Take My Hand (and Show Me Where We're Going)

aka the accidental bonding fic

Touch my skin and tell me what you're thinking,

Take my hand and show me where we're going.

Lie down next to me; look into my eyes,

And tell me; tell me what you're seeing.

~

"Ow."

Perhaps, Adam thinks as he stares at the ceiling of the fine establishment he's been drinking at for the last three hours, the Galaxy Idol management had a point when they told him to stay with his handlers at all times. Perhaps, he should not have ditched them tonight.

Kris Allen's seriously cute and more than a little worried face swims into focus.

"You all right?"

Adam takes stock of his body. The back of his head hurts. His toes are tingling. And his palm... his palm feels oddly warm.

"I think so," he says and tries to get up. The world starts spinning around him. "Shit," he says, pressing a palm against his forehead. Lana is going to bitch him out so hard for this.

"Let me help," Kris says, moving to wrap an arm around Adam's shoulders. He pulls Adam up easily; he's stronger than he looks.

Finally on his feet again, Adam leans against the bar and lets it take most of his weight. He eyes the bar stools contemplatively, but climbing on one right now would probably be a bad idea. His head really doesn't need another knock. "What just happened?" he mumbles, mostly to himself. Kris answers nonetheless.

"You asked for my hand."

Adam blinks. They shook hands. They just shook hands. It sounds so much worse when Kris puts it like that.

"I shook your hand," Adam corrects him.

Kris nods. "You asked for my hand and shook it. As karacheewatsa."

"Karachi-what-sa?"

Kris searches Adam's face in growing panic. "You didn't mean—Oh."

Adam downs the drink sitting in front of him. The alcohol burns going down and leaves a citrusy aftertaste. He has no idea whose drink that was, but no one could possibly need it more than he does right now. When he looks back up, Kris is running a hand through his hair, looking queasy.

"I am so sorry," Kris tells him earnestly.

Adam decides he doesn't even want to know why.

~

Adam doesn't go out looking for a hook-up.

No, seriously.

He's just been feeling lonely, and also somehow like he doesn't have a minute to himself at the same time. He's always in the middle of this commotion—fans, reporters, his frickin' entourage—and everyone keeps talking at him without really listening to what he's saying, and... it just gets a bit too much sometimes.

He asked for this life; he knows that. He wished and he hoped and he worked his ass off to get here. And he's not saying he's sorry that he won Idol. It's just that after months and months of competition followed by months and months of touring, he needs a bit of a breather.

One real night off. Some fresh air, a fresh face or two. That's not too much to ask, is it?

So he sneaks out of the hotel, and he finds this lovely little bar where the lights are dim, the air's cool, and the people don't seem to care who he is and which competition he won. And there he meets Kris.

Kris is from the South. Which really doesn't mean much since Adam doesn't even know what planet this is—they all kind of blur together after a while—but his lazy, drawly accent makes Adam sit up and take notice of him. He has fluffy brown hair, mischievous brown eyes, laugh lines around his mouth, and a bottom lip Adam wouldn't mind biting into. Adam can't say he's a big fan of the clothes—plaid is everywhere in the universe; it's like a conspiracy—but they do kind of fit the whole package of Kristopher Allen: tiny and casual and down-to-earth.

Adam is intrigued, so he buys Kris a drink. They talk about the weather—apparently, it really is this hot here year round—their favorite movies—outer rim planets don't get to see most of them until they're out on DVD and that's a frickin' shame—what cocktails Kris likes best and how to make them... and then, an hour or so into their easy and pointless conversation, Kris is called to the stage, where there's a piano sitting in a corner, small and old but an actual old-school piano, and Kris starts playing and singing, and Adam is a goner.

Kris has calluses on his fingertips from playing guitar, and he looks down at his feet and shrugs when Adam gushes about his singing. At that point, trying to catch Kris' downcast but smiling eyes, Adam can feel the crush coming, but he doesn't really mind it. This isn't going anywhere, sure—he can't exactly take Kris back to his hotel room, and Kris is just not the type to hook up with someone in a bathroom—but Adam enjoys the next two hours of their conversation anyway; resigned to file Kris away as a could-have-been-something and move on, let life take its course. If they're meant to meet again, Adam firmly believes that they will meet again. Fate. Karma. Kismet. It will happen.

Then it's time to go, and Adam holds out his hand.

Kris looks a little bewildered and strangely hopeful—which, in hindsight, should've told Adam that they're really not on the same page here—and takes a deep breath before placing his palm against Adam's.

And then... well. Fate slaps Adam in the face and kicks him in the nuts. He feels a jolt run through him like he's been zapped with a stun gun and finds himself lying on the ground, not sure what the hell happened.

Kris keeps apologizing and wincing at nothing.

Lana yells—a lot.

They eventually tell him he got himself bonded to a stranger—but not to worry, they'll take care of it; they have a whole team on it. He should just focus on his work. Fans to see, songs to sing, interviews to give.

He's rushed off the planet within hours.

He doesn't get to say goodbye to Kris.

~

Adam rubs his temples and leans his head back on the seat, closing his eyes to wait for the painkillers to kick in. He has the printouts Lana handed him about karachiwhatever bonding, but his mind is a beehive right now and there's no way he'll be able to understand any of it.

They assure him that it's neither permanent nor dangerous. That's good enough for Adam tonight. More research can wait until morning, when hopefully his head won't be threatening to fall off his shoulders with every breath he takes.

Adam's temples are throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he's nauseas, the drinks he had earlier working their way steadily up his throat. He doesn't feel capable of talking, much less throwing a tantrum, and yet he's on the verge of a full-on hissy fit. He's so angry. He's been tricked, and he hurts, and something tells him that this is only going to get worse from here.

It's probably a good thing that Lana shooed everyone out and left him to his own devices. The last thing he needs is to piss off the staff. One thing Adam learned this past year is that you do not want to piss off the people who run your life. And this isn't like him anyway; he's a perfectly nice guy. He's polite, and understanding, and easy to get along with. People like working for him. It's just—Kris! Adam is so incredibly angry at Kris right now. That infuriating little man! He should wear a sign or something. Do not touch. Unexpected bonding may occur. It's not fair that he goes around pretending to be harmless and chatting up strangers with his stupid plaid and his stupid accent, luring them into his snare.

He should've warned Adam, dammit. Adam can't just up and bond with random strangers. He has commitments. He has a carefully planned life, a truly scary schedule. He's going to be performing in five different planets in the next ten days. He doesn't have time for complications. What if the headache won't go away? What happens if he can't focus? What if, God forbid, he channels Kris and starts wearing plaid?

He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he's the dumbass who went out drinking on a strange planet without even bothering to check the databanks about the culture and the biology of its inhabitants. That's space travel 101. They teach that to kids in primary school. The blame isn't all on Kris.

And Kris did look miserable when they rushed Adam away....

Adam hears a creaking sound, like an old, rusty door being pushed open, and shakes his head, trying to clear it. Glamede may not be the biggest or the most comfortable of ships, but it is brand new and top of the line. There are no creaky doors here. Adam should know, it's been his home for over two months now. The doors of Glamede go whoosh and just glide open. This creaking's got to be in Adam's head. His poor, throbbing head.

Adam hasn't had a cold in a long time, but he recognizes the feeling. His head feels full. Stuffed. The painkillers haven't made a difference yet, and the headache is moving around in his head, as if it's trying to find a comfortable place to settle. Adam sighs, opening his eyes. And his night had started out so damn promising. It'll be just perfect if this thing moves further south and affects his voice. Lana will kill him.

He makes his way to his quarters slowly and carefully, and once there, he lowers himself gently on the bed. The room is tiny, just large enough to squeeze in a bed, a dresser, and a closet, but it's quiet, it smells familiar, and his bed is sinfully comfortable. Adam lets out a relaxed sigh and kicks off his shoes. He doesn't bother taking off his clothes or getting under the covers. He just squirms until his head is resting on a pillow and shuts his eyes.

The mystery door creaks again.

Adam tells it to shut the fuck up and lets sleep overtake him.

~

"You're shitting me," Adam says to no one in particular and shuffles the papers in his hands.

He feels surprisingly refreshed this morning—no cold, no headache, not even a twinge. He's drinking some sort of fruit juice, bright green and tangy, no doubt extremely healthy, and doesn't even feel the need to wheedle some coffee out of the cook. He's wide awake and has all the energy in the world.

Lana's research is telling him that this bond is not really a bond. Well, it is a bond for all intents and purposes, with a telepathic link and everything, but it's not the sort of bond that Adam has heard countless stories about growing up. Granted, Earth stories on bonding may not be the most reliable; Adam has only ever met one real telepath there, but still. According to Earth lore—by which Adam means his great aunt Millie's stories—bonds are supposed to be these infinitely romantic affairs; binding people's hearts and souls together forever and ever.

The pretty serious looking sources Lana has dug up, however, say otherwise. This particular bond seems to be temporary by design. They say it's a local custom, not done in any other world, a truly rare practice borne of necessity. Because Kris' people have just enough telepathic ability for it to be a bother and not enough to be of any real use. Obviously Adam is reading between the lines here, but that seems to be the gist of it.

While their strong sense of empathy proves difficult for them to be emotionally or sexually involved with most partners, Adam reads, their telepathic abilities are nowhere near strong or reliable enough to let them guard their own minds against the inevitable bleed.

The handshake is how it happens, Adam realizes, suddenly remembering the look on Kris' face. You shake hands and agree to—a trial period?

On the one hand, this is kind of awesome. Because the fairy tales are obviously bullshit; Adam has heard all about Great Aunt Millie's forever and ever bonds going wrong and getting broken, leaving people fucked in the head. This bond may be less romantic, but it sounds practical and like it might actually work.

But on the other hand—this would probably mean no one-night stands for Kris. That's kind of tragic.

Adam keeps on reading, skimming over the science talk: lasts one to three standard weeks... yadda yadda yadda... telepathic link fades faster... blah blah... no lasting effects.

Adam breathes a sigh of relief. He realizes how lucky he is. Stupid rom-com plots aside, an accidental bonding could have been disastrous. This is—he can deal with this.

Placing the papers down on the table and draining what's left in his glass, Adam tries to turn his thoughts inward, see if he can spot any changes. Although Adam's grandmother had once insisted that she could hear the thoughts of a tortoise, Adam's family tree has no real telepaths. He's had the mandatory bullshit meditation training in school, but he's never been any good at it, always been too twitchy, his mind going a mile a minute, and this morning is no exception. He doesn't know what he should be looking for and doubts he would even recognize it anyway. As far as he can tell, his mind is as it's always been. A bit too clear for this time of day maybe, but he's not complaining.

Hello, he tries, directing the word to somewhere behind his eyes for some strange reason. Anybody there? Kris?

His mind doesn't reply back. It makes Adam feel kind of silly.

Knock knock, he tries next with a grin.

No one answers.

"Oh, well," Adam says. Maybe it didn't take. Maybe Adam's mind fought back. Maybe, when he fell and hit his head, the bond just dissolved by itself. (But really, if that's the case, then maybe the bond shouldn't go around zapping its intended targets. Adam's just saying.)

He's kind of disappointed. He suffered through that god-awful headache for nothing? He could've handled having Kris in his head for a week or two; it would have been an interesting experience. Adam is all about experiencing and experimenting, and he did enjoy Kris' sense of humor. Among other things.

But he's not about to mourn it. In the end, it's better for all involved that it didn't take.

Adam gets up, stretches, and heads to the gym. For once, he's got energy to burn.

~

Adam forgets all about Kris and his not-really-all-it's-cracked-up-to-be bond and goes about his day.

It's a typical day on the ship. He records one interview, works on three new songs for his album, works out, and reads the first fifteen pages of the book Lana hands him—because apparently it's all the rage these days.

It's seriously frickin' boring is what it is.

Adam abandons the book—kicks it off the bed for good measure—and lies back, letting one leg escape the covers. The tour is all hurry up and wait, and by now Adam has trained himself to use the wait time to his advantage and rest whenever and wherever he can. His eyes have dropped closed and he's almost asleep when a feeling of contentment washes over him and he smells... chocolate?

"What," Adam says inanely, opening his eyes. He breathes in deep, trying to determine where the smell is coming from. He's positive that they have no chocolate on board. He would have known; they wouldn't dare keep it from him.

Mmmm.

This time, Adam doesn't have to go looking for it. It's there—whatever it is. In his mind. Shapeless, seamless, hard to describe.

Like a crack on a wall... that's inexplicably filled with chocolate.

Adam gently pokes at it.

Kris?

Kris' sheepish wince comes through loud and clear. HiSorryCake?

Adam blinks, looks around his room with unseeing eyes, and shrugs. He can never say no to chocolate.

~

Adam spends a good part of his afternoon chatting with a subdued and slightly awkward Kris, which he has to admit feels quite unnatural. There hadn't been a moment's awkwardness between the two of them the night they met.

Well, until the very end anyway.

He doesn't mean to keep the conversation going for so long—it's late at night for Kris—he figures he'll just say hi, tell him to stop inhaling fucking cake when Adam doesn't have any, and then bid him good night and send him back to wherever he came from. But once they get to talking, Adam can't help but notice how off Kris is, and then he feels guilty for making Kris feel guilty, and then he tries to make amends, and then—well. Next thing he knows, it's 3 AM Kris' time and they're snickering over pandadoodles.

The list of animals Kris has kept as pets is truly terrifying.

Another reason why we never would have worked anyway, Adam says, offhand.

It makes Kris pause uncomfortably.

Adam winces. That was tactless.

I really am sorry, you know, Kris says. I just didn't think. I should've realized—

Oh, no, Adam says, ready to put a stop to this once and for all. Hold it right there.

Kris holds it dutifully.

I'm the ass who didn't know which planet he was on, okay? I got what was coming to me.

Kris does the mental equivalent of fidgeting and shuffling his feet. But still...

Still nothing. It was my fault and there's no harm done. Besides, I don't mind having the occasional voice in my head.

Kris snorts. Spoken like a true artist.

Adam lets himself smile and relax back into the pillows. See, you get me, Kris Allen. I bet we'll be great friends.

Even if I keep talking about my pets, Kris interjects.

So long as I don't have to smell them. Adam wrinkles his nose. I guess this thing really does work, he muses. One day into the bond and it's obvious that we're better off as friends. Because I detest animals, Kris, I do.

Kris rolls his eyes; Adam may not be able to see it but he can still tell. You do not.

I totally do. Adam smirks. And I hate kids. Can't stand the sight of them.

You're full of shit, Lambert.

Can't prove it, Adam says.

Kris pauses. Is that a challenge?

Oh crap, Adam thinks.

~

Kris works three jobs and manages to find the time to also volunteer at an animal shelter—and a soup kitchen, apparently, but according to him, that doesn't take much time at all. By 5 AM, he has started slurring and mixing up his words. Adam tells him to go to sleep already when he declares that he will cake a lemur in Adam's honor.

I don't even wanna know what you meant by that.

Yeah, I'm not sure I wanna know either, Kris mumbles.

Adam waits for Kris to say good night and leave—turn the bond off or whatever—but Kris doesn't do that. He doesn't step through a door or crawl back into a crack and disappear. He mumbles something soft and incoherent, sounding sleep-drunk, and then starts sending a series of vague pictures to Adam.

Pink cotton candy. A cloud shaped like a dinosaur. A toy soldier. Cherries.

Fresh snow. Night sky.

Adam tries to stay awake for as long as he can, following the trail of Kris' dreams, but the day catches up with him soon, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

~

Adam's schedule is a mess that only Lana can make sense of.

He has long since resigned himself to following her lead without a clue. It's not just the where and the when of the shows, but also the constantly changing and rearranging string of live appearances, taped interviews, photo shoots... mix those in with interplanetary travel and absurd time differences, and you get yourself a color-coded chaos of a calendar.

So Adam doesn't try to understand. He doesn't interfere. Lana says jump and Adam asks how high. It works for them.

Okay, maybe he grumbles a bit sometimes, but it's not like Lana ever listens to his bitching.

Kris' schedule is somehow even worse than Adam's—Adam suspects it's because Kris never says no to anyone—and so even though they make plans that very first night to go over what they know about the bond and what they plan to do with it, it still takes them over seventy-two hours to find the time to go through with it.

I'm free tonight, Kris says, tentatively making his way into Adam's mind. What're you doing?

Adam takes off his headphones and turns all the equipment off with one switch. Oh, thank God. I was going insane.

Work? Kris hazards a guess.

Adam looks around the studio Lana has stuffed him into and tries to find the words. Work makes it sound so simple. This is Adam's whole life. His future and his past. His very being. He loves it and hates it and can't live without it.

Music, he says finally, hoping Kris will understand or at least won't push for more.

Oh. Of course, comes the instant reply. You know if you wanna talk about that—

Adam would, actually, but not now. Not when he feels like setting the whole studio on fire and burning all his work along with it. God no, he says, cutting Kris off.

Right. Right. Of course.

There's something tight and uncomfortable about the way Kris says that, but Adam is too eager to change the subject to dwell on it. So, tell me, he says instead.

Tell you what?

Tell me about the bond.

What about the bond?

Tell me... tell me how you make it work.

~

Time flies when Adam is with Kris. Adam wonders if that's the bond's doing, if it's somehow manipulating Adam's feelings—but no, he remembers how it was at the bar, how they talked about nothing for hours and grinned like idiots the whole time. There's just something about Kris that sets Adam at ease, like Adam doesn't have to do anything or be anything to impress him, like he can just sit back and enjoy this friendship, leaving all pretention aside.

It's an odd feeling, unfamiliar and disturbing at times, but also alarmingly comfortable.

I see it as a door, Kris describes. It's unlocked, so I can step through whenever I want.

A door? Adam vaguely remembers the creaking. You'd think an imaginary door would have well-oiled hinges. I see a crack, not a door. Is that the same thing?

Kris' smirk comes through beautifully. Adam can almost see his twinkling eyes. I'm pretty sure that crack was already there.

You're calling me cracked in the head? Really? You sure you wanna go there?

Kris snickers. You said it, man, not me.

Adam imagines a door in front of the crack, and then tears down the whole wall, crack and all, to replace it with his brand new, creak-free, red and gold ornate door. Hmm, he says, giving it a try. It opens silently and leads to a brightly lit room: small, comfortable, warm.

Is this your room? he asks Kris, looking around in wonder. There are no plaid curtains, thank God, but mismatched cheap furniture all around. An old bed, unmade, blue and white sheets. A desk, one leg propped up by a thick book. Sheet music on the bedside table. A guitar on the lone chair, another leaning against the small wardrobe. It's messy and lived in. It feels like Kris, whatever that means.

Yup, you got it. Kris sounds proud.

What happens if I step through the door?

You'll be in my mind. You'll see what I see, hear what I hear, feel what I feel. He shrugs. It's pretty much the same as leaving the door open and looking through, but it's stronger... more intense.

Adam itches to try. He steps closer and holds onto the doorjamb, the swirls of the wood ridiculously real under his fingertips, and leans through as far as he dares. The feeling of Kris intensifies tenfold with every inch, and it calls to Adam, a siren song inviting him in. Adam pulls back gasping, heart beating madly.

What—what would happen to me here if I stepped through? I mean, what about my body?

It doesn't work like that. You can't just up and leave your body. The door is just a prop to help you visualize the connection, you wouldn't be going anywhere by stepping through. You can't leave your body completely even if you wanted to.

You've done this? Adam asks. You've been in other people's minds like this?

If he'd been less flustered, Adam would have thought twice before blurting out that question. You don't ask a man about past relationships on your third date—and this isn't even a date which makes it considerably more inappropriate. But the question is out before Adam can censor himself, and thankfully Kris doesn't sound offended when he answers.

Not a lot, he says, and not recently. But I know enough about it; trust me. It's harmless.

Right. Right. Adam takes a couple of steps back from the door. He probably won't do that. This isn't even a real bond; there's no need to push the envelope here. They can talk like this, so who needs to step through the door? Not Adam, that's who. So, we should set some ground rules. Privacy. Knocking. Right?

Kris nods. I'll show you how you can hide what you don't want me to see. It's easy.

~

It really is easy, it turns out. A door is much easier to handle than a crack in a wall, and Adam soon masters opening and closing it, knocking on it to get Kris' attention, even pushing a note through the mail slot.

So many dirty jokes, so little time, Adam says, investigating the slot.

Cracks and slots... you do have a dirty mind, Kris comments, not at all bothered. It makes Adam wonder how his mind compares to the minds of Kris' other trial-bondmates. Were they more... sexual? He feels oddly competitive all of a sudden. Should he be more flirty? More aggressive? More—

He should be more sane is what he should be. He's not going to be flirty or aggressive with Kris. This is an accidental brain networking problem, not an opportunity to show off his mating display.

Believe me, I'm trying to keep things clean here, Adam says, hopefully without much pause. Wouldn't want to offend your small-planet sensibilities.

Kris snorts. Yeah, Adam, okay. Whatever makes you feel better.

Adam scowls, insulted. Kris' ability to roll with the punches is fucking with his worldview. I can shock your socks off.

Of course you can, Kris placates. And you do. All this chocolate lust? It's shocking, I tell you.

Adam hides his chocolate fantasies under a hastily conjured bed. That wasn't nice.

Aww, come on, Kris cajoles. I can sympathize, man. Just tell me when you have a craving. I'd be happy to help you out.

Adam sits on the bed and crosses his arms over his chest.

I mean, I'd draw the line at nudity, but still, there's a lot you can do with a chocolate bar without—ahem—compromising your virtue.

Adam scowls even harder.

So mean. He doesn't even know why he likes this guy.

~

Despite their mismatched schedules, Adam and Kris fall into a routine easily.

It's been a long time since Adam was in a serious, committed relationship, but it all comes rushing back to him like muscle memory. (Not that they're in a relationship. It's just impossible not to draw parallels with the way they're in each other's pockets.) Figuring a second person into every plan and checking in with them regularly isn't a hardship once you've got the rhythm down, and Adam is perhaps not as surprised as he should be that even though he swore to himself that his own needs will always come first as he builds his career, compromising to accommodate Kris' day-to-day worries turns out to be as easy and inevitable as breathing.

When he catches up with the rest of the Idols on Planet-Number-God-knows-what and tries to explain to Allison that it's not at all intrusive to have Kris drop in on him several times a day, she first gives him a doubtful look and then starts smiling knowingly.

"You like him."

"I do." Adam shrugs, refusing to be flustered. They have half a day off and they're out, shopping for shoes. It's hard to make him feel bad about anything when he's surrounded by shoes. "It's a bit like having a really good friend with you, on call, all day every day."

"Adam," Allison says, picking up a blue leather boot with way too many useless buckles on one side. "You don't even like having a roommate. You used to kick Matt out of your room twice a week in the mansion. It was like clockwork."

Adam doesn't understand what that's got to do with anything. "What's that got to do with anything?" He plucks the hideous boot from Allison's hand. "That's fucking ugly," he says and gets rid of it.

Allison rolls her eyes and takes in a deep breath as if she's going to start talking and doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon. Thinking on his feet, Adam hands her a pair of grape-purple satin dress pumps. "Oooh," she coos, lighting up. "Gorgeous."

"Go on, try them on." Crisis averted, Adam keeps browsing.

Allison kicks off her shoes as she checks the size of the pumps. "I was just saying," she keeps going, sounding distracted and unfocused. "You don't like people in your space, and your head—" She makes an expansive gesture, wobbling on one shoe. "—is pretty much the definition of personal space."

"Kris is easy," Adam tries to explain. "He doesn't pry. He's just there when I need him. He's only distracting when I need the distraction, and—" It's really hard to put into words. It's not that Kris is insignificant, but he blends in so well you don't notice him until he wants to be noticed, and then only because he wants to do something for you. There's not a selfish bone in Kris' body. "He's chill and fun and understanding... he makes me smile."

He stops when he realizes that Allison is giving him a look, the new pumps peeking from under her jeans, her hands resting on her hips menacingly. "It sounds awful lot to me like you've got a crush on him."

"I do have a crush on him," Adam confirms. It's not like he's trying to hide that fact. Anyone who doesn't have a crush on Kris has got to be blind.

"And? What're you going to do about it?"

Adam shrugs. "Nothing. I probably won't ever go back to his planet. There's nothing to do."

"That's dumb."

This is why Adam loves Allison. She cuts straight through the bullshit.

Eyes catching on a pair of snakeskin boots, Adam maneuvers around Allison to check them out. "I know you want me to tell you some bullshit story about sweeping him off his feet and taking him with me, but—" He looks over his shoulder to meet Allison's eyes. "He has his life and I have mine. It just wouldn't work right now."

Allison shakes her head. Her eyes say she thinks he's a dumbass, but that's okay, Adam doesn't mind. As long as she doesn't sulk about it or God forbid, try to play matchmaker.

"I wanna meet him," she says resolutely. "Can I meet him?"

Adam heaves a longsuffering sigh. She'll never let this go if he says no. It's better to give her what she wants. "I'll see if he has time for a call. But don't get your hopes up. He's a busy guy."

"Yay." Allison hugs him from behind, giving him a smacking kiss on the shoulder.

They buy her the purple shoes, and then go get her hair dyed a matching color on a whim.

~

Adam doesn't know what he expected from their arranged vid-call, but he sure as hell didn't expect Allison and Kris to hit it off instantly. (He should have though, really. His own immediate connection with each of them couldn't be coincidental.) Allison barely lets him do the introductions before taking over the conversation and overwhelming Kris with questions and stories and nonsense about her shoes. (She has her feet up in the air at one point to show them off.) Adam would be pissed if Kris didn't seem so charmed by her editorializing of Adam's life. But Kris is completely taken with Allie, face alight with a smile that crinkles his eyes; and to be perfectly honest here, Adam doesn't mind staying out of their way for a couple of minutes.

He feels a little... shaken.

It's late afternoon for Kris, and Adam knows he's been up since dawn, working. He also knows Kris took a little nap on a friend's couch before running—literally—to make their appointment, getting to the public call booth with only minutes to spare. He looks tired and sweaty. His shirt is sticking to his chest, and his hair is standing up in clumps. The booth he's in is old; it has worn, ugly seats with red leather upholstery, which makes Kris look even more washed up and weary than he is.

Objectively speaking, Kris doesn't look all that attractive right now. But try as he may, Adam can't manage to be objective about him.

He knows Kris' voice, his intonations, his words, his stupid jokes, his slightly immature sense of humor. But Kris' face, he realizes, is not all that familiar. Having Kris in his mind is a feeling, a bone-deep sensation of Kris' essence, his aura, and even though Adam conjures up random stuff in his mind as they talk—furniture and pictures and letters—he's never tried bringing up Kris' face. He sits back as Allison and Kris talk, and tries to reconcile his Kris with the image in front of him. It's not difficult, not really, but the adjustment takes time.

Kris is telling Allison about the scratches on his arms—new kitten at the shelter—and keeps sneaking glances at Adam as he plays with the cuffs of his shirt uneasily, folding and unfolding them. Adam wonders if Kris is having the same problem about him. Probably not, since he's done this whole bond thing before—who knows how many times.

Adam has to fight off the overwhelming urge to scowl. He never did like sharing his toys.

And wow, is he ever glad that Kris isn't in his mind to catch that thought.

"Next year, I'm gonna open for Adam and we'll tour together, just the two of us. I bet we'll come your way then." Allison elbows Adam unsubtly. "Right, Adam?"

Adam knows better than to make promises months in advance. "Could happen. You never know."

Allison makes a show of rolling her eyes at him. "That's Mister Grumpy's way of saying yay I hope we do."

Kris shoots her a smile, but when his eyes meet Adam's they're hesitant. Adam is screwing this up so hard.

Something beeps in Kris' booth and he checks something under the screen. "I'm gonna have to go soon," he says apologetically. "I only have the booth for a couple more minutes."

Adam wonders how much this call is costing Kris. He should've insisted on paying. Kris is working too hard to throw his money around. Adam hasn't been rich long enough to have forgotten what going without is like.

"Well." Allison gets up off her seat and bends down to wave at Kris. Her hair, now shining purple, falls across her face. "I'll leave you guys to it, then. It was awesome meeting you, Kris." She presses a kiss to Adam's temple and squeezes his shoulder hard—meaningfully. "I'll email you. We'll talk."

On her way out of the room, she makes scary faces at Adam that are probably supposed to tell him something, but Adam has no idea what and kind of doubts that he wants to know.

"She's really nice," Kris says, smiling politely.

"Yeah, if you like 'em insane," Adam comments.

Kris' smile expands to cover half his face. That's more like it, Adam thinks. "A little insanity never hurt anyone."

They don't have much time left, but seconds feel like hours as Adam struggles to figure out what to say, what to do, how to act. Kris seems to be equally at a loss, so they just sit there, staring at one another, a clock counting down at the back of Adam's mind.

"This is ridiculous," Adam says finally. "I talked to you just this morning. Why does this feel so different?"

Kris shrugs, looking shy. "I don't know, but it is."

"Yeah."

Another beat of silence.

"I don't think it was ever meant to be long distance."

"The bond?" Adam asks, curious as he always is when it comes to Kris' experiences with bonding. He can read everything ever written about it, but what he really wants to know can't be found in any textbook. He wants to know what it means to Kris. Only one person can answer that, but Adam can't just come out and ask, because—well, because.

"Yeah, I mean, you're supposed to be courting the person at the same time." He shrugs again, eyes never locking with Adam's but jumping from his face to his shoulder to his hands to his hair. "It's to help speed things along, to—to make sure you're compatible mentally and emotionally as well as physically."

Adam pointedly doesn't think about how compatible they would be physically. "And here we are," he says, trying to make light of it, "using it as a fancy telephone."

Kris' smile looks forced now, eyes a little wary.

The call booth beeps again. They're out of time.

~

The next day Adam has to dust off his lalaaalaaa can't hear you technique from childhood and direct it full force on Allison; the girl doesn't come with an off switch and Adam is all out of shiny things to distract her with.

Adam had no idea that she could rival Aunt Millie with the romantic nonsense and the well-meaning meddling. He honestly didn't know that anyone could.

One good thing about having to focus all his energy on avoiding Allison is that it keeps Adam from obsessing over Kris. You'd think that with a telepathic bond, all that early relationship does-he/doesn't-he paranoia would be out of the picture, but clearly that's not how it works. Adam doesn't have carte blanche to every corner of Kris' mind. He knows that Kris likes him, that he enjoys spending time with him, but that's nothing new; he knew those that very first night, even before they shook hands. The rest is still a mystery.

He has to keep reminding himself that it's better this way. What the hell would he have done if Kris was some pushy guy with a crush? This is exactly how it needs to be. Simple. Fun. Superficial. Adam's ego is just going to have to deal with the fact that not everyone falls at his feet at the first sign of attention from him.

They played a kickass show last night. It was a great crowd that almost breathed as one and sang along with Adam till the end. The high of a show like that always carries over to the day after, giving Adam a sort of hangover, making it hard for him to be any use to anyone. Lana, with her magical all-knowing ways, leaves his schedule open for at least a half-day following big shows. That, combined with the urgent need to leave Allison's immediate vicinity, makes Adam escape the hotel and spend the morning walking around the neighborhood incognito—hat pulled down over his eyes, collar raised up—window shopping and sightseeing.

He walks for hours, enjoys the wind and the anonymity, and he doesn't worry at all about the fact that Kris hasn't talked to him since the call.

That doesn't mean anything. At all. They don't have to be in constant contact. Kris is busy. Probably.

After staring at the window display of a boutique with unseeing eyes for God knows how long, Adam decides to put the ball in Kris' court. Note-passing may be juvenile, but it's something they do from time to time, when they don't have the time to stop by for a chat, or when they don't want to interrupt whatever the other's doing at the time. It's easy, inconspicuous. Definitely not suspicious, and nothing to fret over.

Adam imagines a white sheet of paper and writes it was nice seeing you again on it. He doesn't sign it, because come on, who else is going to send Kris telepathic notes? But then on second thought he adds a PS: Allison won't shut up about you, by the way.

Before he can change his mind, he lets it fly off and slip through the mail slot in the door.

Then he focuses all his attention on the boutique. It's a very interesting boutique.

He's bought himself a leather jacket and a new wallet and is stepping outside again when he feels Kris. A relieved breath leaves his lips unchecked.

Hey, you got a minute? Kris asks. He sounds playful and happy, and Adam would probably give Kris anything he asks for right now.

Of course, what do you have in mind?

Just—come over, I wanna show you something.

Yeah. One second.

As Adam heads for a nearby bench and automatically reaches for his earbuds, he can't help but chastise himself for being so easy, so out of control, so—so fucking easy. He's acting like a teenager with a crush, reading into everything Kris does; this is going to end in heartbreak and tears and he'll have earned them all.

All right, he says, settling on the bench. No one will bother him with the earbuds. Despite Kris' assurances, Adam never fully trusts himself to be in two places at once. And this time, he thinks—no, who's he kidding, he knows—that he'll step through the door. He won't be able to resist.

Experience, Adam tells himself. Try everything once.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

~

The feeling of Kris all around him is overwhelming at first; a bit like waking up cuddled against someone, cocooned in their warmth and scent. Adam shakes the thought away before Kris can sense it and focuses on the surroundings. Kris is in some sort of yard. It's early morning, sunny and bright but not too hot yet, and the place is green and peaceful, a soft wind rustling the leaves around them. Kris is walking without purpose, just enjoying himself, his hands stuck in his pockets. Adam can feel his contentment all the way down to his bones. It's nice. It makes Adam wish he were there with him in person.

The sun, though; someone needs to do something about the sun.

Did you put on sunblock? he asks, worried. I can feel you getting burned from here.

Kris chuckles but doesn't comment. Of course he didn't put on sunblock. Kris thinks cosmetics are for other people. Adam would bet his new leather jacket that Kris washes his hair with soap.

It's a large yard, with tall trees surrounding it on at least two sides. They walk a little further towards the line of trees, and under a thorny bush Kris finds a blue ball; a small, well-chewed thing. He picks it up. The surface of it is scratchy against his palm. As Adam wonders at feeling such minute details, I want you to meet someone, Kris tells him, starting to walk back towards a large house.

This isn't your place.

Adam has seen Kris' bedroom and his kitchen. He's pretty sure Kris lives in a small apartment—and a really cheap one at that. This house is old and looks like it needs a lot of work, but it's large, three stories, six or seven bedrooms at least. And it's probably somewhere outside the city, judging by the sprawling estate. Kris couldn't possibly afford anything like this, and it wouldn't be practical for him to rent a room away from the city center. How would he even get to work at the ungodly hours he does?

Nope. I was just delivering something.

Delivering? What, now he works at a pizza place too? Adam can't figure out how it's possible to work so many jobs and still have time to sleep. Not that Kris sleeps much; he spends hours talking to Adam instead. Adam feels guilty sometimes about how much of Kris' precious free time he wastes with his whining and bitching over ridiculously small things. The daily comparison of their lives puts things in perspective, reminds Adam just how lucky he is to have gotten here.

This is Bianca, Kris says, and Adam notices the little girl for the first time. She's sitting on the grass in front of the porch with her back to them, playing with something in her lap. She has long brown hair spilling down her back, almost reaching her waist—which Adam immediately thinks should be braided. Does she have no one taking care of her? Her hair's going to get tangled the way it's being pushed around by the wind. Aside from the hair, she's obviously a tomboy. She has on a pair of dirty jeans and a too large green t-shirt that obviously belonged to someone else and was a much brighter tone once upon a time. Her sneakers are scuffed, one of them abandoned by her side. She's not wearing any socks.

Niece? Adam asks, curious. He knows Kris left his family behind when he moved to the city; he knows they're not close enough for frequent visits. But maybe he has other relatives nearby. The kid does have Kris' coloring.

Nah, Kris says. She's a friend.

Of course Kris makes friends with five-year-olds.

"Hey, B," Kris calls, making the little girl twist around. "I found Red's ball."

Kris throws the ball to her, and she falls on her back giggling, trying to catch it. Adam winces at the sight of her hair, now with grass in it as well as tangles. And then—Adam spots the thing in her lap.

You cheating underhanded bastard, he says with wonder.

What did I do? Kris says, fake aloofness all over the place.

Kris sits down next to her and helps her sit back up. Red, the puppy in her lap that's cuter than anything Adam has ever seen and that's sporting a tiny red cast on its tiny leg, yelps and falls on its ass. Bianca giggles, her blue eyes shining with mirth, and holds the dog up to Kris. "I think he wants to play with you now."

(Adam won't be able to get that picture out of his mind later. Huge puppy eyes, limp furry legs, and tiny paws filling his vision. Tangled brown hair flying in the wind in the background.

Kris Allen plays dirty.)

Kris takes Red from her carefully—the fur is so soft, so so soft—and puts it down on the ground in front of him. The puppy can't quite walk with the cast, falls down on his face every couple of steps. He doesn't seem to mind though, and he doesn't give up. He first goes after the ball, growling ridiculously, and then tries to eat Bianca's jeans, and then he climbs onto Kris' lap to try and catch his fingers and lick them into submission.

Bianca finds everything Red does hilarious. She can't breathe from laughing. Her face is all flushed and there are tears hanging in the corners of her eyes.

Adam is worried about her a little bit—and also kind of paralyzed by all the cute.

Kris spends fifteen minutes playing with Red and Bianca, rolling around in the grass and following Bianca's example in making a mess of his hair and clothes. At the same time, he surreptitiously teaches Bianca how to play with the puppy without hurting him—no running after Red, no sitting on Red, no licking Red—and Adam watches quietly, mesmerized by Kris' sheer competence at handling these mysterious creatures, and more importantly, his joy at spending time with them. Knowing that someone likes kids is one thing, but feeling how Kris feels about Bianca—the satisfaction he gets from playing with her and teaching her and listening to her babble... it tells Adam without a doubt that Kris wants kids. And it's not like a faraway plan either, Kris wants kids, the sooner the better. And Kris should have kids. Adam has never met anyone better suited for parenthood, ever.

Another reason why, he notes, they would never work.

You want a big family, Adam ventures as Kris waves at the silhouette of an adult looking out through the kitchen window and leaves the house, slowly making his way to the bus stop.

Yeah, Kris says. And you don't hate kids.

No one hates kids, Adam capitulates. I've just never been good with them.

Like you've never been good at playing instruments? Kris asks doubtfully. You're just lazy, Adam.

Maybe.

It's a credible theory, if also a slightly too optimistic one.

Kris is either being polite, or he has too much faith in Adam.

Adam honestly doesn't know which he'd prefer.

~

Adam is going dancing tonight.

It's work, not pleasure—half his job is being seen in popular places—but it's not exactly a chore for Adam to dress up and shake his ass for an hour or two. He'll be going with a group of friends—none of the Idols; a couple of his dancers and a band member or two—and Allison is not invited, because she's too young for where Adam's headed. While she's off sulking somewhere, Adam gets Kris to help him with his clothes.

Which is, apparently, a mistake.

I'm just saying, those pants don't leave anything to imagination.

That's actually the point, Adam says, turning around to check out his own ass in the mirror. He doesn't work out like a crazy person to hide the fruits of his labor.

I can't even imagine wearing something like that.

Oh, I can definitely picture you in something like this, Adam says unhelpfully, making Kris flounder and probably blush.

I'd look ridiculous.

That's not the word I would use.

The problem with Adam's resolution to stop flirting with Kris is that—well, Adam can't. Flirting has never been more tempting, more fun—and more harmless too, really, because what's Adam going to do while they're on different planets? He's not going to sleep with Kris and then regret it. He's not going to get racy photos taken and give Lana a heart attack. It's just talk. Absolutely harmless.

What're you up to tonight? Adam asks, sitting down in front of his mirror to put on his make-up.

Nothing, Kris says, sounding perfectly content with that. I'm going to order a pizza, watch a movie or two, and fall asleep in front of the TV. It's going to be glorious.

Wanna come dancing with me? Adam asks, grinning at the mirror.

Not in this lifetime, comes Kris' reply.

It's scary how much Adam wants to commandeer a ship, head right back to Kris' planet, and force him to go dancing with him. It's a good thing he doesn't know the first thing about piloting, or they'd both be in trouble.

You don't know what you're missing.

Mmm, Kris says thoughtfully. Sweaty people covered in glitter?

Exactly, Adam says. How anyone wouldn't be excited about that is beyond him.

No, thanks. Kris doesn't even sound tempted. I think I'll get some ice cream for dessert, he adds thoughtfully.

Chocolate? Great, now Adam's going to crave ice cream all night.

Hmm, and strawberry.

Adam has a lip gloss that tastes like strawberry, so at least that's something. His hands follow his make-up routine without a thought: moisturizer (the blue one), concealer, foundation... It's like brushing teeth; he can do it with his eyes closed. Well, probably not with his eyes closed, but you know, on auto-pilot. Once he's got the base done, his mind switches back on, and he finds the blue eyeshadow that matches his shirt.

Eyeliner goes first, not too thick, but he smudges it a little to blend it in. Then the blue eyeshadow, which is a little bit glittery, looks almost silver from some angles. On second thought, he adds another tone of blue, a greenish one, to keep it from looking too cold. He wants 'glamorous and colorful' tonight, not 'cool sparkly alien'. His brushes are a mess in front of him, dumped into the drawer, so it takes him a moment to find the slanted one, which he uses to apply a bright purple under his eyes. Thicker on the outside and doesn't go all the way in. He fixes it with a fingertip, narrowing his eyes a bit and taking in the effect. Not bad. A touch of blue to the inner corners of his eyes completes the look, and it's good, pretty fierce.

You're good at that, Kris says, and Adam jumps a little, caught off guard. He'd forgotten about Kris.

Do it often enough and you learn.

It doesn't bother Adam that Kris has been watching him. It bugs him when interviewers want to watch, but that's different. They want him to make a show of it, like his make-up ritual is something to get off on. That's not what Kris is doing. Kris is just—there. Sharing things. Being a part of Adam's everyday life.

(Or something. Adam doesn't even know anymore.)

Looks complicated, Kris continues. All those brushes. How many do you have?

Adam looks down at them. Uhh, a lot?

No kidding.

Adam locates the strawberry lip gloss and puts it on, feeling a bit self-conscious at the thought of Kris watching his lips, and then makes himself get up on slightly shaky legs and stand in front of the full-length mirror.

What do you think?

They won't even know what hit them, Kris says, matter-of-fact.

The tone of his voice, the words—it throws Adam off completely, sends him spinning out of orbit. What were they even talking about?

I should...

Right, Kris says, pulling back already. You should go. I'll catch you later.

~

Adam doesn't plan it. He doesn't even really consider it—until it's there, and he's doing it, and then it's too late.

He drinks more than is advisable, and he dances until his feet are numb, and somehow the more he throws himself into the senseless, meaningless act of dancing, the more his mind conjures up images of Kris—Kris in his pajamas, Kris sprawled across his couch, Kris eating ice cream. Adam can't stop it, he doesn't even know if he wants to stop it; all he knows is that he's turned on, desperately on edge, and it has little to do with the guy he's grinding against.

Through the haze of alcohol and the cloud of lust, it occurs to Adam that he and Kris never talked about sex. Would it be rude to have sex with someone else? It's not like they're ever going to have sex with each other. He dismisses these thoughts easily when the cute blond drags him into the bathroom. They did talk about privacy, and Adam closed the door to jerk off once or twice. A quickie wouldn't hurt anyone, and it would certainly do wonders for Adam.

They're at the bathroom just off the VIP lounge—it's deserted and relatively clean, doesn't stink half as bad as Adam would have expected—and the blond looks even better under the harsh light of the bathroom than he did in the strobe lights.

Cute face. Chocolate brown eyes. Bleached spiky hair. Delicious-looking arms. He pushes Adam into a stall and goes down on his knees, eyes never straying from Adam's. Adam runs a finger over his eagerly parted lips. He will do.

Casual sex is a fact of life for Adam. It wouldn't be his first choice—if he had a choice—but as things stand, dating is off the table for him until he's in a comfortable place in his career. He promised himself he wouldn't be stupid about this, wouldn't take any chances, and he still thinks that's the right thing to do. It's not like he minds picking up boys in clubs—they're all so enthusiastic and uncomplicated. It's a bit of fun that doesn't hurt anyone. He does miss the companionship, the romance, being special to someone—but he's special to a lot of someones throughout the galaxy now, so it balances out.

It's not forever. Three to five years tops. Just until he can establish himself in the industry. And then he can date. It's a small price to pay, really.

Adam has his shit figured out. His life is under control.

Tired of dancing yet?

Except for Kris. Kris continually fucks things up.

Adam jerks and shivers and fails to bite back a broken moan. His hand tightens in the blond's hair, pulling him in and making him chuckle hoarsely—relax, I got you—his hands climbing up Adam's thighs, working his pants open with nimble fingers.

Shit, Kris says, surprised. Shit. Crap. Sorry. I'll just—go.

There's no lock, Adam thinks. They never tried locking the door. It never occurred to him to try.

Unaware of the drama going on in Adam's mind, the guy reaches in and pulls out Adam's cock. Making a satisfied sound at the sight of it, he jerks Adam a couple of times, explores the length with his fingers, and then takes the head into his mouth.

Adam bites down hard on his bottom lip. He feels Kris pulling away—and away and away—and finds himself grabbing on instinctively. He doesn't even know if he can do that—can he keep Kris there?—but he tries anyway.

Stay.

What? No. Adam, I didn't—

Come on, Kris, live a little. The words are teasing; but the tone is more along the lines of desperate. Adam doesn't question why he wants Kris there; he just knows that he does—like he wants the mouth around his cock, pure, primal, instinctual want. And when Adam wants something, he takes it. You don't get to where Adam has come by being polite and coy.

He feels Kris hesitate.

He lets go but asks again. Stay.

This is the worst idea you've ever had, Kris says, and Adam knows he won.

It won't be weird, he says.

Oh, it'll definitely be weird.

We won't let it be weird, Adam corrects himself.

Kris pauses—whether to think or to watch the show through Adam's eyes, Adam doesn't know. Okay, he finally says and stays where he is.

The guy is good, and he's showing off. A blowjob is a blowjob, and Adam doesn't really need the over-the-top porn version, but he's kind of glad that it's a good one. For Kris. Because—okay, he doesn't particularly want to follow that line of thought. It's leading to fucked up places. Because Kris doesn't get to do this a lot? Because secondhand sex is still better than no sex?

Adam sure hopes that's how Kris feels about it.

Kris has perfect control. He doesn't move, he doesn't talk, he doesn't let any of his emotions get through. What he doesn't have any control over is his presence, and it's doing things to Adam. The normally comforting sensation is now overwhelming Adam's senses to the point of drowning. Kris is there, with him, in him, all around him. It's not something Adam can name, doesn't have a color, a smell; it just is. Teasing Adam from toes to eyelashes, it blocks out all reason and makes Adam crave.

The blond moves faster, swallowing Adam down, pulling back to work him over with his tongue, and Adam makes embarrassing noises, needy and frantic. He tries to loosen his hold on the guy's hair, but it earns him a dissatisfied noise, and the blond head presses into Adam's hand, asking for more. Adam complies with the wordless request and holds on tight.

His eyelids want to slide shut, but Adam pushes them open, just barely, just enough to peek through. He hears someone enter the bathroom and then leave, and realizes that they must have seen them—the stall door is open—but he's too far gone to care. There was no flash and they left in a hurry, so they couldn't have gotten a shot. He doesn't mind a voyeur or two as long as they don't have photographic evidence.

The blond takes him in and out of his mouth, teasing, still fucking teasing, and Adam groans, pressing his free hand against the wall for support. The guy is looking up now, trying to catch Adam's gaze, but Adam keeps his eyes on the red and abused lips, shiny with spit and stretched around Adam's cock. They're nothing like Kris' lips. Adam is not trying to fool himself into thinking that he's having sex with Kris here—but he kind of is having sex with Kris. Which makes this whole thing confusing. And intoxicating.

He wishes he had a couple more drinks in him.

Adam shakes his head and shuts his eyes. He needs to take control. He started this and he'll finish it. And it will be okay. He'll make it okay.

He pushes the guy away none too gently, ignores his hoarse protests, and guides him against the opposite wall of the stall with firm hands on his shoulders. He takes a step forward, tilts the guy's face up with one hand, and leads his cock to his lips with the other. The blond smiles—not the lopsided smile of Kris' lips—and greets Adam's cock with the tip of his tongue. Adam pushes in slowly but steadily, and then grabs the guy's face in both hands and picks up a rhythm that works for them both.

No more teasing now. Adam closes his eyes and moves, his heart beating triple time in his chest, his breaths coming too loud, too fast. He presses in harder, deeper; the guy can stop Adam if he can't take it, but he doesn't. Adam picked a good one. He thrusts faster and faster, time to finish this, to—

Open your eyes.

Adam's eyes fly open at the command, and Adam moans helplessly. "Kris. Shit." And then he's coming down the blond guy's throat, his eyes fixed on the guy's lips but not really seeing anything. He has to fight to stay conscious after, stay standing, and Kris' words echo in his mind, softly spoken, almost whispered. Not a command, not really, but still impossible to ignore.

Adam rests against the wall, trying to calm himself, stop shaking, and feels the guy tuck him in, do up his pants. Something's wrong, he thinks. This isn't how it's supposed to be. His fingers twitch and he bites his lip again, the pain bringing reality back into sharper focus. He looks around, his eyes catch on the guy looking smug and hopeful, and—there's nothing else there. He blinks, looks around once more, but—

Right. Kris is gone. He's left, which makes sense, obviously, no one wants to stick around for the awkward part, but Adam's body is slow to catch up. He's itching to touch Kris. To grab him and hug him and breathe in his skin. He wants to kiss Kris with a hunger he's never felt for anyone before.

He grabs the blond guy's t-shirt and pulls him in, kissing him deeply, almost violently. The guy responds in kind, kissing back and pressing himself against Adam, reaching down to grab Adam's ass in a strong grip.

It's good. It's great.

It's all wrong.

Adam gets him off as fast as he can, and then finds his handler and heads back to his hotel.

~

Adam said they wouldn't let it get weird and he meant it. So the next morning he takes enough painkillers to knock down an elephant and starts bugging Kris, continuing his campaign until annoyance wins out and Kris forgets to feel awkward.

Okay, seriously, stop singing or I'm going to do something drastic.

People pay me to sing, you know.

Has anyone ever tried paying you to stop? Because I'm willing.

You're rude. And mean. Kris splutters about who's calling whom rude in whose mind, but Adam ignores him. When are you done here? I need your help with something.

That gets Kris' attention. This thing with him not being able to say no to anyone? It's almost a compulsion. He should see someone about that. Not that Adam's above using it to get his way.

What do you need?

Advice? If you have time. Just come on over when you're done?

All right, Kris says eagerly. Should be an hour or so.

Cool. See you then.

It's not a lie. Adam could definitely use the advice. He'll be spending the day traveling, which means he won't have much else to do but work on his new songs, and okay, so maybe they're nothing like Kris' music and it's doubtful that he'll be able to help, but it's common ground. It's something to replace the we just kinda had sex what the hell were we thinking panic. It's music. In Adam's experience, music has the power to make everything better.

His studio on the ship is tiny—cozy, Lana always corrects him—but it does the job. As he waits for Kris to arrive, Adam works on some lyrics, scribbling in his notebook—which makes him feel a bit like a pretentious douche to carry around but he just can't resist the scratch of pen against paper—and then he listens through the early (failed) recordings of the song that's been driving him to madness for the last three weeks.

The song is tentatively called Down the Path—cliché but he doesn't have a better name for it yet—and it's an important one for Adam. He'd written the lyrics during Idol, when every media outlet in his corner of the galaxy (and some beyond) was busy digging into his past and the management was breathing down his neck about what they might uncover. By the end of it, everything he'd ever done, every choice he'd ever made had been catalogued and displayed for all to see—but the world hadn't ended. As right or wrong as they seemed in hindsight, Adam had realized that he held no regrets about any of his choices.

He had always claimed to have a no-shame, no-regrets policy in life, but until that moment it had been more of a show-no-shame policy rather than a have-no-shame one. This song marks the milestone of him becoming as strong as he'd always pretended to be. It's something he feels that he has to put out there—and his first album is the natural place for it.

It's a pretty song, or at least it's going to be when it's done. And yeah, maybe it's going to stick out like a sore thumb among Adam's other songs—he has three songs dedicated solely to dancing—but Adam loves it and he wants it and he's going to fight tooth and nail to keep it.

If he ever manages to complete it, that is.

I'm here, Kris' voice interrupts his pondering. What do you need?

Listen to this, Adam says, replaying the latest version. Something's not right, but I can't put my finger on it.

It's just a rough guitar track and the vocals, but that's the heart of the song for Adam anyway; he wants this one to be quieter than the rest of the album, more understated. As the opening notes fill the room he thinks this is actually kind of perfect for Kris. Why did that not occur to him before? Kris is the king of understated things.

You want my help with a song?

King of understated things and slow uptakes.

You do play a million instruments and sing for a living, Adam reminds him. What else would he want Kris' help with? Knitting?

Sometimes. But...

Adam doesn't wait for him to pick that sentence back up. The song, he urges. Come on.

I'm really not—

Kris. Focus.

Right.

There's a pause and then—

Okay, wait, go back to the bridge and play it again.

And just like that Kris gets into the music—gets kind of lost in it, actually—and spends the next two and a half hours praising Adam's vocals and yelling at him to stop being stupid in turn.

Okay, he doesn't really yell, but he does this growly unhappy voice that's—a bit of a turn on, actually. Not that Adam is focusing on that. Because he's not. He's focusing on the fact that Kris Allen apparently can say no to people and say it loud—when they get stupid about music.

Within hours, the song that's been giving Adam constant headaches for weeks has been turned upside down and inside out and it's... perfect.

You're incredible, you know that?

Kris yawns. I didn't do anything.

You're actually better than some of the producers I'm working with. Kris, seriously. You're good.

I'm not—

Oh, shut up, Adam cuts him off. Just let me know if you ever want to get into the industry, because I can tell you right now that I know some people who would love to meet you.

Whatever you say, Adam, Kris says, happy but tired—and still stubbornly refusing to accept the fact of his own brilliance.

And, um... Adam putters around with the CDs in front of him, putting them in boxes and placing them on random shelves. I wanted to... apologize. Before you left.

What for? Kris asks, timid, subdued.

For last night, obviously. Kris doesn't say anything, so Adam plows on, willing himself to get it all out at once. I was drunk. I wasn't thinking clearly. And I was completely out of line. I'm sorry.

I don't know which part you're apologizing for but—

All of it, Adam says. For hooking up with someone without checking with you or warning you, for asking you to stay. For—everything.

Kris is silent for a moment, and then he says, Okay.

Just—okay?

Yeah. He does a mental shrug. It's not like you asked for this, Adam. I know you're doing the best you can.

It was selfish, Adam argues. He may be okay with his own choices and decisions, but when one of them ends up hurting a friend? He will damn well take the responsibility and apologize.

You're allowed to be selfish.

That makes Adam's stomach twist in a horrible way. No, he says. Stop doing that. You're my friend, and I care about you. I'm not allowed to be selfish at your expense.

A touch of surprise filters through to Adam. It makes him feel worse. Kris shouldn't expect so little of people. He shouldn't expect so little of Adam.

All right, Kris says, I accept your apology.

Good. Thank you.

Now I'm gonna go, Kris says. And you—you should stop over-thinking it, okay?

Yeah. Okay.

And one more thing...

Yeah?

I think—with the lyrics saying you should stand up to people, to... to your own insecurities and be who you wanna be, do what you think you should do... I think you could call it Path of Most Resistance.

Huh, Adam says.

Just a suggestion.

With a mental shrug, Kris leaves.

Adam smiles at the empty room.

~

Adam makes plans for the next week—elaborate plans that require a whole lot of secrecy and juggling and subterfuge. He hasn't worked this hard for anything other than his career for a very long time, but he wants to prove to Kris that he values their friendship, that he really is sorry for using him, and more than anything, he wants to make Kris happy.

He wants to give Kris something that Kris would never ask for himself. Something extravagant. Something Kris will remember for a long time.

When he sits down to plot, Adam realizes that he knows a lot about Kris—too much, considering that they've only known each other for a couple of weeks. He appreciates the bond once again; kind of wishes that he was capable of creating one himself, because normal relationships will no doubt feel archaic and lacking after this.

Putting his schedule on one side, Kris' on the other, and an atlas in the middle, Adam comes up with twelve different ideas that might work. A talk (shouting match) with Lana brings it down to five. Searching through the databanks for more detail helps Adam pick the top three.

He does, in the meantime, notice how odd it is that he has so many gift ideas for Kris when just two months back he'd drawn a complete blank at his mom's birthday and had to resort to calling Neil. He tells himself that it's because he's already gotten his mom everything he could think of, since they had so many birthdays and holidays together, but it still bothers him, so he decides not to ever mention this to Leila.

He talks his plans over with Lana (again) and with his security, and then informs Kris.

It's not my birthday for another three months, Kris says, surprised.

I know. But I won't be there in three months.

That doesn't make any sense.

Don't be difficult, Adam tells him. Just write down the dates and don't make any plans.

But—

I said write them down, Kristopher.

Fine.

And so begins the Week of Many Wonders (and Scorn), dubbed so by Allison who pouts for three days straight when Adam tells her she's not invited.

Adam himself secretly thinks of it as the Week of Three Dates, but obviously he's not about to share that with anyone.

~

For the first date, Adam takes Kris to an island on a planet called Humera by the locals and is designated HM-590-345 on the charts. It's unique in all the galaxy because—

Dinosaurs, Kris says softly, his voice laced with wonder and reverence.

A pterodactyl flies overhead, letting out a scream as it goes and disturbing the herd of long-necked dinosaurs Adam can see in the distance, eating leaves off the tops of tall trees. The giant creatures raise their heads as one. Kris squeaks a string of incomprehensible words in Adam's mind.

Their guide is a small, spritely woman wearing a camouflage jumpsuit and a large brimmed hat. She claps her hands cheerfully and grins at them. "Shall we?"

Kris' enthusiasm is so uncontrollable that Adam's feet take him forward without his consent.

He sure hopes no one gets eaten today.

~

The second date is three days later, on a snow covered planet called Tomkl 417. This planet is so cold that it's mostly uninhabited, especially the spot Adam picked for their expedition. Adam wonders for the hundredth time since landing if he should have gone with the neon fish planet instead. He knows how much Kris loves stargazing and this is undoubtedly the best spot for it, but snow is just not Adam's thing. He prefers tropical climates. Palm trees. Drinks with little umbrellas in them.

They have a cabin to spend the night in, and it's perfectly heated, but for what Adam has planned they'll need to be outside, at least for a while. Adam is wearing so many layers that he thinks he must look like one those fat dinosaurs Kris was so fascinated with, the ones with the freaky horns. Thankfully there's no one around to see him like this, and he has no intention of looking into any mirrors once Kris gets here.

The cabin sits in the middle of a clearing, alone, surrounded by untouched snow all around, which makes it look a bit like it's floating on clouds. There are tall pine trees off in the distance, and their shuttle is waiting for them between the cabin and the treeline, in case of an emergency. Hopefully, they'll be fine with just the two of them, but in case something happens, Adam didn't want to leave anything to chance.

When Kris bounds into Adam's mind at their appointed time, he's brimming with curiosity and excitement.

So, what are we doing? he asks, prodding Adam gently to look around so that he can see where they are. Taking in the scenery, he whistles. Wow. This is beautiful.

Adam's shoulders relax a little bit.

The nerves are unnecessary; he keeps telling himself that. Kris is easy to please. But that's part of the problem, really. Adam doesn't want Kris to be pleased. He wants Kris to be blown away. He wants to show Kris that he shouldn't have to settle for pleasing things but to aim higher.

Wait until the show starts.

Waiting for dusk, Adam enlists Kris' help to cook. The cabin has a fully stocked pantry, but God knows that doesn't mean much for Adam. He can make omelets and that's about it. Kris walks him through a crepe recipe, and then stays, for the first time, as Adam eats.

This is unfair. What are you gonna have for dinner? You should've made crepes too.

Kris doesn't sound at all put out. It's fascinating actually, he says. I don't even feel hungry anymore.

Adam still makes him leave though; he can't survive on food Adam's eating. When Kris comes back some thirty minutes later, he finds Adam settled on a comfortable chair outside, sipping champagne.

You're such a cliché, he says, amused.

Adam smiles, turns his face up to the sky, and shows Kris why he chose this spot.

The night sky is aglow with neon green and bright blue lights in the shape of an elongated S, as if there's a slash in the middle of the sky and lights of another universe are shining through.

Adam never would have bothered coming all this way to see this for himself, and that's seriously making him question his priorities in life.

Wow, Kris says softly, spellbound.

Adam knows the feeling. He's been sitting here staring at them for fifteen minutes, and he's still completely awestruck himself.

It sure is something, isn't it?

It's... yeah.

Adam continues sipping his champagne. They sit underneath the lights well into the night.

~

Just when Adam decides that the night has been a resounding success, Kris' unnecessary politeness strikes again.

You didn't have to do any of this; you know that, right? This is all—it's too much, Adam.

You had fun, didn't you?

I did! That's not the point! I'm just—we were supposed to just ride this out. A couple of weeks. But you're going out of your way to—

Adam cuts him off. They weren't out of my way. I just made a couple of stops in between venues. It's not a big deal.

Liar.

Perhaps he is, but Adam is not about to admit to it. Besides, when we said we'd ride it out, we didn't even know each other. Things change. I wanted to hang out with you, so sue me.

Hanging out is one thing, dinosaurs and aurorae are something else entirely.

Whatever. It was awesome. You had fun. So shut up about it.

Mmh.

Adam considers saying good night and leaving the conversation here, on a high note. But then—his mind blurts out the question that's been bothering him for a while. Tell me what you used to do with—with the people you were bonded with before me.

People I was... bonded with?

Yeah, I mean, no dinosaurs, I'm guessing, but you must have done something with them. Hung out somehow?

It wasn't... I didn't... Look, I—it was just the once, and I was really young—

Once? You were bonded only once? That, Adam didn't expect. It doesn't make any sense for Kris not to—there should be people lining up for the chance!

Yes. But that's not—that's not really odd. A lot of people—

No, I read up on this. It said you could do it dozens of times without any adverse effects.

Well, it depends on what you'd call adverse effects I guess. The first time I tried, I was sure that it would work. We were nineteen, and she'd been my friend for years. We were perfect for each other.

And? What happened?

It was—at first, it was fine. We had fun playing around with it. The first week was—it was cool. And then it just—it was a build-up, I guess. The more we used the bond, the more tired we got, and it wasn't like—not a lack of energy but like having bees in your mind, this constant buzzing. It made us snap at each other, snap at other people. It wasn't pretty.

But why would that happen? It didn't happen to me. Adam remembers the headache that first night—but afterwards he'd felt so much better, and it never came back.

No. It didn't. The bond—it does two things. One, it lets you get to know the person you're with—much quicker than you would otherwise. And two, it helps you test your mental compatibility. When I touch someone, I get their surface thoughts and emotions. If I'm living with someone, I'd be touching them constantly, spending a lot of time feeling what they're feeling. If we're not compatible, after a while that puts a strain on both parties. It's not about love, or being a good person, having good intentions—it's—it's genetics. I'm compatible with my immediate family. I wasn't with Katy—with that friend I was talking about.

Like being on the same wavelength. That's something Adam had thought about the two of them. He and Kris just click. It's uncanny.

Yeah, I guess.

Adam feels a bit dizzy. He should be sympathetic about this. He shouldn't rejoice in the knowledge that their accidental bond is better than most intentional ones. That sucks, he says and hopes it doesn't sound too fake.

Not really. I mean, it makes it almost impossible to have roommates, but other than that... It's just how it is.

Adam is going to put a stop to this conversation. Anytime now.

So you never tried again?

Or maybe he'll just keep asking probing questions.

Honestly, it's too much work to do this on a whim.

You did do it on a whim. With me.

Ah.

Ah?

That was different. You were....

I was...?

You kept touching me. That night.

I did not.

You did. But you do it with all your friends, so you probably don't notice. It stood out for me, because touching is—well, you don't touch people casually if you're a telepath.

Did he really—? Oh, God. I'm so—

No, no, it's fine. I didn't mind. I just—kept getting flashes of memories and emotions and thoughts and—your mind was... comfortable.

Comfortable? My mind was comfortable?

I don't know how else to describe it. It was familiar and nice. I liked it. That's why I... you know.

Adam can't decide whether he's underwhelmed with this declaration or flattered by it.

Wow. Okay. I guess that was good instinct, because—no bees here.

Yeah. None at all.

I guess—I guess you should touch people more.

The words make sense as Adam blurts them out—carelessly, without a thought—but then he realizes what he said, what he asked Kris to do, and feels a little sick. He doesn't want Kris going around touching other people, bonding with them. That makes him a terrible friend—a self-centered, egotistical person—but he can't help it.

Maybe.

Kris doesn't sound too enthused about it, so that's enough to keep Adam's inner caveman mollified for now.

Kris. I can't feel my fingertips.

That's actually an exaggeration, but if the night doesn't end here, Adam doesn't know where the conversation will lead. He doesn't trust himself to handle it appropriately right now.

Time to go in?

Time to go in.

~

The third date is the easiest. It's also the most unnerving.

The threat of being trampled by dinosaurs or losing his toes to frostbite has nothing on stage fright.

Adam's eyes are closed, breathing carefully regulated, and his arms are spread wide open, fingers waiting for Kris' arrival to give the signal.

Kris comes right on time.

I'm here. What are we doing tonight?

Adam opens his eyes and raises two of his fingers. The lights come on all at once. The audience starts cheering right on cue.

What...

Adam tries to see what Kris must be seeing, takes in the venue as if it's his first time. The lights, the roar of the crowd, the seemingly endless sea of the audience. He feels Kris' excitement build and move, fluid like molten lava, seeping into Adam's blood and scorching through his veins.

Sing with me, he tells Kris, and steps forward into the blinding lights.

It's going to be a good show.

~

Adam does two encores that night, and sings until his throat starts aching.

Normally, he'd tone it down after a while, not go after every high note, go easy on himself so he won't botch the next show, but tonight is special for obvious reasons. His ego won't let this be subpar. Selfish or selfless—he doesn't even know himself which it is, but he has to give Kris the best of everything. He can't do it any other way.

You do this all the time, Kris says, awed.

Adam doesn't admit that it gets repetitive after a while, that it's not always this good—this exciting. There's nothing wrong with wanting to impress someone. Yup. Night after night.

That's amazing, Kris says. You're amazing.

Kris is suitable impressed, and of course now Adam feels guilty. It's not always like this. I mean, this is a really big one, and I went all out to give you a good show.

Kris doesn't seem to be listening. I could do that for the rest of my life. Man. I should get a job as a sound tech or something. I forgot how much fun being on tour was.

You could—you could definitely do something like that. Adam holds the job offer back, but it takes doing. Kris going on tour with him would be—it would be incredible and incredibly complicated.

I should let you sleep, Kris says.

Adam wants him to stay, but then these days he always wants Kris to stay. Yeah, he replies. I should—I'm gonna take a shower.

All right. Kris pauses, as if he's weighing his next words carefully. Good night, Adam. And thank you. I really... thank you.

Yeah. I'm glad you had fun. Good night.

~

The next day, Adam feels antsy and restless all through the morning. He can't stop checking the time, counting down the minutes in his head until he can contact Kris without making him think he's a creepy stalker. Fifteen minutes before Kris' alarm is set to go off, he says fuck it and locks himself in his room, making himself comfortable and picturing the red and gold ornate door. It seems to glow in Adam's mind, and Adam finds himself giving the warm wood a passing caress before he goes ahead and opens it.

...only to find that it now leads to a whole lot of nothing.

It's white, everywhere—that's all he can see. He swallows nervously, his raw throat reminding him of last night, of Kris, and yes, he can still feel him, Kris is still there, but... there's nothing to see, nothing to talk to. The lingering connection to Kris is like the scent of a person clinging to the air after they leave a room. Nothing but a hint of them left behind. A shadow, at most.

The bond that had started with a bang has gone out with a whimper, and Adam didn't even notice.

He sits down by the door, feeling irrationally lonely and abandoned. He doesn't call for Kris. He doesn't try to talk.

When he finally climbs back out of his own head, it's only to climb under the covers of his bed and continue his pity party there.

He pretends to sleep until it's time for dinner. Lana lets him be.

~

"Okay," Lana says, pulling out the chair across from Adam and plopping down. "What's with the face? Did you and Kris have a fight?"

Adam stops playing with his salad and abandons his fork. He was never going to eat it anyway.

"Why would you say that?"

Lana helps herself to a crouton and waves at his face. "You do that face."

"I do that face?"

"Yeah. When you're happily hanging out with Kris, you do the happy face. When you're missing Kris, you do the wistful face. Right now you look like someone kicked you in the nuts. So unless the cook learned martial arts, I'm thinking this is Kris-related."

Adam didn't realize he'd been that easy to read. Hopefully he's only this transparent to Lana, and the paps haven't started speculating on his moods yet.

"Kris is... gone. The bond wore off."

"Oh. That's..."

"Good," Adam finishes the thought for her. "It's good. Things can go back to normal now."

"Right." Lana sounds doubtful. Adam doesn't blame her. He knows he doesn't look himself right now. But he was taken off guard; he'll be fine once he gets used to the idea. He's been okay with not having other people in his head for almost thirty years now. Three weeks is hardly long enough to develop a habit. Give him a day or two and his face will go back to normal. No more Kris faces.

She sits with him in silence for a beat or two but then gets up purposefully. She always has somewhere to be, something to do. Adam's never seen her just sit down and relax, do nothing.

"For what it's worth," she says, "it was nice seeing you smile like that. You looked a little spacey and stupid, but you know... it was nice."

Adam stares down at his salad and waits for her to go away. It doesn't take long.

~

Adam considers calling Kris. He considers it long and hard—and again and again. He knows where Kris works; he knows his schedule. The problem isn't locating Kris. He just doesn't know what he'd say. It was nice knowing you? Look me up if you're ever in my part of the galaxy? They both knew this day would come, and they made no promises. Kris would know that he's welcome to contact Adam anytime he wants now. Isn't it overkill to hunt him down just to say goodbye?

Adam decides to keep busy instead, look to the future, focus on the end of the tour, the upcoming album. This isn't the time to be distracted. He nods and smiles and says yes to every event he's offered. A last minute benefit concert? Why not? A photo-op at the zoo? Sign him up. He needs to be out and about, after all. He needs to keep people talking about him. He doesn't want to fade into the background and be forgotten before he even gets to release his first album. And it all helps to an extent. He feels useful, like he's actually accomplishing something. Maybe he doesn't forget about Kris, but he doesn't dwell on him either. And if he's too tired to stay awake at night and go check on the door, he counts that as an added bonus.

Days pass, the end of the tour nears, and Adam realizes that he managed to set a whole new routine for himself—a routine filled with work and music and fans, and no discernable Kris-sized hole—and it's not bad at all. He feels content.

He's been saying that it'll be fine since the bond first formed; finally, Adam starts believing it himself.

There's light at the end of the tunnel. He can do this.

~

Allison is worried about him. It's written all over her face, in the set of her jaw, the wrinkle of her brow. Adam knows she never would have asked to come with him otherwise. This isn't exactly her scene. Hell, this isn't exactly Adam's scene.

Adam has done charity events before. He's donated what he can to a cause or two even before he got famous. But donating money online or singing to a venue full of fans for free is not the same as actually being there in person to help someone out. He's never worked at a soup kitchen like Kris. He never volunteered to read to the elderly.

And frankly, as much as he admires Kris' compulsion to help everyone in need that he encounters, he'd be lying if he said that he's changed, that Kris showed him the error of his ways. No, he and Kris are different, they both know that. Adam will never be as selfless as Kris, and Kris will never care enough about his own wellbeing to trample over others to get what he wants. There's no right or wrong there, if you ask Adam. Just different personalities. Different outlooks on life. Different backgrounds.

So the reason Adam is here right now, at a hospital full of kids, isn't as noble as one would guess. He just told Lana to fill all his spare time, and when they run out of offers that pay, Adam has to work his way through the ones that don't.

This isn't ideal on many levels. Children? Not Adam's thing. Hospitals? Not exactly sexy. He hopes he won't accidentally make the kids cry with his show or trip over one and break it or something. Lana is still giving him doubtful looks as they make their way through the white-walled corridors. She probably never thought he'd take this one. She probably expects him to run away screaming any minute now. Adam is surprised himself, but it will make for good publicity in the end. And it won't kill him, he figures, while having free time just might.

There are about forty or fifty kids in the room where he and Allison will be singing. Adam had been afraid that they'd all be sickly and pale, breakable even more so than normal kids, but they're not as bad as he feared. Even the ones that are whitewashed and frail sit up straight and start beaming at the sight of them. Must be the clothes, Adam thinks. They don't seem to get a lot of color around here.

The kids smile easily, impressed and wide-eyed even before Adam opens his mouth to sing. And Allison comes alive at the sight of them—always a sucker for the little ones—makes them dance in their seats and sing along to the songs, and before Adam knows it, they're actually having fun. He's actually having fun.

"I don't see your lips moving, Jeremy," Allison says, shaking her head mock-angrily at the boy with the long, sandy hair. Jeremy grins and brushes a hand reverently over Allison's trailing scarf—red and purple and shimmery under the lights.

Musical instruments, Adam notes, are a big hit with kids. So are accessories. Allison's scarf isn't the only one that gets love. By the time they're done, Adam has gifted his blue beaded necklace to a small girl named Deni, and his hat is sitting on Johnny's head. Johnny, who's one of the older kids, holds his head up high now, as if the hat makes him feel ten feet tall.

When they first stepped into the room, Adam had thought back to Kris playing with Bianca and tried to remember if there had been a trick to it—something Kris said or did that made Bianca like him so much. Kris would have called him an idiot, he's sure, but Adam never did learn how to talk to children. He has a gift with adults and fans and even teenagers, but that's mostly about sex-appeal and self-confidence. Kids don't even notice those things. They speak a different language, have a whole different set of priorities.

As he watches Allison interact with them, as they react to the music and the band, Adam realizes that it's probably not as difficult as he'd always made it out to be. They like shiny, pretty things; they like singing and dancing; they like being noticed and talked to. Adam still doesn't get what an adult would get out of spending time with them—what, he's being honest here—but after half an hour spent observing them, he's pretty sure they wouldn't be scarred for life if he tried to strike a conversation with them.

All in all, the show is an unexpected success.

After the show, Allison insists on staying with the kids to play with them. She's already surrounded by a mob of small people; Adam can't see how he can say no without appearing completely evil. The kids are holding up toys to Allison like offerings to a god, but they're hardly coordinated enough for a chant to go with the sacrifice. There's a cacophony of sound instead, the children's voices shrill like bells, piercing into Adam's brain.

The nurses—the evil, smiling nurses—must smell Adam's weakness, because they're on him as soon as he caves, pulling at him and telling him about some other kids who'd love to meet him.

Adam would rather wait in the car, but he has a feeling that the evil nurses might bite if he admits that. So he follows the redheaded nurse meekly through the winding corridors, and just to make small talk, asks why those kids weren't at the show if they wanted to meet him. The only answer he gets in return is a meaningfully arched brow.

"Anna, I have someone here for you."

Anna is a little girl with short dark hair—a pixie cut, Adam thinks, but it's been flattened on one side from her pillow. Adam doesn't know enough about kids to be able to guess at her age, but he knows she's way too thin. That could be why she's hooked up to three different machines—or maybe it's the other way around. She looks tired in a way children shouldn't be, as if just breathing is taking a toll on her.

Adam now gets what the arched eyebrow of the evil nurse meant. Of course Anna wasn't at the show. It was a dumb question to begin with.

He forces a smile on his face and lets himself fall back on his acting skills. Anna's mother looks like she might be able to tell how fake his face is, but that's okay, he's not trying to fool the adults anyway.

"Fifteen minutes," the nurse says, clucking her tongue when Anna protests. "You need your rest. Fifteen minutes."

You can fit a lot of awkward silences into fifteen minutes, Adam thinks at first, but then Anna opens her mouth.

"How do you make your hair stand up like that? My brother says it's the gravitational pull of the moon of your planet, but that's not true, is it? Because you're not on your own planet right now and it's still standing up like that."

Adam gapes at her, not sure what to say.

"Is it true that you're from Planet Fierce? Is there a Planet Fierce? They didn't teach us about it in school."

Anna has a lot of questions—more than can be answered in fifteen minutes, but Adam gives it a shot. He even shows her how to do her hair with the tips sticking up. And when the nurse comes back, opening the door and giving them a time's up look, he finds that he's sorry to go. He would have liked to stay with Anna a little more, teach her about makeup maybe, and tell her about Kris and his pandadoodles, which he thinks she would have liked.

Anna's chin wobbles when he gets up to leave. Adam gives her an unprompted hug.

There's no one meaningful reason, Kris had told him once. You see these people, kids, or helpless animals suffering and you know you can do something to make it better. And then there's no choice. Everyone does what they can. So do I.

Not everyone does what they can, Adam thinks as he leaves Anna and her mother behind. He certainly doesn't. And he honestly doesn't know if he could keep doing it like Kris, if he'd have the strength to go through it again and again. He feels like he'll keep wondering about Anna from now on, if she gets better, if she doesn't... How many Annas does Kris have?

Allison holds his hand all the way back to the hotel, her face uncharacteristically serious, and as they part ways she says, "You should call Kris."

Adam doesn't ask why. He doesn't say he will. He just nods.

~

He doesn't call Kris.

Next time Lana mentions a children's charity though, he tells her to sign him up.

~

It's been three weeks since the bond dissolved, over a month and a half since he first met Kris, when Adam wakes up from a deep sleep screaming.

It takes him a moment to get his bearings, and by then Lana and the cook have already barged into his room, looking scared and panicked.

Adam isn't in any position to calm them down. His heart is going a mile a minute. He's never felt more terrified in his life.

"Kris," he chokes out at Lana. "Something's wrong. You have to find a way to get in contact with Kris."

Lana, ever the professional, recovers fast and sends the cook away with instructions to get Adam something to drink. Then she turns to Adam and calmly asks, "What's wrong with him?"

Adam shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't—I haven't felt much from him in weeks and now I—I don't know. Something's not right."

"Are you sure it wasn't just a nightmare?"

Adam glares at her. He knows she's trying to help, but his hands are shaking and he's this close to ordering the captain to take them to Kris' planet, damn his schedule. "I'm sure," he grits out.

"All right." She raises her hands, placating. "I'll see what I can do."

After downing a warm glass of milk laced heavily with Horeesean cognac—bless the cook and his alcoholic soul—Adam tells her what he knows of Kris' schedule. Names, places—hopefully enough detail to get in contact with at least a colleague. And after a half an hour of Adam pacing a hole in the floor, Lana proves her resourcefulness.

"He's all right," she tells him, getting right to the point as always.

"Oh." The soft sound escapes Adam, his body sagging with relief. He lets himself fall into a seat in an undignified heap.

"He's at the hospital, but it's nothing serious. He burned his hand at work. I talked to his boss. She said he'll be just fine."

A burn. That wasn't one of the million ways Adam had just imagined Kris getting hurt. Burns hurt a lot; Adam remembers that one time when he was ten and he poured hot tea all over his leg. He remembers that it took a long time to heal. With the burn on his hand, how is Kris going to go about his daily work, he finds himself worrying. Who's going to help him out?

"You should go back to bed," Lana says. "You have an early start tomorrow."

Adam nods and stands up on unsteady legs.

In his room, his bed looks uninviting and cold. He collapses in front of the mirror instead and stares blankly at his own pale face.

What the hell did he get himself into?

~

Adam spends the night sitting in front of the door—their door—and staring into the nothing beyond. The feeling of Kris is the strongest there, but Adam can tell even that is fading. Soon, he won't be getting anything, not even the muffled pain he's sensing right now.

He doesn't know what he'll do then. It feels like he might go crazy—but he won't. Obviously. He'll adjust. In time.

In the morning, Lana takes one look at him and says she's cancelling his appearances. That there's nothing scheduled for the day he can't back out of. Adam insists on going. He can cancel interviews and paid appearances, but charity events? He can't do that. That would be too low. He gave his word and he'll stick to it.

Besides, he's got a feeling that this thing with Kris is going to get much worse before it gets any better, and he's booked solid for weeks. He can't cancel everything.

The show must go on. This is why the-powers-that-be created concealer, after all.

~

Adam usually sleeps through his nightly vigils. He gets in bed, closes his eyes, pictures the door, and lies down in front of it to sleep there. He hasn't told anyone he's doing this—obviously—but he's analyzed it some himself and come to the conclusion that either (a) he wants to know if something happens to Kris, or (b) he wants to know if and when the bond completely disappears. He's not sure which is worse, but he doesn't really care much, since neither makes sense in the first place.

All in all, Adam is having his breakdown quietly and in peace. No more screaming at night, and nothing he can't hide under a layer of carefully applied makeup.

If he'd considered the possibility of his breaking down completely and visibly, he wouldn't have thought it'd be by anything less than pain, or panic, or fear from Kris. But then one night he wakes up at 3 AM to a strong feeling emanating from the door, the first notable sensation to filter through in days, and it's joy. Kris is happy—the way he was on the dinosaur island, bubbling with it. It's a feeling Adam has missed so much that it makes him gasp and choke on air.

He can't believe he almost forgot what that felt like.

Groggy and still half-asleep, Adam tries to catch his breath, fails completely, and starts crying.

~

Lana doesn't budge from her decision to clear his schedule this time. One look in the mirror tells Adam that it's probably the right call.

"Do you want me to get someone? Allison? We could call your mom?"

Just the thought of explaining this whole mess to his mother makes Adam sick to his stomach. He shakes his head desolately.

"This can't go on, Adam. Whatever's going through your head, you have to work it out. If you need help, I can find a doctor—"

"God no," Adam interrupts her. "I can—I'm dealing—"

"Bullshit you're dealing. You're falling apart. Look at your face, for God's sake. Have you been crying?" She hands him a wet wipe and stands her ground until he uses it.

She heaves a sigh. "How can I help?"

Adam blinks up at her. That's... unexpected. They're not exactly friends.

Adam considers brushing her off—this is personal and private and pathetic—but then it occurs to him that Lana could be the best person to handle this. She's logical, methodical, and smart. She knows Adam's life better than Adam does himself. Maybe she can help.

His list is crumpled but still legible. He holds it out to her with a trembling hand.

(He's too tired. His hands only ever tremble when he's tired enough to crash or angry enough to bite someone's head off. Maybe he should get someone to knock him out for a while, give him a pill or a bump to the head or something. He can't possibly make sound decisions on so little sleep.)

"What's this?"

"I made a list of pros and cons."

She makes an approving sound. Adam knew she'd appreciate his working this out in such a systematic way.

"Pros," she reads thoughtfully. "We're compatible."

Adam nods, biting his nails. That's the only thing he could think of. Well, he could think of more stuff, messy, emotional stuff, but objectively, that seemed to be the only item he could list as a pro.

"Cons: our lives are too different."

She peers at him over the list. Adam nods once again encouragingly.

"We live on different sides of the galaxy. He wants kids. My career plan says no dating."

Adam keeps nodding—until he realizes what Lana's about to do. "What—wait—"

She rips the list in half, then again, and again. Adam knows it by heart, but for some reason, the fact that it's now in tiny pieces bother him. He put a lot of faith in that list. He spent a lot of time staring at it.

"That list is ridiculous," Lana tells him. She has this way of speaking, so strong, so sure of herself, that makes Adam want to believe her. If she tells him to snap out of it, to forget about Kris, then maybe he actually can.

But that's not what she does.

"Your lives are too different? That's how all couples start out. He wants kids? You think you never will? You're not allergic to children, Adam. You're actually pretty good with them."

Adam stares at her, speechless. He'd thought she'd be against the idea just on principle. "My career—"

"If you think your PR team can't spin a story about you accidentally bonding and then falling in love with some guy in your favor, why the hell have you been paying them? It sounds like a fairytale, for God's sake. People will wonder if you made it up for publicity. And Kris—he couldn't be more perfect if he was tailor-made for this. He's polite, he does charity work, he's a musician—"

"You're assuming," Adam says, going along with the insanity for a moment, "that he'll want to uproot himself on my say-so."

Lana throws her arms up. "Even if he doesn't—you can afford your own frickin' spaceship at this point. You can go back and forth."

"My schedule—"

"Your schedule says whatever I tell it to say. And I'm saying we can manage it." She sits down on his bed. "Yes, it'll be tiring, but it can't be any worse than this."

She does have a point there.

"Adam, I don't mean to tell you what to do—"

Well, that's a lie—she does and always has—but Adam's not going to argue semantics right now.

"—but it's obvious that you need to do this. I don't think you realize how much you've changed. Just the way he made you smile like an idiot—I mean, anyone could tell you're in love. Don't get me wrong, I don't particularly care about your love life, but you're miserable without him. You're a mess. And since I basically manage you for a living, I'd prefer to have you in working condition."

Adam never said love. He never even thought love. Love is a big word to throw around like that. He likes Kris. He's used to Kris. Perhaps he's even a bit addicted to Kris. He would very much like to date Kris. There are enough problems with the situation without putting love into the mix.

"Besides," she says, looking at the end of her rope, "I thought you believed in fate and all that crap."

"This isn't fate," Adam tells her miserably. "This is—this is like accidentally super-gluing yourself to someone and then realizing that hey, they're not all that bad."

Lana gives her a look that says—no, yells—that he's an idiot. "You think he's not all that bad? Right."

Adam looks away. Okay, so maybe it's not exactly like that.

"What if he doesn't..."

He can't finish the sentence. He feels sick to his stomach at the thought. Here he is, going crazy over the obstacles between them, but he doesn't even know if Kris would want to try. Kris could very well be glad to be rid of Adam. Okay, he's probably too nice to think that way, but he could be impassive. He could certainly be happy, and sleeping well, and not even thinking about Adam right now.

"Only one way to find out," Lana says firmly.

That's true enough. "Okay," Adam says, nodding. He's scared shitless, but—okay. It's better to be doing something about it, because avoidance is clearly not working. He gets up and strides to the door, ready to get a move on, but Lana holds him back.

"You are going back to bed," she tells him, pushing him back down. "And you're gonna sleep."

Adam opens his mouth to protest but then thinks better of it. He is starting to get kind of dizzy.

"I'll handle the details," Lana assures him.

Adam is asleep before his head hits the pillow.

~

Adam dreams of Kris' dreams.

Whether they're Kris' actual dreams trickling into his mind, or his subconscious making up dreams that feel like Kris' dreams Adam doesn't know.

He chases the rogue images of a toy brontosaurus and a red guitar out of his mind and gets up. He has a long day ahead of him.

~

It takes seventeen hours to get to Kris' planet from where they are. Eleven of those Adam spends sleeping, for the rest, he has nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs.

Lana tries engaging him in some small talk once or twice, but that fails spectacularly. Adam is twitchy and he can't focus on one topic long enough to talk about it. His mind keeps slipping back to Kris, where he'll find him once he gets there, what he'll say. He tries to read, or work on his songs, or just kick back and listen to music—but nothing seems to work. In the end, he finds himself standing in front of his closet, contemplating its contents in desperation.

Closets always need rearranging.

He starts small—with belts, and then moves on to shoes, and then to pants, and to shirts, and so on, until he has the whole closet reorganized to his liking—not by color or fabric, but by how much he loves every item. Needless to say, his shoes get the best shelf.

"Two hours," Lana says absently when he ventures out for a drink. "You better start getting ready."

Just like that, Adam finds himself right back at square one. All that fashion therapy for nothing. Panic starts clawing at his insides once again, choking him from within.

Lana looks up from her tablet. "Shower," she advises. "Then hair, then makeup, then clothes."

"Right. Right."

Adam hurries back to his room.

~

Adam knows how to dress for a part. He knows how to wow, how to impress, how to shock. The problem with this situation is that he knows Kris doesn't care all that much about appearances—which is rare, it really is, and not something Adam understands—so while Adam's instincts tell him to dress up, the Kris voice in his mind tells him to stop being an idiot and hiding behind layers of costumes and makeup.

It's confusing. Adam ends up changing four times.

He knocks on Kris' door—a generic, metal door, not an ornate wood one—once, twice, and then looks down at his outfit nervously, still wondering if he should've gone with something else. He's wearing black jeans with a black shirt. Is it too depressing? Maybe he should've worn blue jeans. Or possibly a white shirt.

He waits, fidgeting, but Kris doesn't answer. Maybe he's not even home. Maybe he stayed over at a friend's. Maybe he met someone—he had to have a reason for all that joy the other day—and is with them right now, sleeping in their bed, or—or.

He takes a deep breath and tries again.

There's a thump from inside this time, and it sends Adam's heart into what feels like a cardiac arrest. The soft footsteps come closer and closer, and then there's the sound of a metallic lock turning, tongue pulling back with a click. And then—and then there's Kris.

Adam will never forget that moment. The way Kris looks. The way he makes Adam feel. It hits him like an explosion in his chest.

"Adam."

Adam smiles.

Kris is shirtless. Never in his wildest dreams could Adam have hoped to catch him like this. He's rumpled and sleep-tousled but still wearing his jeans, which he no doubt fell asleep in after work. Adam is rooted to the spot; if he could take a step closer, he'd be able to touch Kris' skin and see if it feels as smooth as it looks. He imagines that it'd be soft, and warm from sleep. Inevitably, Adam's eyes catch on the bandage on Kris' arm as they roam. It's not his hand but his wrist, Adam notes, and the dressing is much smaller than Adam expected. He feels something unclench quietly in his gut.

"Hi," he says, realizing he missed his cue. "I woke you up."

That thought penetrates through Kris' shock and he looks around for a clock. "Yeah, what time is it?"

"Very late?" Adam hazards a guess. "Or very, very early, I suppose."

Kris rubs his eyes and takes a step back, opening the door wider to invite him in. "Come on, don't just stand there." Adam walks inside slowly, carefully, taking in his surroundings with fascination. There are towers of CDs on a small table in one corner. A guitar, still in its case, is propped up in the doorway leading into a darkened corridor. Kris' shoes are a sad, abandoned pile by the side of the front door, and he has a bike, blocking what seems to be a closet.

It's one of the messiest, busiest hallways Adam has ever seen, but he can't help but find it charming. It's very Kris-like.

When Adam turns to face him, Kris is giving him a suspicious look, head tilted, eyes squinting. Kris-like, Adam thinks again, smiling at him. He waits for Kris to say something—he looks like he wants to—but then he scratches at his arm absently and seems to remember that he's half naked.

"I'm gonna go get a shirt," he mumbles, ducking his head. "Be right back."

He disappears into the dark corridor, and then a moment later a soft yellow light floods in through a door to the right—bedroom, Adam's mind registers—and sound of Kris opening a drawer follows. Adam is so focused on seeing what he can of the rest of the place that he almost yelps when something soft brushes his leg.

"What—"

It's a cat. A kitten? Something in between, anyway. It's white with orange stripes, and it has a small, round face, turned up to stare at Adam curiously. As Adam watches, holding himself cautiously still so he won't scare it away, it rubs its face against Adam's jeans, then turns, maneuvers around Adam's leg to get to the other one and repeats the move. It leaves behind wispy strands of light-colored cat hair on Adam's jeans, but Adam finds that he surprisingly doesn't mind.

It's a friendly cat. And it's Kris' cat. Which, for some reason, makes it instantly lovable.

Adam crouches down slowly and pets its neck with two fingers.

It has incredibly soft hair.

"I see you made a friend," Kris says, his voice now less scratchy. He sounds almost awake, and when Adam looks up he sees that Kris washed his face, drops of water still cling to the sides of his jaw.

"You got a cat," Adam states the obvious.

Kris shrugs. "Not really. He got in through the window the other night and helped himself to my leftover pasta. Hasn't left since."

Adam pictures the scene and smiles. Then suddenly something occurs to him. "Thursday morning," he says.

Kris gives him a suspicious look. "That's when I found him, yeah."

Adam's smile turns into a giddy grin. Kris had been happy because he met someone—because he met the cat. Adam should have guessed that. This is what his life has turned into. Jealous of a cat.

"What?" Kris asks. "You could tell?"

Adam shrugs. He doesn't want to get into the pathetic door vigils right now. He rubs his thumb between the cat's ears. "He's very friendly."

That amuses Kris for some reason. Adam's about to ask what he's smiling about when Kris clears his throat and says, his face growing somber, "I'm pretty sure you have a show tonight. On a planet on the other side of the galaxy."

He waits for confirmation and Adam nods, looking quickly away from Kris' eyes and focusing on the cat instead. "I canceled it."

"You canceled it." Kris crosses his arms over his chest. "And you came here."

Adam nods. He'd tried to come up with a good speech, but nothing sounded good, and he'd figured it would come to him in the moment. Surely he'd know what to say when he saw Kris.

Except he was apparently full of shit. He has no idea what to say right now.

"Adam." Kris takes a step closer; the movement draws Adam's eyes. "I have no idea why you're here, and it's starting to freak me out. I'm guessing it's not the cat."

Kris sounds nervous, so Adam stands up from his crouch, trying to ignore his wildly beating heart. The thing is, if he says—if he asks... then it's over. He'll have his answer and there'll be no going back. And that's—that's really scary.

But on the other hand—not knowing is the worst.

Adam has suspicions and hopes and wishes, but he doesn't know what Kris wants. That's what it all comes down to. What does Kris want? It won't be the end of the world if Adam leaves here brokenhearted tonight. It sounds cliché and not really like him, but he thinks he'll be fine as long as he knows Kris is happy. He can't stomach the thought of Kris wanting something and not having it.

He guesses that means he can't claim to not be in love with Kris any longer. Standing two steps away from him and taking him in from head to toe—from his messy hair to his bare feet—Adam can't find one fault with him, not a minor detail that he'd change, and that—that can't be anything but stupid, head-over-heels love.

It's not a completely unfamiliar feeling. He's been feeling this way for a while now, but he didn't know that it meant... He didn't realize.

Adam doesn't need a speech, it turns out. He's going to ask just one question.

"What do you want?"

"What?"

"I want—I need you to be completely selfish—for once in your life, Kris, please—and tell me what you want."

"What I—?" Kris' brow furrows in confusion, and then he looks angry, something Adam hadn't seen—or felt—before. "It's four in the morning and I have to be at work in three hours. I don't have time for games."

There's a gleam in his eyes that says he's hurt on top of angry, and that gets Adam moving more than the steel in his tone. He steps forward and takes Kris' hands in his, careful of the bandage on his left arm, and leans in to press a lingering kiss to his temple. His hands tighten around Kris' of their own accord, and it takes a lot out of him to drop them. The bond is—was—intimate, but so is touching, in a very different way, and they've never done that. They've never held hands. They've never kissed. They've never sat close enough to feel each other's warmth.

That's probably why his touch makes Kris stop looking angry and catch his breath.

"What about what you want?" Kris asks quietly, contemplatively.

Adam shakes his head. "You first."

Kris raises an eyebrow in question.

"I'm not letting you get away with censoring yourself and selling me back my own words. Don't look at me like that, Kris, I know you'd do it."

Kris rolls his eyes, but he looks calmer. He can't be completely unaware, Adam thinks. It has to be obvious what Adam's here for. Why else would he come?

"Just tell me. Please."

Kris smiles up at him. He looks much more self-assured all of a sudden. He reaches up and places one warm palm against the side of Adam's face, and then rising up on his toes, he kisses him.

It's a soft, simple kiss, just a touch of lips against lips, but it almost makes Adam stumble back. There's a roaring sound in his ears, getting louder by the second—but no, wait, it's not in his ears, it's in his head, and it's—

He smiles against Kris' lips.

It's Kris, in his mind again, and even though there are no words this time, the raw feeling he's pouring into Adam's mind speaks volumes.

"I want to keep you," Kris mumbles, and then pulls back to smile lopsidedly. "In case that wasn't clear."

Adam turns them around and presses Kris against the wall. They don't talk with words for a very long time.

~

"I cheated," Kris whispers later, lying next to Adam, forehead against Adam's cheek.

Adam stirs. He was almost asleep. "What?"

"You touched my hands," Kris whispers into the space between their bodies. "I already knew what you were thinking. I didn't really go first."

Adam wonders whether he should be mad about that. He's not. "'s okay," he says. "You've been cheating from the start."

"I'm not sorry," Kris admits.

Adam tightens his hold on him. "Yeah," he says. "Neither am I."

Epilogue

They only had two days. That's the part that gets to Adam the most. He thinks even a month-long honeymoon wouldn't have been enough, and just two days together? That's a joke.

It hadn't seemed so bad at the time. He had to go. Lana wasn't an actual fairy godmother. She had her powers, but management would get restless after a couple of days, they'd want answers. It was hard to leave, but Adam had figured it would be okay. They'd have the bond. Kris had said so. They'd have a second bond—it would be easier to establish this time, and it would last longer.

It didn't last long enough.

They'd thought Kris could wrap up his commitments in a week or two and follow Adam home. But then it turned into three weeks, and then four, and then the bond wore off again, leaving Adam a bit hollow and a lot worried. Paranoia, Adam knew that's what it was, but he couldn't stop thinking about Kris changing his mind. The move was a lot to ask. Adam should have insisted on them finding another way, but Kris had been happy at the thought, Adam was sure of it, Kris had been all for moving. Maybe his family changed his mind though. Maybe once away from Adam, he realized it wasn't worth it.

They called back and forth a couple of times, but it was hard to time it right, so for the most part they had to make do with recorded messages... and that just wasn't the same. Adam watched the recordings again and again, trying to tell whether the unease he saw in Kris came from talking to a camera or talking to Adam, but he couldn't. Worry kept gnawing at his insides like a rat.

If he wasn't a complete mess, it was only because Kris always said he was coming. He just had one more thing to do, and then one more—but the breakup talk Adam braced himself for every time never came.

All things considered, he's holding up pretty well, Adam concedes as he wipes the sweat off his neck with the towel Lana hands him. He's not freaking out about it. He's not fighting with Kris. (He doesn't know if he could fight with Kris. He can't imagine how that would go.) He's working on his album—it's almost done—and he's playing shows, making guest appearances left and right. He's productive, at least. He isn't moping.

"Adam, you got a minute?" a guy asks; middle-aged, pony tail, not someone Adam knows. Interviewer, Adam realizes, spotting the cameraman following his steps.

"Sure—"

He's cut short by Lana, who grabs his arm and steers him the other way. "Not now, Gerald. He's got an appointment."

"I do?" Adam asks. It's late. He was thinking he would go up to his suite and sleep off tonight's performance. His muscles are aching. He's been overdoing the dancing.

"Yup," she says, coming to a stop in front of the men's bathroom, and turns him around to give him a once over. "You stink," she says, wrinkling her nose. "But you'll have to do."

Adam opens his mouth to give her a piece of his mind, but then he's turned around once again and shoved forward unceremoniously.

"What the—"

"Hi."

It's Kris, right there in front of him. He's exiting the bathroom, looking tired all over, from his drooping hair to his wrinkled shirt, but he's smiling, wide and happy. Adam's breath catches in his throat.

"Hi," he replies, letting a smile creep up his lips. It keeps growing until Adam's sure he looks like a sappy idiot.

He doesn't care one bit. Kris is here.

Kris comes closer shyly, hands hiding in his pockets. "Surprise."

"Yeah, I—" He looks around for Lana but she seems very pointedly busy studying her tablet a couple of feet away. "I didn't know you were coming. Tonight, I mean. I knew you'd come eventually. Probably."

Kris' face does something Adam has never seen it do before—something between sadness and shock. "You thought I wasn't coming?"

Adam shrugs, wincing a little. Now that Kris is here, they really don't need to talk about Adam's insecurities. "I wasn't—I mean. It took a while, that's all."

Kris nods and strides right up to him, into his personal space, and reaches up to cradle Adam's face in his hands.

"I'm all sweaty—"

"Ssshh," Kris says and concentrates.

And then he's in Adam's mind. Adam doesn't know what he was worried about. Kris loves him so much.

He lets out a relieved chuckle; it comes out a little choked. "See," he says, aiming for a light tone and completely missing it, "if we could stay like this all the time, I wouldn't worry."

"That sounds unhealthy," Kris tells him, leaning his forehead against Adam's cheek.

Adam wraps his arms around him and drawls, "Yeah, I don't really care."

Adam could—and probably would—stay right there, holding Kris for hours if Lana hadn't cleared her throat until they looked up and said, "You do have a room upstairs," and then proceeded to usher them towards the elevators.

Kris holds onto Adam's hand tightly as they walk.

Just as they're about to step into an elevator car golden doors opening with a din, Adam notices the pony-tail guy again. Gerard? Gerald?

"Is he any good?" he asks Lana, pointing to the guy with his chin.

Lana follows his gaze and nods. "Not bad. Why?"

Adam doesn't answer. "Hey Gerald!" he yells instead, and watches, amused, as the guy's head snaps up like a trained dog.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow at noon," Adam tells him. "Room—" He looks down at the key Lana handed him. "Room 816. Bring your camera guy."

"You got it."

Adam pulls Kris into the elevator and waves at Lana, who stands outside with her arms crossed over her chest. She hates it when Adam pulls last minute shit like this.

The doors slide shut soundlessly. The car starts moving up.

"And so it begins," Kris says, his voice steady but a little nervous.

Adam doesn't correct him, but he thinks this isn't really the beginning. This feels more like a happy ending to him.

Extra Epilogue

(Gratuitous Sex Scene)

Kris is hungry. That derails Adam's plans to strip him naked the second they step into the room and touch him everywhere. They order room service instead, and turn on the TV. Adam decides to take a shower as they wait and offers Kris a change of clothes, because Kris' bags haven't been brought up to the room yet.

The simple domesticity of the night is sobering. The overwhelming feelings that had flooded Adam at the sight of Kris fade to the background, leaving behind a pleasing ache in Adam's heart and a sense of satisfaction that shapes the irrepressible smile on his face.

"What are we watching?" he asks, plopping down on the bed next to Kris and stealing a small tomato off his plate.

"Cartoons," Kris says and slides his body closer to Adam's, his eyes still on the screen.

He looks tired, Adam notes again. Almost ready to pass out.

Adam tamps down the disappointment, telling himself that they'll have time—all the time in the world—later. He's tired himself. They should rest tonight. The bed is temptingly comfortable beneath them.

He hits the light switch, leaving them in the flickering glow of the TV, and wrestles Kris down under the covers. It doesn't take much; Kris is pliant and monosyllabic with exhaustion. Once under the duvet, Adam pulls Kris even closer, aligning their bodies to fit together comfortably, and Kris sighs contentedly, burrowing deeper into Adam's arms.

"Missed you," Kris says, reaching blindly until his hand finds the hem of Adam's shirt and slips under it.

Adam tries not to arch into his touch. "Sleep," he mumbles.

"Don't want to," comes Kris' reply from where he hid his face against Adam's chest. His hand travels to Adam's back, and then up, taking the flimsy t-shirt with it. He presses a series of kisses to Adam's collarbone, shimmying up to get to his neck, his cheek, under his ear.

Adam clutches at Kris' hips and tells himself that he's not getting hard. He's not getting hard, because Kris is almost asleep. They're going to rest now. They're not having sex.

Except how they apparently are.

One of Kris' legs works its way between Adam's and pushes up against his cock, making him groan and react, rocking up and into Kris, and Kris smiles against the side of Adam's neck. "There you are," he says, like it was possible for Adam not to be there. Like Adam could possibly sleep through this.

"Okay, so we're not sleeping then," Adam says, flipping them over so Kris is lying on his back.

He smiles up at Adam, groggy but wicked. "We'll sleep," he says. "In a moment."

A moment sounds about right, because neither of them has the energy for anything elaborate, and the way they're going, they're not even going to be getting out of their pajamas. That thought gets Adam moving and he pulls at his own pajama bottoms, pushing them down just enough to free his cock, and then he reaches for Kris', which slide down easily, Adam's sweatpants way too big on him.

Adam stops for a moment and admires Kris, wearing his clothes. They're not flattering on him, but Adam kind of wants him to never wear his own clothes ever again.

"What?" Kris asks, raising his head off the pillow to look down.

Adam shrugs. "I just like you in my clothes, that's all."

Kris lets his head fall back down and smirks. "Really."

Adam feels Kris kick off his—Adam's—sweatpants and he settles between Kris' legs once again, kissing the curve of Kris' lips just because he can. "Yeah, really."

Kris seems amused by this, but not put off. "Kinky," he says. "Are you going to write your name all over me as well?"

"Yup," Adam says. "Tomorrow. Noon."

Kris' eyebrows climb up, surprised, but his arms are still loose, up over his head, and his body is relaxed beneath Adam's, a picture of surrender. "That's... okay."

That doesn't sound very enthusiastic. "Not if you don't want to," Adam tells him and watches carefully for his reaction. He doesn't want to force anything on Kris, but their relationship will have to be public; it's inevitable. Adam would prefer to control the exposure from the start.

And he'd like to brag about his boyfriend, but that's neither here nor there.

"No, no, I don't mind," Kris reassures him. "I'm just—not used to it." He pushes Adam's hair back from his face. "I don't really like the idea of having my picture taken, but I'm guessing that's gonna happen either way."

Adam nods apologetically and pulls Kris' hand down to kiss his palm.

"Then I guess you can write your name anywhere you want," Kris says softly, kissing Adam deep, like sealing a deal.

"Thank you," Adam whispers. As he kisses Kris and pulls his legs up to wrap them around his hips, he thinks it's only fair. Kris has already written his name all over Adam's mind. Adam can't think, can't sing, can't dream without stumbling into him somehow.

Not that he minds that.

Adam loves kissing Kris' arms, his perfect soft skin, firm muscles. He loves Kris' chest under his hands, his nipples, his chest hair, his heartbeat thumping against Adam's palms. He loves Kris legs, his strong thighs; and he loves Kris' cock, perfect like the rest of him, hard and hot against Adam's skin. Maybe most of all, Adam loves Kris' lips. He can't get enough of kissing them, of even watching them as they move, talk, smile. Adam pictures himself pressing his fingers between them, making Kris suck on them, and he moans, before his imagination can even get to other parts of his body between Kris' lips. It's almost enough to send him over the edge.

Right, Adam thinks, wrapping a hand around Kris' cock. Tonight, they're not going to last long. But tomorrow and the day after and the day after—they can explore. They can take their time.

For now he just wants to get Kris off, milk it out of him and listen to the sounds he makes, because Kris is not exactly vocal in bed and Adam doesn't get enough of hearing him.

"Faster," Kris whispers and holds onto Adam, one hand on Adam's neck, the other buried under his t-shirt. "Come on."

Adam complies, stroking faster and faster until Kris is panting, and then even faster as Kris cries out softly and comes, his mouth clamping on Adam's neck, his teeth grazing Adam's skin.

He goes slack under Adam, his skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat, his face flushed pink, his lips parted invitingly. Adam accepts the invitation and kisses his mouth, and then jerks himself off while watching Kris come back. Kris' eyes flutter open, then his mouth moves to form a lazy smile, and then he reaches down between their bodies and covers Adam's hand with his, bringing him off with just a couple of strokes.

The room smells like sex, the light from the TV creates constantly flickering shadows on the sheets, and Kris' plate, abandoned on the bedside table, looks about ready to tumble. Adam wouldn't move for any of these if it weren't for the come on both their stomachs, cooling unconfortably.

Kris is pretty much gone by now, but Adam makes him take off his rucked up t-shirt, leaving him naked, which is just fine by Adam. He then takes off his own t-shirt, wipes their stomachs with it, pulls up his pajama pants, and locating the remote, turns the TV off.

Cuddling against Kris' back, Adam thinks he's never felt more at home anywhere.

He falls asleep, face against the back of Kris' neck, and dreams Kris' dreams.

~

So sit on top of the world and tell me how you're feeling,

What you feel is what I feel for you.

The End

September 25th, 2011