Pieces of the People We Love (Part 3)

[ficbyjane]

He opens his eyes and nearly gives the universe the finger, because clearly somewhere some time it’s laughing at him. He leans against his car, sun-warming already and watches as Tommy gets out of a beat-up piece of crap on the other side of the street, about as far from the studio as he can get with still being in the same area.

Adam slides his sunglasses down from their perch on his head to his eyes and studies Tommy while he can - while everything is still quiet.

He looks … the same, mostly. Skinnier, Adam thinks, if that’s possible. He’s cut his hair. It’s still bleach-blonde, but now it’s short all over, and as Adam watches, he runs his hand over his head, like it’s a recent change and he’s still not used to it.

Adam glances back at the door, then over to Tommy, wavering. He watches as Tommy opens the back door of the car, and gets out his guitar case, slinging it over his shoulder.

“It’s now or never,” Adam mutters, hardly aware of having said anything out loud. Shoving a hand through his hair, he takes a deep breath, and walks quickly across the street, stopping awkwardly by the front of the car when someone gets out of the passenger side.

He hangs back as a girl slams the car door and smiles across the bonnet at Tommy. She looks up and sees Adam, her smile faltering a bit. Adam smiles, feeling as awkward as it’s possible to feel. Tommy turns around then, frowning, and takes a step back when he sees Adam standing there.

“Hi,” Adam says, weakly. As openers he was hoping for something a little more spectacular, but he suddenly feels like he’s swallowed his tongue. The girl tucks herself under Tommy’s arm, and Adam finds himself fighting the impulse to take a step back.

She saves them all by sticking out her hand. “Hi. I’m Heather. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Adam steals a glance at Tommy, but his face is unreadable. He shakes Heather’s hand and finds his voice. “It’s … nice to meet you to. I, uh - I’ll see you inside.”

Tommy still doesn’t say anything and Adam has no choice but to turn and head toward the studio, muttering curses under his breath when he’s pretty sure he’s out of earshot.

He looks around as he walks back to the studio, back, and smiles at the familiar cars he can see, stopping when he feels strong arms wrap around him from behind. “Hey boss man,” Brooke says. “You ready?”

Adam turns around in the circle of her arms, returning the hug, even as he glances over at where Tommy and Heather are still talking.

“Babe, I was born ready.”

Brooke rolls her eyebrows and pokes him hard in the stomach. “Cheesy. But accurate. C’mon then. What are you waiting …” she glances over Adam’s shoulder and turns back to him, carefully schooling her features. “Oh. Well. It looks like everyone else is here, so I’ll go on in and tell them that you’ll be along in a second?”

She phrases it like a question, but she’s already moving towards the door. Traitor Adam mouths at her as she waves at him, pulling the door shut behind her.

Adam turns around in time to see Tommy heading towards him, solo now, as Heather gets into the driver’s seat of the car, guns the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.

He turns his phone over and over in his hand to have something to do as Tommy approaches and he’s no less nervous than he was before. There’s no barrier now; now it’s just the two of them. Tommy stops in front of him and shifts his case from one hand to the other, and back again.

“Hi,” Adam says again, careful not to pitch his voice too low; because this feels weirdly … intimate, even though they’re in a very public place, and they haven’t seen each other in more than a year.

Tommy tilts his head back, his face-eating sunglasses in place, making his expression unreadable.

“Hi,” he says back, and Adam wants to see his eyes, wants to ask him to take the damn sunglasses off but Tommy just stands there, tilting his head up, like he’s waiting for something.

“I. Uh. We should - ” Adam makes a vague gesture because he’s not sure if he means “go inside”, or “talk.”

Tommy shifts his guitar case again, before looking down at it like he’s surprised it’s there in his hand. “If we don’t get our asses inside, we’re never gonna hear the end of it about being late from Monte. Don’t know about you, but I’m not keen on hearing the same fucking thing every day for the next, like, year or whatever.”

That startles a laugh out of Adam, and he starts to relax just a little bit. They parted on the worst terms possible, and it’s surreal to be in the same orbit again, but he’s reassured by the fact that Tommy feels comfortable enough to banter with him when they haven’t even spoken in months.

“I - yeah, okay. Let’s go in. Get this show on the road, and other assorted old-movie clichés.”

Adam glances down in time to see a fleeting grin on Tommy’s face. It comes and goes so fast, he’s not entirely sure that it’s not wishful thinking on his part, and he sighs as he holds the door open, out of long-ingrained habit.

“Um … we could - uh, we should talk, I guess,” Tommy says as he walks past Adam into the studio. “About. Uh, the tour.”

Adam nods, caught off-guard as he lets the door swing shut behind them. He hadn’t thought Tommy would be the one to suggest talking, after the way things had ended so badly.

“We could get coffee or something. After rehearsal,” Adam says, right before Tommy is tackled by Isaac, who had sped across the space toward them. Over Isaac’s shoulder, Tommy nods and smiles again.

“You’re here, you’re here, take those stupid glasses off, you’re inside, you’re here.”

Tommy puts his hands on Isaac’s shoulder and pushes him back, gently. “Yeah, I’m here. Think I’d let you do this without me?” He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head then, glancing lightning-quick at Adam, who finds, suddenly that he can’t meet Tommy’s eyes.

He’s saved from another potentially awkward moment - because suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with his hands and jesus, he shouldn’t be this scattered - by Monte calling them all together.

Monte is still the person Adam trusts the most in the world with the music besides himself, and making him musical director again just makes sense. Monte’s passionate, hardworking and has the focus to pull them through that Adam - on rare occasions - lacks.

Soon, he’s immersed in the process and even though it’s only the first day, Adam can feel the excitement buzzing around the room already, like electricity.

He’s careful not to get too close to Tommy; it’s only day one and they need to talk about how … things are going to come together on stage. (It’s been a year, and Adam’s brain still dodges away from the specifics; he still feels that old, worn spike of pain when he thinks about it too closely) He concentrates on the songs instead; on getting the arrangements right, and talking to the band about the set list, while Brooke works with the dancers in another corner of the large space that has floor to ceiling mirrors set up.

It’s a long, far from perfect day - Tommy has to learn all of the new songs and the band hasn’t played together as one unit since the last tour so it’s mostly about set up and working out the set list while Tommy goes over the new songs with Monte, Cam and Isaac. Adam keeps his distance, and it’s easy enough - he’s got enough to do that it looks completely natural.

He finds himself, as the end of the long, first day draws to a close, looking forward to - not going out, that smacks too close to a date for Adam’s liking - but to just … talking to Tommy again. Like they used to, maybe.

Like friends.

That plan is torpedoed however when they all leave, and Heather’s waiting, leaning against Tommy’s beat up old car, one hand shielding her face from the sun setting in a red blaze and washing everything over with orange light.

Tommy half-turns back to Adam, and Adam would swear he almost sees something on Tommy’s face - something like frustration, a tightening around the eyes, but it’s gone before he can catch it. He forces a smile, determined to keep things light while he can and says, “Raincheck?”

Tommy slides his sunglasses down over his eyes, as his mouth quirks up into a small smile. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

Adam half-raises his hand in an awkward wave and finds himself absently agreeing to go out later with Jason, Taylor, Sally and Sasha to some club that’s just opened, even though he just wants to go home, eat whatever’s in his freezer and talk at Danielle until she hangs up on him.

“You’re just using me for my name,” he grumbles at them good-naturedly as Jason ducks under his arm and plasters himself to Adam’s side.

“Yes, yes we are,” he says cheerfully. “And you get to feed us first, too. Because, you know, you’re like, the rock star and we’re just your lowly back-up dancers.”

Jason flutters his eyelashes outrageously then, grinning widely and Adam finds himself smiling back. He likes Jason - he’s got energy to burn, a wicked sense of humour and yes, okay, Adam admits to himself, the ass doesn’t hurt either.

And it’s not like he’s been celibate the past year. He’s just been … working, and when he’s working there’s not a lot of room for anything else, especially something as fragile as a new relationship. (And when he has gone out, or hooked up, it’s been with old, trusted friends that he knows won’t sell him out to Perez or the tabloids the morning after. One night stands - or one-month stands in the case of Brad most recently where they had poked at the idea of getting back together for a while before parting once again as close friends - without regret or recrimination is how he’s happy to live his life at the moment.)

Jason’s right there, and he’s fun and uncomplicated to be around. Adam’s pretty sure he’s picking up signals as well but he’s really bad at that usually, and although he went balls to the wall on his album, he approaches everything else now warily, like it’s going to blow up in his face any second.

“Am I?” he says, raising his eyebrows as Sally ducks under his other arm and winds her arm around his waist. “Well, we haven’t spent a lot of time with you yet, so we should, like, have a get to know you dinner. Or something.”

“I see,” Adam says, finding that he’s enjoying himself. “And what’s your excuse then?” he says to Sasha and Taylor, grinning.

Taylor cocks his head to the side and gives the question what appears to be serious consideration. “Because we’re freeloaders.”

Adam’s laugh rings out, bright and loud echoing around the now nearly empty street.

They all fall into a welcome, familiar pattern after that. Brooke - who looks and acts like a sweetheart most of the time - turns into a drill sergeant with the dancers and nothing less than perfection will do. Adam and Monte are just as disciplined with the band, and after a few days, everything just clicks all of a sudden, and pulls together and Adam knows at that moment that the tour is going to be amazing.

The one frustration - the one pea under his mattress that he can’t fix - is Tommy. The promised talk somehow never happens as they all immerse themselves in the details of the show, and as the tour approaches, Adam still has no idea what he’s going to do - or how Tommy feels - about incorporating some of their old stage antics into the shows.

He tries, but the universe can be a cockblocking bitch when it suits her, and either there’s something to go over in one of the numbers that only Monte can help Tommy with, or Heather shows up early to pick him up, or Adam has an interview …

“It’s frustrating” he says when Brad calls one night not long before the tour is due to start, a semi-regular thing that Adam’s grateful for because it means he can vent to someone that’s not invested in the tour, but someone who knows him, start to finish.

“It’s like I can’t get near him to talk at all, and I have no idea how he feels about the - stage stuff and it’s getting to the point where I’m going to be asking him on stage.”

Brad snorts at that, and Adam can almost see him roll his eyes. And, okay - that’s a little dramatic, but he has no idea what to do.

“Stop trying,” is Brad’s advice. “Stop trying to make it happen, and it’ll happen.”

Brad’s calm in the face of Adam’s maelstrom and it feels like cold water on a scorching hot day. He does this: he pushes and pushes and expects the universe to fall into line with him, when it’s always going to be the other way around.

“You make it sound easy,” he says, because it might be good advice but the universe isn’t getting off the hook that easily.

“I never said anything about easy,” Brad says, and now Adam’s pretty sure the little fucker is laughing at him. “I just said to stop trying to make it happen. You’ll wear yourself down before you even get on the stage.”

“See, this is why I pay you the big bucks. Because you’re like my own personal Oprah.”

“Thanks. You realise that makes you Gayle …”

Adam’s still laughing when he hears the dial tone.

He falls into some kind of … thing with Jason, that he won’t call a relationship because - “It’s pretty much just fucking,” Jason says cheerfully one night when Adam tentatively broaches the subject.

“And you’re … okay with that? I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you …” Adam’s voice drifts away when Jason laughs. Quicksilver fast, Jason moves to straddle Adam’s hips, kicking away the sheets at the same time.

“You’re not,” he says, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Adam’s hair. “I’m having fun. It’s okay to just have fun, sometimes. But that’s all this is. Fun.”

“Fun,” Adam echoes, twisting up and around, pinning Jason to the bed before he can react. “Yes, Adam. Fun.”

Even so, Adam breaks it off the next morning, over coffee as they wait for the cars to come and ferry them from his house to the buses.

“I just - we’ll be living so close to each other for the next few months, and I don’t want - complications? Does that make me sound like an asshole?”

Jason picks up his coffee and tilts his head to the side, a quirk of his when he’s thinking.

“You think that in a situation like that … we might mistake physical closeness for something else and so you want to stop before it gets messy. Also, you don’t want to … parade me in front of your ex-boyfriend that you’re still in love with. How did I do?” he says, brightly, like he’s asking if he just passed a test.

Adam’s speechless for a moment, aware that his mouth is hanging open but unable to move. Jason reaches over and gently presses his fingers under Adam’s chin until his mouth closes again.

“I have eyes, Adam, I can see. You always know exactly where Tommy is. You watch him, and it’s like … you’re holding your breath around him, and wearing your heart on your sleeve. It should be creepy, I guess, but it’s kind of sweet, and no, I don’t mind. But it means you need to sort your shit out.”

“You sound like Brad,” Adam says, nipping at Jason’s fingers when he tries to pull them back.

“Hmmm … well, if two people you care about are saying the same thing, doesn’t that mean you should at least pretend to listen?”



It’s a good question, and one that Adam ponders a couple of days later when everyone gathers at the buses, ready to do it all again.

Everything is done up in shades of blue and green; turquoise and purple - the buses; the costumes; the stage sets, as the Aquarius Rising Tour launches, and Adam pauses for a moment, just staring. Glam Nation felt like the start of what his vision for touring was, but it felt … small sometimes. Like he couldn’t spread out properly, and articulate exactly what he wanted. Now, with a much bigger sold-out tour; a platinum album and rave reviews, he feels light, almost, and ready to fly.

He finds himself scanning the familiar faces over and over again, somehow half-expecting not to see Tommy at all - that now that the tour is real and right in front of them, that Tommy’s going to find it too much.

Adam lets out a breath he’s not aware of holding when he sees Tommy’s battered old car pull into the parking lot. He’s vaguely aware of Monte beside him, and doesn’t hear what he says at first.

“Say again?” Adam asks, as one of the buses revs its engine. Monte leans in closer, a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Tommy and Heather broke up a few days ago. He didn’t want to … say anything, but I thought that you should know before we head out.”

Adam turns to face Monte, and pulls him further away from the noisy rumble of the bus engines. “What happened?”

Monte shakes his head and looks over to where Tommy’s getting his cases out of the trunk of his car, talking to Isaac.

“I don’t know the details. He’s been pretty … closed about it. Just called me after it happened. They only dated for a couple of months, I think, and it wasn’t serious. But you know - a break up is a break up. I know you need to talk to him, but tread carefully, okay?”

Adam nods as Monte pats him on the arm and heads for the band bus, almost stumbling when Cam catches him from behind in a surprise hug. Adam laughs out loud at that, which catches in his throat when Tommy turns around to look at him.

Adam finds himself moving before he realises he’s made the decision to. He stops when Tommy’s roommate Mike gets out of the passenger side of the car, rocking back on his heels. Mike looks between them and says “I’ll get your stuff on the bus.”

Tommy blinks and turns his head, like he’s forgotten Mike’s there. “Okay. Here - car keys. And … thanks.”

Mike takes the keys and turns them over in his hand, before looking up. “Anything, man.”

Adam waits until Mike is out of earshot, and takes the chance to quietly study Tommy. He looks tired; dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is a weird mix of light brown and blond. His fringe is a little longer, and the way it’s scattering across his forehead makes Adam’s fingers itch to push it back.

Brad and Jason are right, he realises, the revelation coming upon him quietly. He is still in love with Tommy. He sighs and bites his lip as Tommy cocks his head to the side, a questioning look.

“I - I’ve been meaning to talk to you about … about the shows, but there never seemed to be a chance and now the timing is just - weird, and awkward. Anyway - now that we’re getting on the road, it’s not going to be any easier to find the time, and - do you mind riding with me? Just - for today. We really need to talk.”

Adam catches his breath on the last word, having raced through what he just said, needing to get it out before his courage failed him altogether.

Tommy doesn’t say anything for a moment, just studies Adam’s face, like he’s
looking for something.

“Sure,” he says. “Just let me tell Monte so he doesn’t think I got left behind.”

The main problem with talking on the buses is the complete lack of privacy. Adam discards his own room immediately - it’s completely taken up by a large bed, which brings up now-painful memories for him.

For Tommy too, he supposes.

They get on the bus, and Adam pulls Brooke aside, quietly saying he needs to talk to Tommy with as much privacy as they can find - without using his room. Brooke glances quickly between the two of them and nods, giving Adam a quick kiss on the cheek before briskly herding everyone back towards the bunks.

Sasha pokes her head up and raises her eyebrows, grinning before making a beeline for his room, closely followed by Terrance and Taylor. Adam raises a hand, wanting to protest but just sighs in resignation. It won’t be the last time his room is overtaken.

Tommy laughs and falls into the only armchair in the minute-sized living area near the front of the bus. Brooke pulls the curtain across behind her after giving Adam a small wink.

Adam sits down on the sofa - a small, slightly uncomfortable two-seater that he knows won’t feel half as rigid under his legs after a few days.

Tommy sits forward, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on his legs.

The silence that stretches then is awkward and heavy, weighted with so many unsaid words and unacknowledged feelings.

Adam sighs and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture that pulls a smile out of Tommy.

“You always did that when you were nervous. Drove Sutan nuts.”

Adam lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I remember. It’ll be the same this time around if I don’t get a handle on it.

“Anyway …”

“Right. Talking.” Tommy rubs his hands over his legs, and it occurs to Adam for the first time that he might have been nervous about this moment, too.

“I - I just wanted to talk to you about … the show, and this is the worst timing ever, and we should’ve talked about it weeks ago, and I feel like I’m putting you on the spot because the first show is tomorrow, and -” Adam stops talking by virtue of having run out of air.

He takes a deep breath and looks up to find Tommy watching him, his face unreadable. “The show,” he repeats, blankly before understanding dawns.

“You mean … the stuff on stage. Fever and all that.”

Adam nods, staring fixedly at the ground between his feet, feeling awkward.

“Adam. Adam, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Adam drags his eyes up from his minute study of the floor and meets Tommy’s steady gaze.

“I didn’t want to just - not say anything, because that wouldn’t be fair to you if I got, you know, caught up, and I didn’t want to take you by surprise -” Adam bites down on his babble when Tommy starts laughing.

“Sorry,” he says, getting himself under control with visible effort. “Uh, look - the show is the show, okay? I’m not gonna get upset with your or angry if. I mean - it’s - it’s fine.”

Adam nods, relieved, as another awkward silence descends. The quiet roar of the bus engines is the only noise for a while until Adam feels his phone buzz. Glad for the distraction, he picks it up from the table and reads the message from Brooke:

all clear?

He turns the screen to show Tommy, who grins and rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go crash for a bit anyway - we got a long ride ahead.”

Adam nods, and fires a quick text back to Brooke, before slumping back on the sofa as Tommy makes his way to the back of the bus, muttering something about stealing Taylor’s bunk for a bit.

He’s distracted from his own thoughts when Sasha lands in his lap. Brooke curls up beside him, and he’s vaguely aware of Jason and Taylor heading towards the tiny kitchen.

“How’d it go?” Brooke asks him, quietly. He turns his head and offers a half-smile; small but sincere. “Okay. A little awkward, but … okay.”

Brooke nods, and kisses his cheek.

“It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

Adam wishes he had Brooke’s faith.

The first show goes better than they all expect. The first image everyone sees is a giant, half-naked water bearer, pouring water from a huge, silver pitcher hitched up on to his shoulder. The water pours down his torso, and soaks his body before flowing down and morphing into a waterfall.

The strains of the first song play - a dark, thumping beat that has the crowd on their feet screaming. Adam pauses at the microphone for a moment, and he can’t help the grin that spreads over his face before he launches into the performance.

There are a few hitches here and there, but nothing that can’t be ironed out over the course of the next few shows as they all get used to performing together again, and Jason and Sally find their own niches within the close-knit group.

They have the luxury of hotel rooms that night, and by unspoken agreement everyone piles into Adam’s room, high on adrenaline and exhaustion. He sees Tommy, trying to slip away, and he’s hurt by that, a little, because on stage it had felt like nothing had changed at all in a year, but Isaac, who’s full of energy and chattering on, hooks an arm around Tommy’s neck and drags him forward.

“No, no, no Tommy Joe. No hermiting. It’s our first show and we all have to celebrate. Come on.”

Adam’s pretty sure he imagines the ghost of a wink Isaac tips him as he holds the door open for everyone to pile in to his room.

He calls down to room service for alcohol and food, letting the relaxed, happy atmosphere carry him along.

It becomes a tradition - a welcome return of a tradition from the first tour, and Adam starts to relax - just a little bit.

They all flow into and around each other, like the last tour hadn’t finished at all - like they’ve all just been doing this forever - and it makes Adam ache, just a little bit, when he sees Tommy jamming with Monte, or goofing around with Taylor and Isaac.

He keeps a little bit of distance from Tommy off-stage. It was the complete lack of space and distance that got them tangled up - and Adam confused and ultimately heartbroken - in the first place. He senses the same slight coolness from Tommy, in the way he pulls back when Adam’s around, the way he pulls into himself, and even though it makes sense, and he’s doing the same thing, Adam hurts a little.

He misses it more than he thought he would - the closeness that they used to share. The nights on the bus or in hotel rooms, where they’d curl up together on Adam’s bed and talk for hours about the show, or music or just - Adam snaps himself out of that train of thought.

Nostalgia is dangerous and tricky, Adam knows, like an insidious energy-sapping drug, and he needs to focus on the here and now - on his tour, and making every show perfect.

He draws closer to Terrance and Brooke this time around, instinctively leaning on his old friends to pull him through the occasional dark spots.

Monte watches him with the wary protectiveness of an older brother, and it soothes Adam’s heart to know that he’s there, ready to catch him if he falls - though he has no intention of falling.

“I’m living in a bubble,” he tells Neil sleepily one night as they lounge around in Adam’s hotel room watching … something. Neil grunts, half-listening as he frowns at his laptop, pecking out his latest blog post - the label having given him permission to write about the tour from his somewhat unique perspective as he works for Adam as a PA again.

Neil raises his eyes, blinking. “Was that it or did you actually have a point? Because I’m working here.”

“You have your own room, you know,” Adam snaps, irritated. He loves Neil, but being in close quarters with him again grates against his nerves some days.

Neil just rolls his eyes, unrepentant and says, “Yeah, but this way I can order whatever I like and it goes on YOUR tab. Plus it’s easier to work in your room than mine. When you say don’t disturb or else, people listen. When I say it they seem to take it as an invitation to bug me with the most random shit just because they can. So you’re stuck with me till this is finished.”

“Fine, just … type quieter,” Adam mutters, so close to sleep that it’s not going to matter soon if Neil suddenly takes up clog dancing. He ignores the finger Neil flips at him and rolls himself into his covers, letting exhaustion take carry him away.



The tour rolls on and around; rumbling its way through America and Canada, a patchwork, criss-cross road trip that feels exactly the same as the first tour, and completely different to Adam at the same time.

The same insofar as he feels the same high for being on stage that he always has; the music feels the same, even though the set list is much longer; Adam still gets the same kind of buzz from it; and he’s with all the people that he … loves.

He’s careful, with his distance from Tommy, and it becomes like a delicate, elaborate dance, as everyone inevitably draws closer and closer as the tour draws out, and more and more dates are added, and Adam finds himself needing everyone again just as much as before.

Which makes avoiding Tommy outside of the shows themselves almost impossible.

They barely speak, except about the shows, or the staging, sometimes veering into thin-ice territory when they stray into talking about music that has nothing to do with the tour, or reminiscences about the previous tour. One of them always pulls back, though, when that topic comes up.

Either Tommy draws into himself even further; shrinking himself in the world somehow; as though there being less of him might reduce the hurt; or Adam bites back on words that he should have said months ago, when he acted almost carelessly, throwing away what he knows - now - could have been something great and true.

The dance has become so elaborate that now everyone on the tour is involved; almost subconsciously taking their places; marking their spots so that the all-important off-stage distance can be maintained.

The fact that on-stage, Tommy bends to Adam just as easily as ever; kisses him the same - tastes the same … Adam has to be absolutely ruthless with himself, and the dividing line is clear, stark and black.

Until the night that Tommy himself reaches out, and starts erasing it.

It’s a small, simple gesture - a hand on Adam’s arm as they’re leaving the stage after a show that’s gone particularly well. Adam would have to ask Lane or Neil where they are, but it’s somewhere with a massive stadium, his voice soaring up into the tiers and echoing through the spaces, filling them with sound.

The energy stays with all of them as they take their bows and make their way backstage. Adam feels a brush of fingers on his bare arm, and looks down, half-expecting it to be Isaac, or Cam.

He nearly trips over his own feet when he sees Tommy smiling up at him, his dark eyes wide and warm.

“Good show,” is all he says, letting his fingertips trail over Adam’s arm for a moment before he’s swallowed up by the darkness backstage.

It’s a small, almost unnoticed moment, but Adam feels as though ice floes have shifted and continents have cracked.

He catches Monte’s eye, who smiles at him and slaps him on the back before following Neil into the depths of the dressing rooms.

Adam stops and takes a deep breath. It’s one touch. One little touch, and he can’t let himself over-react or get distracted. That wouldn’t be good for anyone

He’s getting better at lying to himself.

Adam knows he’s living on borrowed time. One touch can’t erase a year of heartache, for either himself or Tommy. One of them has to make the next move, and it’s on him, but he finds his feet - metaphorically - frozen to the floor.

He feels the weight of everything so much more this time around: more people relying on him; more shows; more chances to fuck up; more scrutiny … just … more.

Most of it’s fine; it’s kind of awesome most of the time, except when it’s not - when the paps get too close on a rare day off, or when a persistent interviewer won’t let a question go that Adam has no intention of answering, or when soundcheck is off - on those days, Adam finds himself seeking out Cam, who doesn’t ask anything of him, doesn’t expect anything from him, and of all the people he knows and loves, is content to just sit and not say anything.

It’s the most soothed Adam’s felt since the tour started.

He’s been dreading the long weekend. Three days with nothing but his own circling thoughts isn’t exactly his idea of a relaxing time. His only plans are for his bed in his hotel room; lying flat on his back and being unconscious for as much of it as possible.

Monte’s taking the chance to fly back to LA to spend the few spare days with his family; Cam’s going off with her girlfriend somewhere mysterious, Sasha’s girlfriend is flying in and the rest of the troupe scatter with their own plans for the brief breather.

Because on some days the universe seems to enjoy kicking him over and over, Adam finds himself sharing an elevator ride with Tommy after an irritating, too-long radio interview. Adam spent so much of it clenching his teeth that now he’s riding an ache low in his jaw that’s threatening to crawl up into his head.

The silence in the elevator is strange and heavy, with no one else around to buffer them from it. Adam shifts from one foot to the other and watches as Tommy punches his floor number, two below Adam’s.

“So, uh, you’re staying here? For the break?”

Tommy glances at Adam as he absently bites at a loose piece of skin by his thumb. “Um. Yeah. Mom’s visiting her sister in Hawaii and Lisa and her husband are moving. So. Yeah.”

“Not gonna go and play with Monte?” Adam asks, casting about for something. He knows that - despite the short turnaround - Monte has a gig lined up in LA.

Tommy rolls his eyes as the elevator quietly dings to a stop. “Don’t worry. You won’t even know I’m here.” As an exit line it’s a good one and it takes Adam a moment to stir and start to say “That’s not -” which is as far as he gets before the doors close and the elevator is rising again.

He gets to his room, irritation and frustration humming under his skin. Neil’s there, sprawled on the sofa like he’s planning on moving in for the weekend. Adam picks a fight with him, and they have a satisfying shouting match that really only siblings can have and still be friends afterward, which ends with Neil calling Adam a fucking asshole and slamming the door on his way out.

Adam collapses back on his bed, feeling like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. His head feels clear, even though he’s exhausted, and he can only laugh when he gets a text from Neil asking if he wants to grab some dinner later.

He texts Neil back sure but you’re paying, freeloader before heading to the shower.

The next day, Adam’s dozing like a cat on the bed in a wide patch of sunlight while Neil - who has unabashedly invaded his space again - is sprawled on the room’s sofa pecking at his laptop and periodically glancing up at the door.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Adam asks, having prised his eyes open in time to see Neil glance at the door yet again. “You’re kind of wrecking my relaxation here.”

Neil’s saved from answering by a knock at the door. “Finally,” he mutters as Adam sits on the edge of the bed, a sudden, cold lump of trepidation settling in his gut.

“Neil,” he says quietly, as Neil reaches the door. “What the hell is …”

“What took you so long?” Neil says, irritable as he yanks the door open like it’s personally offended him somehow.

“Sorry.” Sutan’s voice is laden with sarcasm. “But it took me longer than I thought to convince Tommy to even leave his room, let alone come here.”

As Adam stands up, Sutan propels Tommy into the room by way of a gentle shove.

“Right,” he says, brisk and practical, turning his laser gaze on Adam who has to resist the urge to take a step back. “I’m only going to say this once, then Neil and I are going across the hall to my room and by all that is good in this world Adam Lambert you two are going to talk.”

Adam glances involuntarily at Tommy, who has his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, and he’s giving Sutan a dark, baleful stare. “Save the melodrama for Adam, honey,” Sutan says without looking back at Tommy before saying in a gentler tone, “Look - we all love you both, and you are both driving us all crazy.

“We don’t care how you do it, or what you do to get there but you need to start talking - at least like civilised human beings, if you can’t bridge the friend gap yet.”

Sutan comes over and lays his hands on either side of Adam’s face, and Adam gets the slight tilt of vertigo he always gets this close to Sutan, who has a few inches of height on him.

“Just talk to him, okay? For all of us. We’re meant to be enjoying this, not … tiptoeing around the volcano.” Sutan gives Adam a smacking kiss on his forehead, pats Tommy on his cheek, and sweeps Neil up in his graceful, slightly scattered wake.

“My door will be open, so I will know if either of you bail before you’ve hammered this out. Now. Talk.”

Adam watches helplessly as Sutan and Neil leave, the door clicking shut behind them.

He sits back down on the bed and looks, wary, at Tommy, who hasn’t moved. He meets Adam’s gaze and says, “Okay,” before turning to the mini fridge. Bending down to open the door, he empties it out and lines up all the tiny bottles on the table in front of the sofa.

This is a plan Adam can get on board with, and he moves from the bed to collapse on the sofa, swiping a bottle of vodka and downing it in one, staring at the ceiling. He hears a clink and without looking he knows Tommy’s taken a tiny bottle of Jack.

They sit in silence for a while, determinedly drinking their way through Adam’s mini-bar. There aren’t enough bottles to get them hammered, but there are enough for Tommy to move from the sole armchair to the sofa, perching on the edge and turning the last empty bottle over and over in his hands.

Adam turns his head carefully from his contemplation of the ceiling to watching Tommy’s fingers curling and uncurling around the tiny bottle he’s holding.

“I’m … sorry,” he says suddenly and Adam blinks. “What?” he asks, feeling stupid and slow, like he’s missed part of a conversation he didn’t realise they’d been having.

Tommy puts the empty bottle down on the table and stares down at his hands again.

“For … some of the stuff I said when we … when … before.” He looks up to meet Adam’s gaze. “I - should have - said something, told you -”

Adam moves then, instinctive, but slow, like he expects Tommy to get up and bolt. He’s not sure how well a hug would be received, though that’s what he wants to do, so he settles for touching Tommy’s bare arm, almost absently stroking his fingers over the bare, inked skin.

“I - you’re not the one who needs to apologise. I should have - I should have trusted you. Trusted us, instead of … doing what I did, and I hate the fact that I can never take that back.”

Adam drops his hand and digs his fingers into the cheap, rough fabric of the sofa, feeling suddenly too fragile to look Tommy in the eye. This is the most honest they’ve been with each other for over a year and it feels momentous but commonplace all at once - an important, gravity-shifting talk that still just boils down to two people, trying to find their way back to a less rocky common ground.

Tommy shifts his own hand, resting it on the sofa facing Adam’s so their fingertips are nearly touching. Adam focuses on the tiny space in between, the smallest of gaps that feels like the deepest crevice in the world.

“It’s … okay,” Tommy says, quiet and a little slurry from the booze. “It wasn’t. Like … not for the longest time. It was this terrible, huge, thing that you … did to me, you know?”

Adam nods, not trusting his voice around the lump in his throat.

“But, you know - with the bullshit stuff and the good stuff - you still gotta get out of bed in the morning. Still gotta … keep moving. You know?”

Adam’s heart aches for a moment, because he knows Tommy’s talking about more than their disastrous break-up; that he’s talking about his Dad as well.

“Yeah,” he manages to whisper, wanting to reach out and touch, but not daring to; he senses that that first move has to come from Tommy; Adam knows that he still has to be forgiven.

“Tommy,” he says then, quiet and almost pleading. He doesn’t know yet what he’s asking for, what he wants; not really. He just knows that it matters.

“Yeah. I know,” Tommy says, like he’s reading Adam’s mind. He slides his hand closer, until their fingertips are touching.

It’s the smallest touch in the world, the slightest press of skin against skin, but it knocks the breath out of Adam’s lungs, and makes him feel like he’s breathing again for the first time in a year.

“It’s okay.”