Like it’s not a secret.
Like it’s simply fact.
I feel the weight of it—how simple and how loud it is at the same time. My body waits for the old panic to hit. It doesn’t. I squeeze her fingers. And then, still holding her hand, I turn and walk back toward the green room.
Sadie’s steps are steady beside mine. We enter together. The room shifts. Not dramatically. Not like a record scratch. But I see it. Mikey’s grin goes full wolf. Hayden’s brows lift, subtle but real. Cherry’s eyes flick from our hands to my face, and for once she doesn’t look like she wants to murder me.
Luc looks at us, then looks at Sadie. And his expression softens in a way I don’t see often. Not approval. Understanding. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to. He just nods once. Like he’s telling me: Good. Don’t ruin this.
Mikey points at our hands like he’s spotting a rare bird. “Oh my God.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Oh my God,” he repeats louder, because of course he does. “Dean Ross is HOLDING HANDS.”
Hayden takes a sip of coffee like he’s trying not to smile. “It’s kind of sweet.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
Mikey’s eyes glitter. “Is this where we clap? Do we clap? I feel like we should clap.”
Cherry finally speaks, voice dry. “If you clap, I will fire you.”
Mikey spreads his arms. “Worth it.”
Sadie’s hand tightens in mine, a small squeeze. Like she’s grounding herself. Like she’s grounding me.
I look down at her for half a second. She looks up at me, calm. Unbothered. Strong. She doesn’t look like someone who’s waiting for me to pull away. She looks like someone who believes me. That hits me harder than the crowd did tonight.
Luc clears his throat and stands. “Sponsor photo,” he commands, like he’s giving everyone a task so they don’t turn this into a circus. Bless him.
Cherry points toward the door. “Move, idiots.”
The band shuffles into position. A promoter lines us up. Someone adjusts lighting. The world keeps doing its thing. But as we stand there, squeezed shoulder to shoulder, I feel Sadie beside me in the room like a quiet anchor.
Mikey leans in toward my ear, voice low enough that only I can hear. “I’m happy for you, man.”
I blink, caught off guard by the sincerity.
Then I mutter back, “Don’t make it weird.”
He grins. “It’s my calling.”
The flash goes off. And for once, I don’t feel like I’m trapped in an image. I feel like I’m standing inside something real.
Later, when the venue empties and the tour machine starts packing itself up, Sadie and I end up in the corridor again. Quiet. Away from eyes. Away from noise. She shifts her bag higher on her shoulder. “That wasn’t so bad.”
I huff a laugh. “You say that now.”
She steps closer, tilting her head. “Was it bad for you?”
I think about it. The looks. The jokes. The fact that I held her hand in front of the band and nothing exploded. “No,” I admit. “It wasn’t bad.”
“And?” she prompts softly.
I swallow. This is the part where I would usually stay silent. Where I’d keep it inside, let it rot into fear, call it protection. But I’m tired of that. “I like you,” I say, blunt and honest. “I don’t mean I want you. I do. But that’s not what I mean.”
Her eyes widen slightly, breath catching.
