Lullabye

[heroes_and_cons]

aka ~~the death fic~~

Title: Lullabye
Author: heroes_and_cons
Pairing: Kradam
Rating: R for language, inferred sex / mild sex scenes
Word Count: 10,835 (equivalent to about 25 pages on MS Word)
Summary: A confusing friendship unfolds into a tumultuous relationship, but by the time Kris realizes what he’s always wanted it’s too late.
Disclaimer: Completely fictitious. I do not own any of these characters. Title credit to Fall Out Boy.
Additional notes: Mostly angsty future fic, takes place from 2010 - 2014. It will most likely make you cry. Ftr, I have nothing but love for Katy / Drake.

WARNING. THERE IS CHARACTER DEATH. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ IT, LEAVE NOW. CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED.

June, 2010.

It’s been ninety-two days since they saw each other last, face-to-face, in person. And even then, it had only been for a fleeting moment.

When Kris tells Adam this, Adam laughs harder than he should, sending waves of static through the line. “Ninety-two days. You sound like you’ve been marking them off on your calendar.”

“You’re drunk,” Kris says bluntly, a statement, not a question. Adam’s voice is heavy and slurred, but he sounds surprisingly alone.

“Maybe,” he chuckles, and Kris can vividly imagine the smirk that would be gracing his face right about now. “It’s Allisan’s birthday, I was at her party.” His voice becomes subtler.

“And now you’re alone,” Kris states again. “Why’d you leave?”

“You read me like a fucking preteen reads Twilight,” Adam snorts, pausing to sip his drink. “I left because I realized I wasn’t able to talk to any of them about anything relevant, you know, with their lives. Because I’m gone too much.” He sighs heavily, burdened. “I could come home and dial your number and be able to talk to you about just anything, but them, they don’t get it.”

Kris stretches out on the sofa in the living room of his Arkansas home. He and Katy had a place in L.A., of course, but right now he’d fallen into that wonderful time frame that came just after touring but before buckling down to work on new material, where he could return to the place he knew best. It’s two-thirty in the morning, and in Conway there are no sounds but the cicadas.

“What about Drake?” Kris asks. He doesn’t want to, but he knows that Adam will bring him up anway.

“Drake,” Adam laughs bitterly. “I don’t know. It’s like he doesn’t even try. Blair accused me of changing or some shit like that and he didn’t even begin to defend me.” Adam sighs again, and this time it’s so melancholy it makes Kris cringe. “Kris? Can you tell me what it’s like down there?”

Kris glances around. “Here? In Arkansas?”

“Yeah,” Adam replies quietly. “It’s just, right now, I’m getting kind of fucking sick of LA. Just paint me a picture.”

Kris sighs, arching his back on the couch. “I’m looking at the back screen door. It’s hot as hell, but every once in a while there’ll be this nice breeze and it kind of pushes the screen door open a little, banging it shut. You can hear the cicadas, real loud, and the bullfrogs down by the marsh. Every once in a while there’ll be an owl that sort of cuts through the background of white noise. Katy’s sleeping,” he interjects randomly. “I just made a pot of coffee in the kitchen and I can smell it from here.”

“How quiet is it down there?” Adam asks, his voice heavy with drowsiness. “No cars or sirens or any of that?”

“Nope,” Kris smiles. “Just the birds and the wind and the cicadas. No cars, no sirens, no clubs blasting their music, no people mobbing you on the street, no paparazzi, no rush.”

“God,” Adam groans. “I need to get a place in Arkansas.”

Kris laughs at this, even though Adam’s voice is tinged with seriousness. He had said that many times before, and once Kris had actually allowed himself to become hopeful, before reminding himself that Adam would never actually carry through with it.

“Thanks, Allen,” Adam says, his way of closing the conversation.

Kris wants to ask what for, but decides against it. “’Night, Lambert,” he says instead.

He finds himself pressing the receiver against his cheek, long after Adam has hung up the phone, drowning his thoughts in the hollow ring of a dial tone.

* * * * * * * *

September, 2010.

Kris is in the studio when Katy bursts through the door.

He had been picking out notes on his guitar, trying to figure out what chord to end the song on-the last song of his sophomore record, which was almost complete. Even in the soundproof booth he could hear the sound of the door flying open and snapped his head up instinctively, causing the too-large headphones to slip down to his neck.

Kris can’t remember the last time Katy had surprised him at the studio. She claimed she didn’t want to interrupt him, or wanted to keep his work a surprise until she heard the final product.

Kris opens the door to the mixing room. “Katy? What are you-”

“I need to talk to you.” Her voice is frantic.

“Um,” Kris glances over at Joe, who was producing some of his tracks. “It can’t wait? We’re almost done with this one, just working out the kinks.”

“No,” she says breathlessly. “I need to talk to you now.”

Before Joe can protest, Katy grabs Kris’s hand, dragging him out of the studio and into the empty hallway. It’s old and musty, the whole building is, and it reminds Kris of a warehouse.

“Katy, what the hell?” He snaps, suddenly irritated.

“I’m pregnant.”

There is suddenly a ringing in his ears, painfully loud, and he can’t tell if it’s from the studio or the words he was hearing. He feels his vision start to blur and closes his eyes. “You’re…you’re sure?”

Katy nods. “I took, like, five pregnancy tests. I’m sure.”

Kris knows how he’s supposed to react, how he’s programmed to react. “Oh, my God,” he breathes, wrapping her small body in a tight hug and burying his face into the small of her neck. She smells familiar, and he can predict her body language, the way she’ll move against him.

“You’re okay?” She asks, pulling away.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kris insists, smiling wide. “It’s just…it’s a surprise, you know? But it’s great. Really.”

Katy exhales, relieved. “I thought you’d freak out. I’m sorry about pulling you out at work, but I just…”

“No, it’s okay, I’m glad you did.” Kris hugs her again. “Do you need…help with anything? At home? Do you need to go to the doctor or something?” He feels painfully naïve.

Katy snorts. “I’m pregnant, Kris, not handicapped. I’ll be fine. I was going to go call my parents.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kris says. “I’ll call mine when I get home.”

Katy steps up on her tip-toes to reach his lips for a kiss. “I’ll see you there,” she says as Kris plants another kiss on her forehead.

After she leaves, he feels the impact of everything slam into him, a few minutes late. It hits him so hard he literally feels the air being squeezed out of his lungs and slumps against the wall.

“Kris?”

He snaps his head up, seeing Joe standing in the doorframe. “Is everything okay?”

No. And I’m the one with the problem, so I have to fix it, but I have no fucking clue how to.

“Yeah,” Kris breathes, lifting himself up on his feet. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

* * * * * * * *

“Katy’s pregnant.”

There’s a beat of hesitation that’s just long enough to let Kris know exactly what Adam’s thinking. “Wow, man, that’s great. Congratulations,” he says quickly, filling the void.

“Adam,” Kris says through gritted teeth. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a…a dad.” He has trouble with the last word.

Adam laughs, and Kris becomes even more irritated because he is not taking the situation lightly. “Kris, you’re going to be a great dad. Really. I’d never bullshit you, would I?”

Kris leans against the railing on the front porch. It’s two in the morning again, and in the distance he can see the twinkling city lights of Los Angeles. “It’s not…I don’t think it’s the actual baby that’s freaking me out so much,” he says quietly. “It’s just…it’s rushed. It’s too fast.”

“Well, you’ve been married for, what, two years? And you love Katy, right?” Adam doesn’t wait for Kris to answer the latter question. “I think you’re ready. Really.”

Kris rubs his temples with his hand, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his cheek. “I’m in LA for a week. You want to have lunch or something?”

There’s a voice in the background, muffled and sleepy, and Kris knows it’s Drake. Adam whispers something back, his voice pulled away from the receiver. There’s a moment of static where Kris thinks he’s lost him.

“Yeah, I…my schedule’s way too crazy right now,” Adam says softly. “You know how it is.” He pauses before adding, with too much enthusiasm, “But, hey, next time. Definitely. There’s this new Thai place downtown I think you’d really like.”

Kris knows there won’t be a next time. His album would drop, and he’d be swept up in a storm of promotion and music videos and press and award shows. And then he’d tour for several months, and then…and then Katy would be having the baby.

Kris feels a tight lump growing thick in his throat. Before he can force himself into a generic response, like lying about how much he loves Thai food, the words slip out: “I really need you right now, Adam.”

It’s so silent on the other end for so long that Kris figures Adam hung up, which for some reason doesn’t surprise him. He’s about to hang up himself when Adam’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet: “I can’t, Kris.”

“Why? I just need you there for me, you know? As a friend.”

“As a friend,” Adam repeats, as if testing the way the words sound on his tongue. “I can’t, though. You know how…it would just…it would bring back-” he stops himself short. “I’m sorry. I just don’t have the time right now.”

“But-”

“I gotta go, Kris. Drake’s waiting for me.”

Adam knows exactly how the last sentence will pierce Kris like the blades of a thousand knives. He hangs up and, once again, Kris is left with nothing but a dial tone.

* * * * * * * *

December, 2010.

It’s been one hundred and thirty-seven days since Kris has last seen Adam.

Kris gets two and a half weeks off for Christmas and New Years’ before touring, and he spends it with him and Katy’s family in Arkansas.

It’s the 27th, and their extended family is visiting for somewhat of a belated Christmas party. Katy’s five months along, due in April, and all the women gush over her while the men slap Kris on the back as a means of congratulation.

“Kristopher!” He turns to see his mother approaching, a wide smile on her face. “Kris, honey, why don’t you sing something? Entertain your family.”

“Ma, I don’t-”

“No I don’t want to,” she interrupts. “Don’t be rude. These are the people that voted for you until their thumbs fell off.” She glances at him, giving him a once-over. “Katy’s been nothing but sweet this whole evening, and she’s the one carrying a baby. Can’t you just do this one thing for me?”

Kris juts out his jaw the way he instinctively does when he’s frustrated. If Adam were here right now, he’d be making fun of the “dino jaw”.

Kris goes upstairs, grabs his guitar, and by the time he’s back in the living room everyone’s sitting down, expectantly waiting. Kris forces a smile, making his way to the center of the group and situating himself on a chair.

“Hey y’all,” he says, his southern drawl slipping back instinctively. “I heard you want to hear something tonight.”

There’s a murmur of approval and a number of head-nods. They’re drawn to him, fixated with him, even though they’re his own family.

Kris starts strumming the first chords, ad-libbing his way into the song. “This song, I’m doing this one on tour this winter,” he says, his hands gliding along the frets. “It’s a cover, originally done by Five for Fighting. It’s called ‘I Just Love You’.”

When Kris’s tour managers had broached him about the idea of covering a song or two on the tour, he’d chosen this one, even though he wasn’t a big Five for Fighting fan. Adam’s rendition of it, the one he’d unearthed on Youtube a number of years ago, had given him chills.

“And she said I, I just love you,” Kris sang softly. “I don’t know why, I just do. When are you coming home? I’m coming home soon. And I just love you too.”

Katy’s grinning, fondling the necklace that Kris had given her for an anniversary once. When she’s not locking her eyes on Kris, she’s acknowledging the people that are smiling at her.

Kris finishes the song, and his family applauds, then start to swarm him to either congratulate him or ask him questions. But he breaks away from them, claiming he needed to go outside and get some fresh air.

When he tumbles out of the front door and down the porch steps, he doesn’t even notice the unfamiliar black car in the driveway. Nor does he notice the person leaning against it. Not until his eyes adjust to the dark, anyway.

“Adam?” Kris’s voice is barely a whisper.

Adam starts to step forward, but Kris is there in a matter of seconds, reaching out for him. Adam pulls him in roughly, but tender all the same, pressing the back of Kris’s shoulders and letting their bodies sway together from the impact of the hug.

“What are you doing here?” Kris breathes when they finally break apart. It’s then that he realizes Adam is crying, black eyeliner smudged across his skin.

“Drake and I, we…” his voice breaks. “We broke up. And then I realized how badly I needed you, and I realized that was exactly what…what you had been feeling, before, when you found out about Katy. And I felt like such a dick for blowing you off, and I haven’t seen you in - in so fucking long, and…” his words dissipate into nothing as he crumbles.

Kris reaches or him again, wrapping his arms around Adam so tightly he is sure he’s leaving imprints. His skin sizzles, electrified by Adam’s touch, and he can feel his blood surging beneath his veins. They stand like that for a moment, a long moment, before Kris forces himself to drop his arms from Adam’s body.

“You want to come inside?” He asks, gesturing towards the brightly-lit house. “It’s my family, we’re having a dinner party.”

“I know,” Adam says, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I could hear you singing from out here.”

Kris blushes furiously, suddenly embarrassed by the fact that Adam had heard him singing a song that Adam had originally covered himself. He was thankful that it was dark enough out that Adam couldn’t see the crimson climbing his neck.

“I, um, I don’t want to interrupt or anything,” Adam says quietly.

Kris grins and grabs Adam’s wrist, dragging him down the long dirt path of a driveway. “Good,” he says over his shoulder. “I don’t, either.”

* * * * * * * *

“I used to come here as a kid,” Kris grunts, pulling the barn door open.

It had been abandoned for years, long before he’d even been born, built on the outskirts of their property sometime in the 1950s. The slats of wood on the walls are weathered away, and beams of moonlight arch through them.

“Come on, up here,” Kris calls, pulling Adam out of his trance. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, he’d seen a barn like this.

Adam follows Kris over to a ladder and watches him shimmy up it in a matter of seconds. “Are you kidding me?” Adam laughs, glancing down at his designer jeans and jacket.

“Stop being a diva,” Kris teases, throwing a handful of hay at him.

Adam shrugs off his jacket, and Kris is surprised to see he’s wearing only a black tank top underneath. It may be Arkansas, but it was still December, and only about 45 degrees out.

“Aren’t you cold?” Kris asks as Adam makes his way up to the loft.

“Yeah, a little,” he shrugs. “I’ve never been to Arkansas in December. I didn’t really know what to expect.”

Kris lies down in the hay, intertwining his fingers behind his head and staring at the moon through the cracked roof. “I missed you,” he sighs. “I’d give just about anything to go back to the Idol tour, you know?”

Adam rolls his eyes, lying down next to Kris, close enough to feel his body heat. “Nah, you don’t want that again, do you?” He smirks. “Gokey annoying the shit out of us at all hours of the day…doing the same show for three months straight…”

Kris rotates his head, catching a glimpse of Adam’s profile in the moonlight. It’s strangely beautiful, and he can’t think of any other time he’d considered another man to be beautiful.

“But I was with you,” Kris counters. “Remember that time our bus broke down in the middle of the night in, like, Kansas or whatever? And we just lay out in the fields and talked and looked at the stars while everyone else slept.”

“Kind of like right now,” Adam muses. He looks over, catching Kris’s gaze for a moment before sitting up. “Aren’t they going to be wondering where you went?” He gestures towards the direction of the house.

Kris sits up too, hugging his knees to his heart. “Maybe,” he shrugs. “I don’t know, they’re all kind of hovering over Katy right now.”

Adam half-smiles, but it looks painful underneath. “Right. Katy. How’s she doing?”

Kris chews on his lower lip. “Four more months to go,” he whispers. The temperature is dropping fast, and he can see his breath escape him in condensed clouds.

A silence blankets them for a moment before Adam clears his throat. “Listen, can I…can I ask you something? And you have to answer me honestly, okay?”

Kris nods, his heart starting to accelerate. “Okay, yeah, sure. What is it?”

Adam stares into Kris’s eyes, and the cerulean-green of his irises gives Kris goosebumps. “Why’d you choose to cover ‘I Just Love You’?”

It takes Kris a moment to realize Adam’s talking about the song he had just played for his family. It takes him another moment to realize that Adam already knows the answer. And it only takes half a second for Kris to reach up, tangle his fingers in Adam’s hair, and pull him in for a kiss.

Kris realizes, subconsciously, this was what he’d always wanted, and he wants to savor it in case it’s the last time it happens. But it’s happening so quickly his mind barely registers the fact that his lips are on Adam’s.

It doesn’t take long for Adam to pull back. Kris’s hands are still locked behind his neck, holding him close, and Adam presses his forehead against Kris’s, breathing heavily.

“Kris,” he whispers. “We can’t. You’ve…you’ve got Katy, and I…” he shakes his head slightly. “I’m just vulnerable right now.”

Everything inside Kris is screaming, bursting with the energy to fight back, to argue, until Adam agrees to run away with him. Until some sort of sense was made from this chaos. But instead, he forces himself to memorize the way this feels: the way Adam’s breath his hot and damp on his cheek, the feeling of Adam’s thick hair intertwined in Kris’s fingers, how they’re so close that the edges of their noses brush one another.

Kris untangles himself from Adam after a moment, swinging his legs over the side of the loft. Adam follows him, sitting close enough to Kris that they’re still touching.

“Let’s go back,” Kris says quietly. But they remain there for another half hour, until they hear the sounds of cars rolling away from the Allen household, until they hear Katy calling Kris’s name into the night.

* * * * * * * *

Katy is glaring when Kris walks through the front door, dragging Adam with him.

“Where were you? We were worried-Adam?”

“Hey, Katy,” Adam smiles, leaning down to hug her.

“Oh, my gosh, Adam? Is that you? What on Earth are you doing here?” Kris’s mom says, walking into the front room with Mr. Allen close behind. Suddenly, no one seems to care that they had just been on the brink of sending out a search party to find Kris.

“Hi, Mrs. Allen,” Adam says charmingly, letting her kiss both of his cheeks. He shakes Mr. Allen’s hand politely. It never ceases to amaze Kris at how Adam could transform himself from a broken-down mess to a stand-up guy in a matter of minutes.

“I was just passing through, actually,” Adam says, “and Kris and I haven’t seen each other in forever, so I thought I’d stop by.”

“Passing through Arkansas?” Katy asks. “Since when?”

“I’m going to visit Drake for New Year’s,” Adam says easily. “He’s spending the holidays in Florida.”

Kris is also awed by Adam’s ability to lie. The excuse sounds so far from fictitious that even Kris almost believes it.

“We have a guest bedroom all made up upstairs, honey,” Mrs. Allen said. “You’re more than welcome to stay with us.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to intrude,” Adam says. “I was just going to stay at a hotel near the airport-”

“No, you’re not. Not at this hour,” Mrs. Allen says fiercely. Adam laughs. “We’ll get you right settled in. Kris, go and bring Adam’s bags in.”

Adam glances at Kris over his shoulder and throws him a smile. Kris rolls his eyes, knowing that Adam will make him retrieve bags every time they meet now.

As Kris makes his way towards the front door, he starts to think that maybe they’ll be able to move on, act like the kiss never happened, at least for his own sake. Maybe everything would be okay between them, as friends.

But as he reaches for the doorknob, he glances up and sees Katy staring at him. She didn’t look upset or angry or frustrated, just confused, as if she didn’t know who Kris was anymore.

Then again, Kris didn’t know himself anymore, either.

* * * * * * * *

Kris wakes up the next morning to the smell of bacon and pancakes.

Katy is still sleeping next to him, curled into the fetal position on her side. He kicks back the covers and slips out of bed, tip-toeing across their bedroom, desperate not to wake her.

The sight in the kitchen is something Kris will never forget. It isn’t anything too special, but for some reason it’s imprinted in his memory. He stands in the threshold of the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame and simply observing.

Adam has one of Kris’s mother’s aprons pulled on, and he’s concentrating on flipping a pancake that’s much too large for the spatula. The table is set with plates, knives, forks, the daily paper, even a small bouquet of flowers that Kris doesn’t recall being there before.

“I thought you hate cooking.”

Adam jumps slightly at the sound of Kris’s voice, turning to face him and smiling. Underneath the apron, which is pink and floral, he’s wearing a white T-shirt with a V-neck that dips low enough for Kris to see his strawberry blonde chest hair.

“Yeah, and for all I know this tastes like shit,” Adam grins, gesturing towards the pancakes and bacon. “But I feel bad about dropping in like this.”

“Don’t,” Kris says, sitting and chewing on some bacon. He holds up and unfurls one napkin, which is folded to look like origami. “Were you a waiter in a previous life or something?”

“I actually used to wait at this upscale place in Hollywood when I was younger,” Adam smiles, reminiscing. “You know, to make ends meet. If you couldn’t fold napkins like that or distinguish between eighteen different types of forks, you were out of a job. So I learned fast.”

Kris smiles, second-handedly proud of Adam for going from a waiter to having his own private jet. Adam flips the last pancake onto a plate, carrying it over to the table and untying the apron.

“Is anyone else up?” He asks, sitting next to Kris.

Kris swallows, reaching for a glass of orange juice. “No, my parents always sleep in late. And Katy was tossing all last night so she’ll probably sleep in, too.”

Adam hesitates, but only for a second. “Listen, Kris, I wanted to talk to you about…last night.”

Kris shakes his head firmly. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, trying to soften his voice. “I made a stupid mistake. You were right, I was just in a bad mood. So we can forget about it and still be friends, right?”

He stands up, not waiting for a response from Adam, and takes his glass to the sink. He leans against the lip of it, gazing out the window and the rising rays of tawny sunlight that stretch out over the flat canvas of land.

“Right,” Adam finally says, a delayed reaction.

Kris closes his eyes and knows that Adam’s thoughts are identical to his own. Not only would that moment always be remembered, but Kris had a good feeling neither of them even wanted to forget it.

* * * * * * * *

“You’re sure you don’t need anything for the road? A sandwich or something?”

Adam laughs at Mrs. Allen’s concern. “No, no, you’ve done enough,” he insists with a smile, giving her a last hug. “Thank you so much for everything.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” she smiles. “And you come down anytime you feel like, okay?”

Adam says goodbye to the Allens and Katy once more, before Kris shoots them a look and they retreat back to the house. Adam leans against the hood of his car, slipping on his sunglasses and picking at the nailpolish on his thumb.

“I’m playing the Staples Center on my tour,” Kris says quietly, toeing the gravel with his shoe. “Sometime in late January, I think. You’ll come see me, right?”

Adam half-smiles. “Is that even a question?” He chuckles. “Yeah, of course. You’ll be in for my birthday, then.”

“The big two-nine,” Kris grins. “I guess I’ll have to get you a legitimate birthday gift.”

Adam groans. “God, don’t remind me,” he sighs. “We’ll celebrate, but only if you promise to pretend it’s my twenty-fourth birthday.”

Kris feels himself smiling. “Yeah, okay. I promise.”

They stand apart for a moment, but it doesn’t take long for Adam’s arms to part and for Kris to fall into them. Hugs with Adam were far from any type of bromance-style hug Kris had experienced with any other male: they literally collided, and instead of the awkward back-hand-pat, they simply stood there in each other’s embrace. Kris could feel his face instinctively turning in towards Adam’s neck, breathing in his scent.

After a moment, Adam pulls away, but only slightly. Kris shivers as he feels Adam’s lips graze his ear.

“I’m not going to forget about it,” Adam whispers.

And then he turns, climbing into the driver’s seat of his car, peeling out of the driveway before Kris can even register his words.

And then he is left standing there, nothing remaining of Adam except for a cloud of settling dust.

* * * * * * * *

April, 2011.

It’s been eighty-two days since they saw each other last-the last time being Adam’s birthday party, which Kris barely remembers because he unexpectedly got hammered-but now Kris calls Adam in desperation, begging him to come to the hospital. Because, in all honesty, Kris is terrified.

Adam doesn’t bother trying to comfort Kris over the phone; doesn’t even make up an excuse as to why he can’t be there. He drops his plans and is at the maternity ward of Cedar-Sinai Medical Center within minutes.

Everyone is there, even though they’ve flown in from Arkansas: Kris’s parents, his brother, Katy’s parents and siblings. When Katy had unexpectedly gone into labor, he had speed-dialed them, knowing his parents would be shattered if they weren’t present for the birth of their first grandchild. But Katy had been in labor for upwards of fifteen hours now, and travel time hadn’t been a problem.

“Hey,” Adam says when he walks into the waiting room. Kris has his head in his hands, mostly because he’d gotten so little sleep. Kris glances up, and Adam makes a face at the deep bags underneath his eyes.

“Looks like you need a little cover-up there,” Adam smirked, sitting down next to him. “So what’s going on?”

“She’s sleeping right now,” Kris sighed, his voice hoarse. “But they said within the hour.”

Adam drapes an arm across Kris’s chair. “I’m kind of hoping it’s a girl.”

Kris glances up, surprised. He hadn’t imagined that Adam would be hoping for anything. “Really? Why?”

Adam scoffs. “Why? Because then I get to go crazy, dressing her up! She’d be spoiled crazy by Uncle Adam.”

Kris laughs, maybe a little harder than he should. “But not if it’s a boy?”

He shrugs. “If Katy lets me, I’d dress him up, too.”

Kris pauses, staring at his folded hands. “You know we haven’t seen each other in eighty-two days?”

“You gotta stop keeping count, Allen,” Adam smirks. “It doesn’t feel like that long, you know? If I saw you for the first time in a hundred years, I’d still sit down and pick up a conversation with you like it had been two hours.”

Kris smiles because it’s true. The only reason he’d been keeping count was that, for whatever reason, it calmed his nerves. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

“For what?” Adam laughs. He stands up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his jeans with the palms of his hands. “Come on, let’s go get a coffee.”

* * * * * * * *

“Okay, honey, I need you to push again.”

Katy’s crying, her hair clinging to her sweating forehead, even though the hospital’s air conditioned. “I can’t,” she moans, her head rolling back.

Kris presses his hands against her back, lifting her up. “Come on, Katy,” he murmurs. “You’re almost there.”

She cringes, clenching her eyes shut and pushing, bearing down, screaming so loud Kris feels his eardrums pound. It’s surreal, the room is spinning, the doctor is saying there’s a head.

“Another push, Katy. Another big one,” the doctor orders, “and this baby will be out.”

Katy pushes again, screaming even louder, digging her fingernails into Kris’s forearm. He watches, somewhat fascinated, as the baby’s forehead, eyes, nose, mouth, neck, shoulders emerge from in between Katy’s legs in a mess of blood and fluid.

“Katy,” he whispers, holding her up. “Katy, look, it’s there. There’s a baby.”

The doctor secures her hands behind its head, on its shoulders, easing the rest of the baby’s body out. And suddenly, it’s free, flailing and screaming in the doctor’s hands.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor smiles, handing the baby over to Katy. “Congratulations.”

The first thing Kris thinks is that it wasn’t a girl, like Adam wanted. He stares at it, his son, as Katy cries and presses him against her. Before Kris can react, the nurses take him away, cut the umbilical cord and clean him off.

Kris kisses Katy’s damp forehead, and she squeezes his hand. “You did it,” he smiles broadly.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Kris stares up a nurse, who is holding the baby out to him, now swaddled in a blue blanket. She situates the baby into Kris’s outstretched arms. He’s damp, heavier than Kris had been expected, and his face is flushed pink. But he opens his eyes-they’re bright blue, like Katy’s-and a gurgle emits from his parted lips.

“Hi,” Kris whispers, touching his son’s face. “I’m your daddy.”

“Do we have a name yet?” One nurse asks.

Katy and Kris had made a pact that, had it been a boy, Katy would pick the first name and Kris would pick the middle name, and vice versa if it were a girl. Katy leans forward, touching the edge of the blanket and staring at the baby’s face.

“Jack,” she says. “He looks like a Jack.”

“Jack Allen,” Kris smiles. “I like it.”

“You have to pick the middle name, though,” Katy says.

Kris had been thinking he’d settle for his brother’s name, but then decides against it, figuring the kid would get hell for having a name like Jack Daniel. And Neil, his father’s name, didn’t sound right with Jack.

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“How about Kristopher?” Katy suggests, glancing up at him.

Kris grimaces and shakes his head. He’d never wanted to name his son after him; for some reason, it didn’t sound right, or individual.

Kris sits on the edge of the bed, shifting Jack in his arms. “How about…” he hesitates, not sure if he should say it, but the words slip out against his will. “How about Adam?”

“Adam?” Katy asks, her hand suddenly frozen on Kris’s. “Jack Adam Allen.” She hesitates, before looking up at Kris and giving him a half-smile. “Yeah, I like it.”

Kris feels a slight burden being lifted from his shoulders. The baby starts to cry, and he shifts him in his arms, rocking him gently. Maybe, after this, he and Adam wouldn’t see each other for months or years. But now, Kris had placed a piece of Adam within his own son. He would be with him constantly.

He couldn’t decide if he’d made a brilliant move, or the worst mistake of his life.

* * * * * * * *

Kris emerges from the metal double-doors into the waiting room, where everyone is standing expectantly. He hesitates, and it’s silent enough to hear a pin drop.

“It’s a boy,” he breathes, a smile consuming his face.

The small room erupts in cheers. Suddenly people are hugging him, his mother’s crying, his brother is slapping him on the back, his friends are jostling him around. Everyone embraces each other, high-fives, passes around tissues.

“Is there a name?” Kris’s dad finally asks. He nods.

“Yeah. It’s Jack Adam Allen.”

Across the room, Adam is standing behind everyone, and his eyes lock onto Kris’s over everyone’s heads. He smiles softly, but his eyes are sad, and Kris feels his heart drop.

There’s more cheering, more congratulations, before a nurse appears in the waiting room and informs them that Katy and the baby are ready for visitors. Immediately, Kris and Katy’s family push through the double doors and retreat into the hallway.

“Congratulations,” Adam says quietly, smiling and patting Kris on the shoulder. “You’re going to be a great dad. Really.” He reaches for his jacket, shrugging it on his shoulders.

“Where’re you going?” Kris asks, his voice threaded with desperation.

Adam glances around, as if someone else has asked the question. “Well, you don’t need me anymore,” he says bluntly, as if this were an obvious fact. “Besides, I gotta get going. But call me, okay? Let me know how the kid’s doing.”

Kris swallows, nods. He starts cursing himself for letting himself believe that Adam thought this would change something. “Do you really have to go?” Kris asks, almost pleads.

Adam takes a step forward, and for a moment Kris believes he’s going to hug him. But he doesn’t. “Look, Kris, we both know this can’t happen.” His voice is a fierce whisper, but tinged with sadness. “You and Katy and Jack, you’re a family, you fit into a nice picture frame and live in a house with a white picket fence around it. I’m not going to be the guy that disrupts that image. And I know you don’t want that, either.”

Adam pauses, letting his words sink in. He’s right, and Kris hates him for that. He lifts his chin towards Adam, suddenly aware of the fact that they’re only inches away from each other.

“Yeah, maybe you should leave,” Kris mutters.

Kris is half-hoping that his words will make Adam retaliate, maybe apologize, explain himself in a way that didn’t destroy Kris inside. But he doesn’t. He nods, turns around, and then he’s gone.

* * * * * * * *

July, 2014.

It’s eleven o’clock at night when Kris makes his way back home from the studio.

He gently sets his guitar case and bag by the stairs, walking across the floor of the front room, making his way to the kitchen and groping for the light switch in the dark. The house, situated just outside of Studio City, was relatively new-he and Katy and Jack had only moved in less than a year ago.

Kris rummages through the fridge, realizing that Katy had yet to go grocery shopping this week. He grabbed a beer and ducked into the pantry, pulling out a box of instant Mac & Cheese.

He sits down at the breakfast counter with his bowl, seeing a magazine lying on the granite surface. He grabs it-it’s Us Weekly, and he assumes it’s Katy’s.

He starts flipping through the pages absent-mindedly. Before, in Arkansas, he’d never really read the tabloids, mostly because the concept of Hollywood and celebrities seemed to distant and irrelevant. Now, walking to work, he either saw celebrities being swarmed by the paparazzi, or was a target of them himself.

He turns the page, and his heart stops.

There is a massive picture splashed across the entire page in bright color ink. It’s at the playground in the nearby park, the one that Kris and Katy always take Jack to. Adam’s gripping the green slide, popping out from around it, a look of wild faux surprise gracing his face. Across from him, a massive grin consumes Jack’s face, and he is clapping gleefully. Next to the photo are several smaller ones: Adam gripping Jack’s hand as they cross the street, Adam letting Jack try on his sunglasses, Adam comforting a crying Jack after he fell and scraped his knee (which was still covered in Spiderman band-aids, a week later).

Boy’s Day Out!, the caption reads. Glam rocker Adam Lambert and 3-year-old Jack Allen, son of best friend and fellow Idol contestant Kris Allen, spend the day together in LA’s Toluca Lake.

In his mind, Kris is imagining himself, sandwiched next to Adam in the pictures. He touches the smooth pages, letting his fingers grace Adam’s face, as if he were actually touching him.

“Kris?”

Kris jumps at the sound of Katy’s voice, turning so fast he nearly knocks over his beer. “Oh, God,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she says, coming up behind him and rubbing his shoulders. “You’re tense. How was work?”

“The usual,” he sighs. “We finished another track today.”

Katy leans down, pressing her mouth against Kris’s neck. “I see you found the magazine I left out,” she laughs. “How precious do they look in those pictures? I bought a bunch of copies to send to our parents.”

Kris swallows, his throat terse. “Yeah, good idea,” he says quietly.

Katy untangles herself from him. “You coming up to bed?” She asks over her shoulder, making her way out of the kitchen.

Kris nods, swinging back another sip of his beer. “Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.”

She smiles, turning on her heel so that her nightie swishes over her legs. Long after she leaves the kitchen, Kris sits there in a halo of light, haunted by the pictures in the magazine. Haunted by the fact that he so adamantly knew that something was missing from those photos.

* * * * * * * *

It’s three-thirty in the morning by the time Kris is at Adam’s doorstep, pounding on the front door because the doorbell is broken, pounding so hard his knuckles ache.

Adam throws open the door, his eyes narrowing. His thick, obsidian-black hair is standing up at al angles, and the eyeliner he forgot to wash off from the night before is smudged under his eyelids.

“Kris, what the fuck are you doing here? It’s three in the fucking morning!”

Kris walks in, not waiting for Adam to step aside and allow him to, and slams the door shut behind him, so hard he feels the vibrating impact under his feet. His heart is pounding loud enough to shatter ribs, and sweat is trickling from the nape of his neck down his collarbone, but he doesn’t care. He imagines Katy waking up, terrified to find him not at home, but it doesn’t seem to matter to him anymore.

“I love you,” he says, his voice breaking despite how hard he struggled to control it.

“Goddamn it,” Adam mutters, running his hands over his face. “Kris, don’t do this. Please.”

“Why the hell not?” Kris says, his voice raising. “At least I can say it. At least I’m not the one fucking around and leading you on and toying with your fucking emotions so much to the point where it’s impossible to wake up in the morning.”

“Kris, be rational. You’ve got-”

“No!” Kris exclaims, his voice echoing through the house. “No, not anymore. I’m sick of being rational. I’m sick of hiding and I’m sick of playing games and I’m sick of pretending like I don’t feel anything.”

Adam grabs Kris’s shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises. “Kris. Fucking listen to me. You’ve got a son. You’ve got a wife. If you…if you did this, if you left them, came out…you would ruin everything. Your career, your future. Your family. And I’m not going to be the cause for that. I’m not going to step back and watch you throw it away because…damn it, Kris. You have everything right now.”

Kris swallows. “I don’t have you,” he whispers, and Adam drops his hands. “Remember when Jack was born? And you said that I had the picture-perfect family, and you didn’t want to mess it up.” He doesn’t wait for Adam to respond. “That’s not picture-perfect, Adam. Being with you, that’s the picture I’ve always wanted.”

“Shit,” Adam whispers, raking his fingers through his hair. “Fuck. Kris, what the hell are you doing to me?”

“I’m telling you that I love you,” Kris says softly. “I’m telling you what I want, how I feel. If you don’t feel the same way, if you don’t want that…” he swallows, hard. “There’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll walk out that door and I’ll go home and go back to bed with Katy, if that’s what you really want.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and Adam simply stares at the floor. Kris waits, praying for him to say something, to say anything. But he doesn’t. Kris turns, opens the door, the doorknob burning underneath his skin. He steps outside, into the dewy Los Angeles air, moist against his clammy skin.

Before the door is halfway shut, Adam stops it, tearing it open again with one hand, reaching out to grab the sleeve of Kris’s shirt with the other. He pulls him inside, shutting the door again, pressing his lips against Kris’s in a way that could only be described as painfully hungry.

“Fuck you, Kris Allen,” Adam mutters, pulling back before beginning to plant kisses down Kris’s neck and work his hands up under Kris’s shirt.

“Thank you,” Kris whispers, to no one in particular.

* * * * * * * *

Kris is sore, even though Adam had been gentle.

He curls around the curves of Adam’s body, pressing his cheek against Adam’s chest and lightly tracing circles across his abdomen with the tip of his finger. He can hear Adam’s heart beating underneath him, a comfortably rhythmic thud that almost lulls Kris to sleep.

“Are you okay?” Adam whispers, still panting slightly.

“Perfect,” Kris murmurs, leaning up to kiss the contours of Adam’s jaw. “But I think I should get home before Jack wakes up.”

Adam nods, watching as Kris kicks back the covers and slips out of bed, pulling his T-shirt over his head and shimmying his jeans over his slim hips. He grabs his keys and wallet from the nightstand, hesitating.

“Am I going to see you again soon?” Kris asks, sitting at the edge of the bed. They both knew they’d see each other regardless, it just depended on the circumstances.

Adam props his elbow on the pillow, leaning on his hand. “I hope so,” he smiles.

Kris grins, leaning in to kiss Adam again. It was like being injected with adrenaline every time, and even after he pulls away, he can feel the tingling sensation where Adam’s lips had met his.

Kris starts to leave, when Adam calls his name from the bed and he turns around. Adam is half-smiling, tangled in the bedsheets, looking dazed.

“For the record, Allen,” he yawns, “I tried to be the bigger person.”

Kris smiles back. “I know,” he murmurs. “I’ll never forget that.”

He leaves, returns home, thankful that his hybrid makes almost no noise. He parks the car, slips inside, tip-toes upstairs, and crawls into bed next to Katy without changing out of his T-shirt and jeans.

She doesn’t move, her breathing even, and after a moment Kris allows his muscles to relax. It’s five in the morning, and he has to wake up in two hours, but he figures he might as well catch a little sleep.

His eyelids are growing heavy, drooping shut, when Katy’s voice emerges, shaky and unsure. “Where were you?”

Kris freezes, unsure of how to react. If he gave a blasé response, she would probably assume he was cheating on her. If he told the truth…it could go either way.

Kris rolls over. “I was at Adam’s,” he says quietly. “I just really needed to talk to him.”

Katy doesn’t move, her back still facing him. “At three in the morning?”

Kris swallows, his voice trembling. “It was important.”

“More important than-” she stops herself short before mumbling, “whatever”.

He waits a moment, trying to collect his thoughts, but soon her breathing is slow and even, and he figures she’s fallen asleep. He curls up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, and realizes he still smells like Adam’s Dior Homme cologne.

* * * * * * * *

September, 2014.

“Jack, c’mere. Try this one on.”

Kris watches as Adam shrugs a Marc Jacobs hoodie onto Jack’s small shoulders. He kneels down, zipping it and flipping the hood over Jack’s auburn hair.

“What do you think?” Adam says.

“I think Katy’s going to kill you for dressing him the way you would dress yourself,” Kris smirks.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Adam retorts, rolling his eyes. “Jack, you like it?”

Jack nods fervently, hugging his arms around his body. “I want it, Daddy. Can I have it?” He cocks his head up towards Kris.

Kris sighs, reaching down to glance at the price tag. “No. No way,” he says instantly. “It’s $115, Adam! For a hoodie!”

“Marked down from $145,” Adam points out. “Plus, he can wear it for school and everything. And I’m paying for it, so why does it matter?”

Kris doesn’t bother putting up a fight, because he knows that if he doesn’t let Adam buy it now, he would only buy it later and give it to Jack as a gift. He sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. If you want to blow a hundred and fifteen bucks on my son, go for it.”

Jack grins. “I get to dress like Uncle Adam!”

Adam glances over at Kris, a soft smile gracing his face. He peels the hoodie off of Jack before lifting him into his arms. “That’s why we have the same middle name, kiddo,” he grins, walking towards the cash register.

* * * * * * * *

That afternoon, Kris tells Katy he has to stop by the studio for a bit to work on some touch-ups for the new album. He does stop by, just to cover his tracks, but only for ten minutes before driving to Adam’s.

“How’d Katy like the hoodie?” Adam grins, letting Kris inside.

“Actually, she liked it a lot,” Kris says. “I tore off the price tag, though, for your sake. She would’ve killed you if she saw it.”

Before he can shrug off his jacket, Adam is behind him, slowly pulling the sleeves of it down his arms. “I’ve been known to spoil people,” he murmurs in Kris’s ear. Kris feels electrified, shivers trembling up his spine, coiling around his neck. He lets Adam take his hand and lead him to the nearby couch in the living room.

Kris starts to strip, but Adam pulls his arms away and pushes him onto the sofa. “Let me take care of that,” he whispers with a smile, kissing Kris’s throat and jaw. He lifts Kris’s T-shirt over his head, planting kisses down his chest as he does, smiling as he made his way further south.

It’s only a matter of minutes before they are both completely naked. Kris can feel the body heat radiate from Adam onto his; Adam’s erection pressing achingly against his thigh. Some days it was hard, fast, rough; others, like today, they took their time, in no rush.

Kris holds Adam’s face in the palms of his hands, running a thumb over his plump lower lip. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” he murmurs, a wishful thought.

Adam presses his lips to the tip of Kris’s nose. Instead of consolidating Kris, or snapping him back to reality by reminding him about his family, Adam simply whispers “I love you” into Kris’s neck.

Before Kris can react, say the words back even though Adam already knew, he finds himself drowning in an endless pool of ecstasy.

* * * * * * * *

November, 2014.

It’s been nine and a half hours since they last saw each other when Kris gets the call.

It’s 12:30 in the afternoon, and Kris is standing at the counter, fixing Jack a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. The news is playing softly in the background. Katy is upstairs unpacking; she and Jack had just arrived home this morning from Arkansas, where she had been visiting her mother. Kris would have gone, but had to stay for press; still, he felt guilty about the fact that Adam had been here in the night before.

“Daddy, crust,” Jack says, watching Kris from his perch at the breakfast counter. “And cut it in triangles.”

Kris smirks at his son’s quirks. “Magic word, buddy.”

“Please.”

“I would’ve taken you to be a rectangle kind of guy,” Kris smiles, cutting the sandwich diagonally.

The phone rings just as Katy enters the kitchen. Kris tries to read her face-had she stumbled upon anything in their bedroom, something of Adam’s that he had left there the night before?-but she is expressionless.

Kris hands Jack’s plate over to him as he walks around the counter, grabbing the phone and cradling it between his shoulder and his ear while washing his hands. “Hello?”

“Kris?”

Kris is frozen. His hands stop moving, simply hang under the blast of cold water from the faucet. In one word, he knows that something is wrong.

“Leila?” He asks quietly. They had long since been on a first-name basis. Kris had sensed that she knew about him and Adam, yet she still respected Kris-something Kris couldn’t even feel for himself.

Her voice is breaking over the line, trembling, unsteady. “Kris, you need…you need to come here…” A tight sob escapes her throat, and Kris feels a wave of nausea slam into his body.

“Where?” He manages.

“The hospital,” she whispers. “Cedar-Sinai. Adam was…he was in an accident…”

As if on cue-maybe a sign from God, Kris imagines-he realizes that the news playing on the television has a bright “Breaking News” symbol at the top corner. He realizes that the anchors are discussing an accident that is “still being cleaned up” on the freeway. He realizes that the black Mustang that had been evidently slammed into by an eighteen-wheeler and flipped over the guardrail, the one that was smashed into nothing but compacted metal rubble, was Adam’s car.

“I’ll be there.” Kris feels his lips moving, hears his voice, but doesn’t register the fact that he is actually speaking. By now, from Kris’s reaction and what is splayed across the TV screen, Katy has figured it out.

Kris grabs his jacket-the worn-out leather suede one Adam had given him some years ago-and tears out the door without saying a word.

* * * * * * * *

He should have been prepared.

By the time Kris arrives at the hospital, a swarm of reporters have already gathered near the entrance of the Emergency Room. There is no other way to get inside, so Kris deserts his car and dives head-first into the crowd.

“Kris! Kris, is Adam going to be okay? We heard his family is saying goodbye. We heard he’s in a coma. Kris, do you have a comment?”

The reporters’ screams seem to lift him off the ground and shake him violently. If it weren’t for the fact that he was wearing heavily tinted sunglasses, Kris was sure that the tabloids would be covered with his crying and distraught face by the next morning.

He makes it inside, some hospital staff members coming to his rescue and blocking the entrance from any paparazzi. The voices of the news anchors still follows him: Adam Lambert is said to be unresponsive and in critical condition. The rock star’s car was allegedly hit by a tractor trailer that spun out of control on the Hollywood Freeway at around 3:30 this morning. Investigations are still underway.

3:30 AM. Adam would have been driving home from Kris’s. Why do you take the freeway instead of the back roads? Kris had once asked him. He’d flashed a cocky grin: There’s no one out there at three in the morning, smart one.

“You’re here for Adam.” An unfamiliar nurse says, snapping Kris out of his stupor. It isn’t a question, just a statement. Kris nods, feeling every muscle in his neck stretch and contract with movement.

She leads him down a hallway marked with massive, daunting letters: Intensive Care Unit. She says nothing, no words of comfort or explanation. They round a corner, and Kris feels his knees buckle.

Leila has her forehead pressed against the walls of the hospital, her fists curled into tight balls. Her face is contorted, pained, her mouth open as if emitting a silent scream. Eber is slumped on the floor against the far wall, his face in his hands, knees propped up to his chest.

They glance up when Kris approaches, acknowledge him. No words need to be exchanged: he can see everything within their eyes.

A heavy metal doorknob clicks, and Neil slips out of what Kris assumes is Adam’s room. His eyes are bloodshot, fresh tears still running in rivulets down his cheeks, carving rivers into his skin.

“He wants to see you,” Neil says, his voice cracking at the last word.

Kris hesitates. “He…I thought he was in a c-coma.”

Neil shakes his head, holding the door open. “Go,” he whispers, giving Kris a gentle push inside.

The person lying on the hospital bed is not Adam. They are bruised, broken, torn apart. Their face is hidden behind gashes and cuts, dried and matted blood that no one bothered to clean. Tubes and cords jut out from their nose, mouth; IVs puncture their paled skin. Doctors and nurses fill the room, swarming the person, and yet their presence seems invisible.

Kris approaches the bed slowly, as if wading through murky waters. The closer he comes, the more it becomes clear that the person is Adam: his tufts of raven hair stick out from underneath bandages. On the underside of his wrist, Kris can see his first tattoo, the Eye of Horus. It means protection, Adam had explained when he’d first gotten inked.

When Adam’s eyes flicker open, just as Kris is standing flush with the side of the bed, he’s sure it’s him. His viridian-green eyes are iridescent under the blinding halo of light in the hospital room.

“Kris.” Adam’s voice is rough, hoarse, unfamiliar around the edges. Strained, too, and he winces just saying it. His lips are dry, chapped, and Kris wants so badly to give him a cool glass of water.

Kris reaches for Adam’s hand unabashedly. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m here now.”

Adam’s breathing is raspy, and he blinks rapidly, as if trying to stay awake. “Listen,” Adam wheezes. “I’m dying right now.”

Kris shakes his head so hard, he feels the whiplash effect creeping around his neck. “No. Stop it, Adam, don’t say that. You’re going to be fine.”

Adam runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “No,” he says calmly. “I was driving…back from…your place.” He pauses, closing his eyes. “On the…freeway. This truck…he just…he was coming at me.” Another pause, eyes open. “Hit me, head on. I went through the…the windshield…but then the truck, it got me…sandwiched me against the guardrail.”

Kris feels the fire on his skin, flames creeping up his stomach and throat. The burn is almost unbearable. He wants Adam to stop, but knows he won’t and doesn’t waste his time trying.

“My insides are ruined,” Adam whispers. “I’m going to die soon.”

Kris starts rocking himself, because it’s the only movement he can manage. He shakes his head, trembling violently, still gripping Adam’s free hand. “No. No, no, no. Stop saying that, Adam.”

Adam forces a smile, and Kris feels the remnants of whatever was left of his heart crumble. “It’s okay,” he manages. “The time we had together…and last night…you’ll never forget it.” Kris realizes Adam can’t say the same for himself, and feels sick. “And you know…you know how much I love you.”

“I know,” Kris whispers. He lifts Adam’s hand, pressing his against his cheek for him. “But I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I love you.”

A tear pools at the corner of Adam’s lids, catches on his thick eyelashes, round and full. “Kris,” he whispers, after a moment. He coughs, winces, and the doctors near the bed.

“Yeah, it’s okay. I’m right here,” Kris says, as if his presence would somehow alleviate the pain. Maybe it did.

“Can you…can you sing…sing to me? Please?”

It hurts Kris that Adam added the please at the end of his sentence. As if he needed to beg for it. Although Kris wasn’t sure if he could even manage words at this point, let alone melodies.

But he does. He takes the song from the night of their first kiss, four years ago, tweaking the lyrics.

“I said, ‘Darling, it’s late. Is everything okay?’ Silence took over the room,” Kris sang, his voice catching in the hollows of his throat. “And he said, ‘I, I just love you. I don’t know why, I just do. When are you coming home?’”

Adam tilted his neck back slightly, singing the next line with Kris: “I’m coming home soon,”

Kris presses a fist against his mouth, forcing himself to press on. “And I, I just love you, too.”

By the time the song is through, Kris is still gripping Adam’s hand, still rocking back and forth on his heels, even though Adam’s eyes are closed. He leans down, pressing his lips to Adam’s. If he had known that last night would be their last one together, the last time he’d kiss Adam and receive a kiss in return, he wasn’t sure he would have ever stopped.

The door opens, and Adam’s family return to the room. Kris takes a step back, allowing Leila to be on one side of Adam and Eber to be on the other. He stands next to Neil, closer to the end of the bed.

It’s over relatively fast. The monitor next to Adam’s bed, the one that measured his heart rate in steady, rhythmic beeps, starts to slow, then falter, over the course of about thirty minutes. Kris overhears one of the doctors explaining that Adam’s internal organs are starting to fail; that they tried, but there was simply nothing else they could do at this point.

You didn’t try hard enough, Kris wants so desperately to scream. If you had really tried you would have saved his live. He wouldn’t be fucking dying right now.

When people die, it isn’t instantaneous, the way they make it seem to be on television or in the movies. It happens by degrees, and Kris can both see and feel the life being visibly drained out of Adam’s body.

When it does happen, though, he feels it. It’s like a wave crashing, pounding over his head. The flatline of the monitor rings hollow in his ears. The room seems brighter, almost, and achingly silent. It takes a moment, but Leila’s head suddenly drops, a low, long moan emitting from her trembling body.

Kris runs from the room so fast, he feels his tears start to streak horizontally across his face. He sprints down the hallway, dodging empty gurneys and racks of medical supplies, ignoring the nurse’s calls for him to stop. He runs through the building, runs until he finds the nearest men’s room, runs into one of the empty stalls and vomits until there is nothing left inside.

* * * * * * * *

Nine hours later.

When Kris stands at the threshold of his bedroom, he does not see a bedroom. He sees memories.

He sees the exact spot on the bed-at the foot, because, as Adam had growled, “I don’t like to conform, remember?”-where they had made love, two hours before the accident. He sees the smudges on the window, where Adam had breathed fog onto the glass and written ily into the condensation while Kris watched from the bed. He sees the walk-in closet door propped open, where Adam had grabbed an assortment of clothes and made Kris play dress-up, until they eventually stripped each other down.

Kris feels his feet tingling as he crosses the room-barefoot. He feels hollow, and it reminds him of Pinocchio, which Jack had been watching when he had eventually returned from the hospital. Jack had turned, watching his father with wide eyes. “Daddy, they talked about you and Uncle Adam on the news,” he had said.

Katy had said nothing.

Kris carries himself into the bathroom, shuts the door. The night before, Kris had gotten excited and dragged Adam in here, pushing him under the blast of the shower. After, they had sat in the steam and spray, laughing about moving into the mansion during American Idol some years ago, how the bidet’s faucet of their shared bathroom had exploded when Kris had turned it on.

He leans over the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing cool water over his face, resisting the urge to vomit again. There wasn’t anything left inside, anyway.

He cups his face in his hands, feeling his body start to convulse with sobs. He would never again dial Adam’s number in the middle of the night, when insomnia plagued him, and hear the sweet sound of his voice. He would never get to yell at Adam, argue about trivial things. He would never again kiss those lips, run his fingers through his hair, press his body so close to Adam’s that it was as if they were one entity.

Kris reaches for the drawer to find his toothbrush, needing to clean his mouth after throwing up. He rummages through the drawer, searching for it, when he sees something-a sliver of white lined paper, peaking out from under Kris’s deodorant. His hands tremble as he unfolds the crumpled sheet.

Adam’s writing, scrawled and messy, takes up the page. Kris feels his throat tighten instinctively, and slumps down on the floor against the wall, reading it.

Kris-

I hid this under your Old Spice because I love the way it smells on you, and I know it’s the second thing you do in the morning, so you’ll find it. You’re downstairs, fixing tequila and Sprite shots, because I told you I was thirsty and you know it’s my favorite.

You’re beautiful. Flawless. And I love you. I just needed to tell you, and now you’re coming back up the stairs. By the time you read this, we’ll probably have made plans to meet up tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you already.

Love always,
-A