Chapter 36
Eric
Walking away from my parents’ house is heavier than I remember.
We stay in touch with calls, texts, and the occasional video, but my chaotic lifestyle rarely lets me carve out time to come back.
Then I arrive, surrounded by the stillness of open fields and the uncomplicated cadence of their lives, and leaving tears at something inside me every single time.
Here, everything is simpler. Less noise, more solid ground.
Their acceptance of Dmitri and me hit harder than I expected.
I’d convinced myself there was still a risk—some hidden condition I’d overlooked—even though their love has always been with no strings.
Knowing they’d support me is one thing, but seeing Mom wrap her arms around him and feeling the truth of it land in my chest is another.
It quieted a fear I didn’t realize was still screaming.
She hugs the whole crew goodbye, holding Dmitri a beat longer to whisper something only he can hear.
Whatever it is, his eyes shimmer when he nods, throat working silently.
Then she turns to me, pulling me close like the scraped-knee kid I used to be, and the old comfort floods back.
I hold on, soaking it in and storing every second of her steady presence to carry with me when the road gets rough again.
Because it will.
The engine growls under our feet as we roll out, humming in a quiet goodbye to the peace we’re leaving behind. The real world closes around us once more, waiting to complicate everything.
Chattanooga is our next stop, and the drive is short enough that the road feels almost gentle under the bus tires. The venue tonight is one of the smallest on the tour. The performance should be smooth, low-stress compared to the arena-sized monsters waiting for later.
It’s also the night I start dropping the hints.
Dmitri worries about the weight this will put on my happiness, and the noise it'll place on the quiet parts of my head I try to keep locked away. He knows me too well. Behind the sarcasm and shrugs, I’m consumed by what people think.
I feel their eyes on me, and hear the silent judgments inside them… the endless question of whether I’ll ever be enough.
I care too much—far too much—but admitting I crave acceptance feels like handing someone a knife and asking them not to use it.
Dmitri tries to hide how nervous he is, but I see it in the careful way he touches me.
He handles me like I’m broken glass he’s afraid will shatter if he grips too hard.
Every time he reminds me about the hate that’s coming, the inevitable flood of comments that will cut deep, I push back.
I tell him I’ll be alright. I ask him to trust me.
He wants to believe it.
I want him to believe it.
But the fear sits between us anyway, waiting for the first crack to form.
He's a walking contradiction: wanting to wrap me in armor against the world's teeth while aching to stake his claim in public. He wants to show them that we're just two people stupidly, completely in love.
No more, no less.
The afternoon drifts past uneventfully, the bus carrying us toward the venue in its low, constant rumble. I sit cross-legged on Dmitri’s bunk, leg jittering at a manic pace and gaze lost somewhere in the middle distance. My thoughts spin faster than the wheels outside.
“Hey.” He settles next to me, shoulder nudging mine in quiet solidarity. His clean, woody scent washes over me, and I close my eyes for a second, breathing him in. “How are you doing?”
I turn to him, forcing a smile that feels fragile. “I’m good.” The lie sits heavy and acrid, even as it slips out.
“Eric,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the tension from my mouth. As he eases back, I grab his face, holding him there, pressing my lips to his again—desperate for the anchor. He feels the shake in my hands, the tremor running under my skin.
“We don’t have to do this,” he whispers, almost pleading.
I shake my head, and the words are barely audible, but they reach him somehow. “I’m so tired of being weak.”
“No… baby, no.” He forces my eyes to his. “You aren’t weak. This isn’t weakness. What you’re doing is hard, Eric. It’s messy and scary, and anyone who says otherwise can go straight to hell. You’re under no pressure to do this if you’re not ready. I will love you just the same.”
Filling my lungs with a deep inhale, my chest lifts, and I release a determined breath. “I need to.”
It’s all I say, but he understands. “Okay, Navy,” he whispers with a resigned smile.
My brows knit together as I tilt my head. “Navy?”
His smile breaks easier now, digging deep into his cheeks to unearth that dimple that always short-circuits my brain. “Yeah, you know… like the color of those pretty undies—”
“For fuck’s sake, Dmitri!” I hiss, slapping my hand over his mouth to smother the rest.
His deep laugh vibrates against my palm before I shove his shoulders.
Some of the coiled tension in my chest finally unwinds as I pin him down with a real smile spreading across my face.
He’s laughing too hard to resist as I swing a leg over and straddle his waist, capturing his wrists and holding them above his head.
“Are you going to behave?” I ask.
He winks at me and lifts his hips. “You know I like it when you manhandle me.”
I hum low in my throat and lean closer to his lips, still pinning his wrists. “Careful, or you'll make Daddy come out to play.”
“Promise?” he breathes, and I close the distance to kiss him long and sweet.
A voice slices through the quiet. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that,” Theo sings from somewhere beyond the curtain, and we stare at each other in matching horror. “Although I have so, so many questions.”
My entire face ignites, my skin turning neon crimson from neck to ears and burning hot enough to light the bunk. “You will pay for that, you ass,” I mutter as Dmitri starts laughing again, dragging me closer until I’m buried against him.
“I can’t wait,” he says with a wink.
I can do this.
Waves of nameless figures move in front of me, their faces hazy and nondescript from the blinding glow of the stage lights. Not one of them has a distinct characteristic that I can point out. They’re nothings. Nobodies.
They're harmless, off-kilter and anonymous.
I can do this.
It shouldn’t matter what they think.
Shouldn’t matter what they’ll say.
They don’t know me, not really. Regardless of how many of them know my face and sing along with my songs, we're nothing but strangers, and I don't owe them a damn thing.
Sweat drips faster tonight, trickling into my eyes despite the number of times I swipe it away. Rivulets chase down my spine in icy warnings, telling me it’s time to stand up straight. Grow a spine. Claim my life instead of letting the fear of their judgment keep me small.
My shirt sticks to me like a second skin, clinging to the soft curve of my stomach. The teeny belly Dmitri traces with reverent fingers, the one he calls perfect. I fight the urge to yank the fabric away and hide what he loves most.
I can do this.
For him.
I can do this for him.
My feet carry me closer to where he plays, hands moving at blurring speeds as we near the end of the song. The corners of my mouth curl into a smile when I catch the very tip of his tongue peeking between his lips. It's his quiet tell, the one that says he’s completely lost in the rhythm.
The crowd erupts as the final chords crash through the air, and his focus snaps to me in an instant. His fingers fumble, drumstick clattering to the floor and rolling straight toward my feet. I wonder for half a heartbeat if he’s playing it up or if my presence hits him as hard as his hits me.
I kneel and pick it up, hyper-aware of every pair of eyes tracking the motion from the dark beyond the lights.
When I lean over the kit to hand it back, his hand covers mine and holds.
His eyes crinkle at the corners in that sweet, private smile, and he mouths a silent “Thank you.” My attempt to play it cool only makes my own grin spread wider.
Relief floods through me at how simple it is after I'd built it up to be so monumental in my head.
Drama King Eric, master of overthinking, at your service.
Now that it's done, it seems silly to have worried for so long. I try to pull my hand free, but Dmitri resists just long enough to make his point. Mischief positively gleams in the dark pools of his gaze as he mouths one single word.
“Navy.”
He did not.
My eyes widen and a spontaneous laugh bubbles up that's picked up by the mic and carried out over the speakers. I shake my head, half-exasperated, half-delighted, and he finally lets go.
I make my way back to center stage, stealing one last glance over my shoulder. He’s watching every step, lights catching the flash of his teeth in another giant, unfiltered grin before he drops back into the groove, head bobbing with the drums.
I’m still smiling as the next song kicks in.
Still smiling when the show finally ends.