A pause. Then, “Yes, I promise,your majesty.”
I crack the door and see his face. The eyes hit first, wounded, open, nothing like the smirk he wore after the show. I open the door wider, then step back fast, giving him space. Another flash of pain crosseshis face. His eyes shine with something that might be tears. He looks down.
“I wasn’t trying toassaultyou,” he says. “I can’tbelieveyou used that word.”
“I told youI’m in lovewith someone,” I say. “Yesterday.And then you pull that shit on stage in front of who knows how many people,including herand you expect me to call it anything less?”
“You didn’tgive a shitwhen youpunchedme,” he fires back. “You’ve known me for more thantwenty years. I’ve sharedeverythingwith you.” He steps forward and I back away. The movement cuts through both of us. He exhales, takes a step back again. “Wefoughtfor this,” he says, motioning around the room, but I know he means more. The band, the music, the dream. “Staying up late, writing, seeing the colors of sound together. No money, no contract, just us and music. Thenshecomes along andnone of it matters?”
He leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Onesnapof her precious fingers,one weekend, and—” His voice cracks. The tears come, sudden and real. He slides down the wall, head in his hands. His hair falls forward, a tangle of black.
“Fuck,I hate this.” He wipes his face with his sleeve, angry at himself for crying.
He still hasn’t changed out of his stage clothes, leather jacket creased and worn. It breaks something in me I can’t explain. I crouch down beside him. He looks up, eyes red, searching. For once, there’s no performance between us.
“It still matters, Rith,” I whisper.
Rithy lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “God, we’re pathetic, huh?”
It breaks the tension. I laugh too, shoulders finally unlocking. For a second, it feels like before.
“You’llalwaysmatter to me,” I say. “There’s no band without you…” I swallow. “There’s nomewithoutyou.”
That cracks something open in him. The tears come soundless, streaming down his face while his eyes stay fixed on mine. I was ready for anger, for dividing lines and punishment, but looking at him now, open, wrecked, carrying years of unspoken pain, I can’t do it. It’s time to stop pretending. Time to admit we were both in this.
“Therewassomething here,” I say. “I just didn’t know how to name it. I took the coward’s way, hid behind the fan service, the jokes. I was hoping you’d make the first move I guess, but you never—”
“I wasafraid,” he interrupts. “What if you didn’tmeanit? Or worse,what if you did,and it ruined everything? What if it didn’t work out and we lost…us?The band?”
We both sigh. I sit down across from him on the floor, cross-legged, gripping my ankles like the basics of anatomy might keep me grounded.
“Losethis?Impossible. We’re an amazing team,” I say, smiling.
He huffs a small laugh. “I keep you in line.”
“That you do.”
“I just wanted to hear it,” he says. “That it was real. That I didn’timaginethis.”
“You didn’t imagine it. We just missed our chance, thought we had all the time in the world to figure it out. The stupidity of youth.”
He nods, eyes soft. “Some part of me thought if I could just kiss you, you’d finally see it. Stop hiding.”
“You’re about…” I pause, thinking, tracing the years. That look across a table, his perfect smile when we hit the right sound, the wink he gave me once that started everything simmering beneath the surface. The feel of his lips against mine, even beneath the veil. How sad his eyes were when he’d pick me up off the floor after Emily left and I’d gotten wasted yet again. All the moments between us I’d let slip through my fingers. “Ten yearstoo late.”
“I’m always late. It’s in my contract.”
We both laugh, real this time, a release more than a joke. I reach out my hand. He takes it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. There’s too much behind it to name. A few tears spill over anyway.
He holds my gaze, patient, breathing through whatever he’s carrying. Then he nods. “Me too.”
He squeezes my hand, then stands. From the floor he looks ridiculously tall, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to gather his composure. My Pandora’s box, standing in front of me, this beautiful, infuriating mess of a man who made me what I am. Without him, there wouldn’t be Obelus.There wouldn’t be me.He was the knife I sharpened myself against.
He nudges my knee with his boot. “Get up. If you stay down there looking up at me like that, it’s gonna reset everything I’m trying to stop here.”
I laugh and stand, brushing off my knees. “Can I ask a favor while I’ve gotbenevolentRithy on the line?”
