fists tangling into the fabric like he’s afraid that Luke will leave if he loosens his grip. He refuses to move, not again. They don’t have to go anywhere else, really. They’re inside and that’s enough for Alex.
Luke frowns and nudges at Alex’s hip in insistence. “Come on, we’re not sleeping on the floor.”
Alex swallows and then nods, pressing his lips thin. His palms press into the floor, shoulders tightening as he pushes himself off on legs that want to betray him. He shifts, instantly latching back onto Luke. Luke braces his hands on Alex’s waist and walks him over.
Alex stays close as Luke lowers beside him onto the small sofa that definitely shouldn’t fit both of them because Alex didn’t let go of Luke enough for him to pull out the bed. Alex slots his nose against Luke’s collarbone once more, mouthing across his throat.
Luke hums something quiet, slides a hand back to his thigh, and presses his nails into the meat of it that grounds Alex. He leans in again, lips grazing against Alex’s temple, his cheek, and the corner of his mouth.
Alex tilts his head and kisses him. Luke grips him at the underside of his chin and pulls him in as his thumb digs into his jaw. Their spit is mixing as most of it gathers at the corner of Alex’s mouth. The kiss breaks slowly and they let their breath hit against each other’s chin and lips.
Alex leans back to connect their lips again, but Luke catches him. His hand rests on Alex’s nape, stopping him gently. Their lips meet regardless and Alex licks in, all greedy with want and desperation. His hands claw at Luke’s back to pull him closer. He doesn’t want any space between them.
“What’s up with you?” Luke eventually whispers, brushing Alex’s hair back. “You keep…drifting or something.”
Alex swallows and stares into Luke’s eyes, blue meeting brown. “I don’t know. Just…stay with me. Please.”
Luke watches Alex before he nods. “Yeah. I’ll stay with you, ‘Lex. Just…promise that you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” Alex nods, gripping the sleeves of Luke’s hoodie that’s given him sweater paws, something that usually only happens with Bobby’s hoodies. Luke must have given him a large. “M’okay. I just- Need you.”