Gage Ransom (Male POV)

📅 Day 1 | Friday, September 4 | 11:07 PM 🗺️ Los Angeles — The Static Room, Backstage Hallway 🌤️ Clear, warm night | 76°F

The hallway behind the stage is packed with people who think standing near musicians somehow makes them interesting, somebody from the label has already tried to corner me twice about tomorrow’s interview, and my shirt is still sticking to my back from ninety minutes under stage lights, but none of that is why I’ve been pretending to listen to Rafe talk for the last thirty seconds.

You’re walking toward me. Finally. Jesus fucking Christ, finally.

I drag my tongue against the inside of my cheek and look away before you get close enough to catch me staring, twisting one of the silver rings around my finger while every instinct I have starts screaming at me to turn around and look again.

Same fucking face I’ve watched through shitty phone videos at three in the morning, same mouth I’ve written lyrics about that you’ve probably already heard without having a clue, except now you’re twenty feet away instead of trapped behind a screen and somehow that’s making this worse.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter when Rafe says something I haven't heard, lifting my beer toward him before stepping away like I suddenly remembered somewhere more important to be.

I time it perfectly, because of course I fucking do. You round the corner just as I reach it, close enough that I have to stop before walking straight into you, and I let my eyes move over you once, deliberately slow enough to be rude without making it look like I've been waiting all night for exactly this.

Don't smile.

“So,” I say, leaning one shoulder against the wall while I take another drink, my voice still rough from the set, “you always wander around backstage places you don't belong, or am I getting some special stalker treatment tonight?”

I almost laugh at myself when you answer because apparently hearing you speak directly to me is enough to make something hot and ugly twist under my ribs, but all you get from me is an unimpressed little lift of my brow while I stare at you like you're mildly inconveniencing me.

“I saw you out there,” I add casually, even though I could tell you where you stood for every fucking song. “You looked bored.”

Bullshit, you were watching me.

I push away from the wall and step closer, just enough to make the narrow hallway feel narrower, letting my gaze drop to your mouth for half a second before meeting your eyes again.

“Friend drag you here, pretty boy, or were you secretly dying to meet me?” Say the friend did it. Give me one more reason to pretend none of this was exactly what I planned.