Having that conversation, however awkward and painful, was good for us. And we’re doing well, all things considered.
The European leg of the tour was amazing. We didn’t just slip back into the rhythm that has always worked for us, we’re better than ever. Our new material is hitting harder than expected, and even our older stuff is noticeably improved, sharper around the edges, like something has clicked. Our stage chemistry is off the charts, specifically between me and Jesse. Will is keeping his distance, but I catch his eyes on me more often than not. The way he watches me from across the stage feels like a physical force on my body, the strings of his guitar reaching out to wrap around me and pull me into his orbit. I hear it in the music, too, and it makes me bold. I show off more than usual, lean into Jesse’s flirting and the crowd’s screams for more.
I feel stronger on stage than ever before. Not buoyed by adrenaline or validation, but confident and present. I’m having more fun than we ever did when we were passing a bottle around and doing lines before sets. There’s a difference in the music that we can feel in our bones, that the crowd is responding to as well. We’re more popular than ever, even with taking months off and having fewer shows.
It’s after we come off stage that things are a little more strained. Jesse is understandably more subdued. He thinks he’s holding us back from partying, but really, he’s not the only one who learned something from him getting sober. None of us want to dull the edges of a good thing.
Will is different. He’s careful with everything he does—every word and every movement. It doesn’t feel performative. Hegives me space without making a show of it, doesn’t hover, doesn’t really even check in unless I ask. And when we’re out and another man talks to me, or even flirts openly, he makes a point of looking away.
It’s a good thing. It’s what I asked for. It’s what’s right.
So why does such a big part of me miss the way his attention used to make me burn from the inside out?
I’m smart enough to know that the way I was twisting his attention is what drove me to believe he wanted something from me. And it’s what infuriated me so much when he got possessive. If he had been possessive because he wanted me, I wouldn’t have had a problem with it, healthy or not.Yes, please.
But even knowing, unequivocally, that Will doesn’t want me like that doesn’t stop me from missing the way he made me feel. Knowing it was never real doesn’t fill that hollow space inside me, that ache for even the perception of having someone’s undivided attention.
The first morning after we arrive in New York is quiet. We’re both scrolling on our phones while we have breakfast, randomly chatting about things we come across.
When the buzzer sounds, I’m assuming it might be a delivery of some sort, but Will says he didn’t order anything, and neither did I.
The matte black box with two satin eye masks and intricate silver keys is a rude awakening.
“Oh,” I say under my breath. “I forgot all about this.”
Will groans. “I didn’t, but I was kind of hoping to get away with pretending I did.”
An awkward laugh escapes my throat. “You don’t want to go?”
“Not really,” he answers slowly. “It’s not, um… It was always a you and me thing, you know?”
I shrug halfheartedly. I do know. In another life, I’d have been excited to get dressed up and go to a fancy sex party. But now it just feels… loaded. It definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I should do with someone I’m trying to have only platonic thoughts about.
We committed to this special event almost a year ago, back when everything was simpler. Or at least felt that way. The owner is someone we’ve known for years, who used to run a membership club that hosted parties at various venues. They run the kind of scene where rules and consent are clear, and discretion is like currency. This new venture is supposed to be really special, and we were excited to commit to being some of the first VIPs to see it in action.
I can see from the expression on Will’s face that he really doesn’t want to go, but feels bad for breaking a commitment. I’m not sure if I should give him an out or encourage him to go. I’m not supposed to want to go to a sex club with my brother.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I point out casually. “We can just stay for the opening ceremony and cocktail party, give our congratulations, and slip out quietly. No pressure.”
Will nods. “Yeah, we could do that.”
“And if it’s too weird, we can leave. No questions asked.”
He hesitates. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to hold you back. If you want to…”
The promise feels heavier than he probably intends. It’s obvious he’s struggling with it, but I appreciate the honest attempt.
“Maybe this will be good for us,” I say. “I’m not sure I’m up for any kind of play or anything, but we could ease into some normalcy and see if this still fits us as a duo or whatever.”
“A duo?” He smirks.
“Couplefelt like an awkward choice.”
He laughs, then sobers. There’s a charged pause, and then he blurts out, “I’m not ready to see you with someone. Like, in front of me.”
I release a breath. “Me either, honestly. So maybe if that were to happen, we agree to find separate rooms?”
“Deal. Although I don’t think I’m up for anything either tonight.”
