The days blur by in a haze of dust kicked up under van tires, roadsidediner after neon motel sign after end of the line gas station after wrong turn,but it’s worth it for the nights, for the feeling of the strings under hisfingers, the almost-harmony of their instruments beneath the dull roar of thecrowd, the contrast of dark fingernails against pale skin around a blackmicrophone under stark stage lights.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
The words come out backstage, Ian’s fingers light against his chin,tilting his face as she carefully puts on his makeup, and maybe there’s someperverse lack of self-preservation that makes him say them at that moment,eyeliner millimeters from his eye, but she doesn’t start, doesn’t jolt, justcalmly finishes marking a solid line across his eyelid, lip still caught in herteeth in concentration.
“I think I’m in love with you,” Ben repeats, “and thatscares me half to death.”
“Me too,”Ian replies, and she pulls back to inspect her work, her fingers shifting Ben’sface to the side before nodding in satisfaction.
“You're…scared?”Ben asks, already looking past her for the exit signs, planning how he canpossibly flee this situation, wondering if he’ll burn every bridge he’s everbuilt by walking out on one of Brandon’s gigs, but Ian’s lips are curving intoa smile, like he hasn’t just done the dumbest thing in his entire life, ormaybe like he has and she finds it somehow endearing.
“Thattoo,” she agrees, and when she fits her lips to his, it’s an echo of allthe nights they’ve spent tangled together between messy hotel room sheets, allthe car rides with her legs tossed over his lap, all the shows in all thevenues where he’ll look up from his strings to find her there in his space,tipping his hat back, singing against his skin like she’s trying to press thewords into him.
“I know I’m in love with you,” she says as she pulls away,wrapping her fingers into his and dragging him forward, his feetfeeling numb and stumbling under him. “And that scares me pretty much entirely to death.” The crowd is roaring behind her as she stepsbackward onto the stage. “Fucking beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,”he agrees vaguely. You are. "It is,“ and he follows her into the haze of the stage lights.