all of our bridges burned down

by nothinglasts222

Summary:

On the outside, Adam Levine has it all - the looks, the career, the fame. But on the inside he's crumbling, holding onto the tiniest things until they all start slipping from his grasp, one by one.

Notes:

Takes place in spring 2019 (season 16 of The Voice)

Chapter 1: defeat

If Adam looked up ‘defeated’ in the dictionary, he’s pretty sure he’d see his name beside it.

At first he loved it, loved the adrenaline rush that came with picking up a new project. The band was in between albums and churning out singles, he was writing nearly every day, while also making time for his beloved contestants on the show.

Somewhere along the way it all became too much. His ADHD starting acting up again, and he found it difficult to stay focused on any one thing, leaving a trail of unfinished tasks in his wake. He was constantly frustrated with himself, not happy with the work he was doing but too tired to do any more.

Then late last year, during the lives, he made a decision that, in retrospect, probably wasn’t his brightest move, but nonetheless he’d powered on, kept his head down and finished the season, not at all how he’d hoped but pretty much what he expected. He took some much needed time off to spend with his beautiful wife and children, tried to clear his mind of the atrocities of last season, and vowed to give it his all the next.

Then the new season started, and it only got worse. He hadn’t made it past the blinds before he realized he’d once again bitten off more than he could chew.

He was drowning, and it showed. He wasn’t on his game and he knew it, was too desperate to get people on his team. Blake sure sensed it, because the country singer was using every opportunity he got to throw punches at Adam, punches that Adam wasn’t strong enough to fight against. Once Blake started laughing at him, it seemed everyone followed suit, and no matter how much he tried to claw his way out of the hole he’d dug himself into, he was always left feeling utterly useless and defeated.

The first taping concluded without him snagging a single artist.

The second taping, he didn’t hear the end of it.

“…and I don’t know you how would even consider choosing Adam as your coach. We’re talking about a guy who has zero people on his team.”

Adam glares down the line of chairs at Blake, stares a hole in the side of his head, and when Blake finally turns to look at him, he’s laughing, despite the indignant look on Adam's face.

“In Adam’s defense, maybe he wasn’t feeling his best yesterday,” Kelly chimes in, “we all have those days.”

And as much as Adam appreciates Kelly’s kind words always, God bless her, right now his cheeks are flaming in embarrassment. The contestant, Josh, is looking at him, he can feel it, but he’s looking down at his hands and wondering how it all got so bad that he can’t even defend himself.

“Adam, anything you’d like to add?” Blake says, and now the entire room is looking at him, just waiting for him to fuck it all up.

“I just think you’re a really talented singer and I’d love to have you on my team,” Adam says quickly. He used to fight so hard, especially when he was up against Blake. Now he can barely pull his eyes off his sweaty palms.

“Good speech,” Blake says, and everyone laughs.

Josh picks Blake, no fucking surprise, and Adam knows how absolutely pitiful he must look, because Blake doesn’t even rub it in his face like he usually does, doesn’t come sauntering over to his chair with that stupid smirk on his face.

He gives Adam one last look, shakes his head, and turns his attention back to the stage.

***

Adam is about to head out the back door of the studio when he hears the unmistakable clunking of Blake’s boots approaching from behind him.

“Hey buddy,” Blake says, all chipper, like he didn’t just humiliate Adam in front of the cameras all night.

“Hey,” Adam answers.

“You leavin’?”

Adam looks down at the coat in his arms and the keys in his hand. “Um, yeah?”

“I won’t keep you long, I just wanted to make sure we were okay after tonight.”

Adam casts him a sideways look, and suddenly Blake’s confidence is gone and he’s fiddling with his hands, like he was hoping he’d be able to get away with not elaborating.

“You know, after…well after everything I said. You know I didn’t mean any of it, right?”

Deep down, Adam knows. He and Blake tease, it’s what they’ve always done. But he’s tired, deflated and frustrated, and he can’t deal with anything that attempts to tear down what little bit of self esteem he has left. Right now, everything hurts and the universe has it out for him.

Blake doesn’t know that though. For all Blake knows, he’s fine.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good,” Adam says, desperately wanting to just get the fuck home.

Blake’s expression changes again, a smile spreading across his face, as if Adam admitting that all is well wipes his conscience clean.

“Good. ‘Night buddy.” Blake gives him a clap on the shoulder before walking away.

***

He tells Behati first.

One evening, after the girls are sound asleep, he pours a glass of wine for him and one for Behati, sits across from her on the coffee table instead of on the sofa next to her.

“I'm thinking about making this my last season,” he says, and although the reality of the words sting a little, it’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. They built their relationship on communication and trust, and he feels a deep sense of comfort knowing that he can tell her anything.

She offers a half smile, understanding. ”I had a feeling it’d be soon.” She sets her glass aside and takes him into a warm hug.

And he doesn’t even need to explain further, she knows the stress he’s been under, the tight schedules between tapings and getting in time at the studio with the band. She’s always been so wonderful through it all, never complained when he had to start his mornings before dawn or worked well into the night. The times he’d come home late, exhausted, all he could do to peel his clothes off under the sheets. She never questioned, never got upset, was always so incredibly patient and supportive, and for that he didn’t deserve her, but he loved her all the more for it. He always made sure to tell her just that, how much of a blessing she’s been in his life, the shining light when everything else around him felt like it was crumbling.

He nuzzles his face into her shoulder, and he knows he’s making the right decision. “I want to spend more time here. This family is what matters most.”

Chapter 2: lying is easy

Sometimes Adam wonders if contestants picked him as a coach because they look up to him as a musician, or because they feel sorry for him as a person.

He wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.

Nevertheless, he did manage to get some talented singers on his team, and he was quite proud of the little group he was bringing to the live shows. He tried hard to not let his insecurities get the best of him, made sure to give each artist the time and attention they deserved and he felt their love reciprocated, which made him feel good and for once, useful.

They all got a break after filming the battle rounds before heading into the lives. But when he awoke on his first day off with a vague sense of dread, he knew he wasn’t going to get the break his sanity needed. As the days passed his anxiety was climbing to a new high. He was on edge, fidgety, nervous for seemingly no reason. He was turning to food for comfort, his bad habit of stress eating rearing its ugly head. When it got to the point that he could barely zip his favorite pair of jeans, he reluctantly stepped on the scale, and a number much higher than usual stared back at him.

But he couldn’t rectify anything, and he couldn't stop thinking about what happened last season, and despite how he wanted the live rounds to go, how badly he wanted to be able to pull it together for himself and for his team and redeem himself, he couldn’t shake that feeling that somehow he’d fuck it all up and have to sit back and watch his final season crash and burn.

He was drained, mentally and physically, and by the morning of the first live show, it took everything in his being to not call in sick.

In his dressing room, he looks in the mirror to adjust his tie, runs his shaky fingers down it for the hundredth time. His insides are flopping around, and he places a hand on his stomach to try to calm the butterflies. He takes a few deep breaths, waits until his mind is a bit more focused, and heads backstage to meet up with the other coaches.

Kelly looks stunning in a long red gown, John is sporting a navy tux, and Blake looks like Blake, as calm and cool as can be in his flannel shirt, dark jeans and polished cowboy boots.

"You look amazing, Adam," Kelly says.

"Thanks," he answers, appreciative of the compliment but feeling anything but amazing, "you look amazing too."

She flashes him a bright smile, then through the curtains he can see the lights go down on stage and the roar of the audience amplifies. His heart skips a beat. Normally, he loves this, loves the thrill of walking onstage with his fellow coaches, but tonight the knot in his stomach is unrelenting.

"Hey," Blake's voice breathes down onto his neck, "Relax. You got this."

And then Blake's big warm hand is on his shoulder and his body melts, like it always does when Blake touches him, and Adam wants to cry at how pathetic he is and how much he needed that touch but he holds it together because the next thing he knows he's following Blake's tall frame out onto the stage.

Carson introduces them, the band starts playing, and for three minutes he's free. He falls into the rhythm and forgets about everything except the lyrics.

When they finish, the crowd erupts into a sea of screams and cheers. He takes a bow with the others and looks out into the audience, tries to make out faces but the lights are too bright, blinding him, heat searing at him from all directions. He's vaguely aware of Kelly's arm on his shoulder and John reaching out for a handshake. He makes it back to his chair, sweat blanketing his entire body. Carson introduces the first artist to sing, a young girl on Kelly's team, and he’s finding it difficult to focus for the swimming in his head. He tries to give good feedback but keeps it short, knows it's not all he wants to say but right now it's all he's got.

Blake meanders over to his chair on the first commercial break. Adam keeps his eyes down, hoping Blake will get the message and leave him alone. But Blake must lack basic social awareness because he comes right up beside Adam, wraps him in a sideways hug, the audience loves it, and then he plants a kiss on Adam’s temple.

“Please let me go,” Adam says, and normally he doesn’t mean it, but right now he’s suffocating.

Blake releases him. “You’re all sweaty anyway. Take your dang jacket off!”

At the next break, Adam excuses himself to the bathroom. In front of a mirror he strips his tie and jacket and is left staring at the white shirt underneath, completely soaked and plastered to his body. He yanks out a wad of cheap paper towels to dry himself with, but they do little to remedy the situation.

Someone whistles as he walks back out, and he hates that he drew attention to himself, wishes he could make himself small enough to disappear. He hurries back to his seat but not before Blake looks up from his phone. Blake is staring at him, and he doesn't miss a beat when he says, "You gain some weight?"

And it isn't a question as much as a statement, an accusation, it feels like. The cameras aren't rolling but Blake said it, said it loud enough for everyone to hear, and Adam doesn't know what kind of reaction it garnered because the vibration of his heart pounding in his head is too loud.

"Blake!" Kelly interjects, "Don't be mean!"

"What?" Blake shoots back, giving her that incredulous look that he does.

But Kelly doesn't correct him, doesn't try to stick up for Adam any more and he can feel her eyes on him now, assessing the validity of Blake's words and reaching the conclusion that it's true, because he knows it must be entirely obvious judging by his shirt that's too tight.

As exhausted as Adam is, something inside of him snaps. He leans across his desk and turns toward Blake.

"You know what, Blake, yeah, I did. So what? It's not like you're one to talk."

This time he hears it, the collective gasp of the audience and out of his peripheral sees Kelly's jaw hanging open but he's feeling completely satisfied with himself as he watches the stupid smirk on Blake's face fade to nothing.

Blake is still looking at him when he turns his attention back to the stage in time to see his first singer of the night perform.

***

“Adam, bud, you in here?”

After the show, Adam retreated to the confines of his dressing room, locked the door and curled up in ball, wanted to cry but no tears came. He hears a light rap on the door then Carson’s concerned voice.

He gets up to let the host in. The place is a mess, empty beer bottles scattered about and his jacket in a wad on the floor and he watches Carson’s eyes scan the room before settling on his face.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine,” Adam insists, “in fact, I’ve never been better.” It’s almost comical, the way he can say words without meaning them at all, just to fill the space.

“What Blake said was way out of line,” Carson continues. “It wasn’t on live television, thank goodness, but he really shouldn’t have said that to you.”

Adam laughs. “Isn’t most of what Blake says out of line? And it’s not like it wasn’t true.”

Carson sighs. “Adam, that isn’t the point. Look, I can tell something’s going on with you. And if you don’t want to talk about it right now, I respect that. But I’m not going to let him continue trying to tear you down.”

Finally, someone who maybe, actually, sort of gets it. What a concept.

But what was Carson going to do? Run over to Blake's dressing room tomorrow before the show, tell him to stop picking on Adam so much? Blake's an adult, he can make his own decisions, and Adam should really be able to handle his own shit. He’s hoping his comeback stung enough to keep Blake’s mouth shut, at least for a little while.

Adam shrugs. "I don't really care, honestly." That's another lie.

"Well I do. You know I love both of you guys and I'd hate to see something come between you."

"Blake and I are fine," Adam says. This lying thing is becoming too easy.

Carson nods, as if approving of Adam's words. "Good. But I am going to ask him to tone it down. Everyone needs to be on their A-game for these live shows." He gets up to leave, opens the door then pauses. "If you ever need someone to talk to, you know I'm here for you."

Adam smiles and nods. As soon as Carson is gone, he breaks down and cries.

Chapter 3: losing hope

Carson must have said something to Blake, because the next night, the country singer barely looks in his direction, remains tight lipped whenever one of the other coaches cracks a joke, keeps to himself on commercial breaks. Adam is having a better night than last, his anxiety levels staying under wraps and all but one of his artists are saved by America’s votes.

He doesn’t immediately dart off after the show is over. He hangs around backstage, making small talk with some of the stage crew. He spots Blake, his tall frame undeniable amongst the others of normal height, ambling toward him.

“Hey,” Blake says, and he’s looking at the ground instead of at Adam.

“You talking to that crumb or to me?”

Blake pulls his eyes up but doesn’t meet Adam’s. “I wanted to see if maybe you wanted to grab a drink?”

He’s tired, he really should head home, but he takes Blake up on the offer anyway. They pick a bar not far from the studio. Blake is on his second beer and Adam is slowly nursing his first, his stomach is still bothering him and he doesn’t want to push it.

“Adam, if I hurt yer feelings last night I’m sorry,” Blake says.

Adam sets his beer down. “Did Carson put you up to this?”

“He did say somethin’ to me. But I was gonna talk to you regardless.”

Adam doesn’t know if he believes him, but he lets him continue.

“You just seem different lately. Like every little thing I do or say upsets you. Is something going on?”

“Honestly I—I’m just tried,” Adam says, and it’s only the tip of the iceberg but he doesn’t feel like delving into all the details.

“I just know it ain’t like you to not take care of yourself.”

“I am taking care of myself,” Adam snaps back. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“Because you—nevermind.” Blake drains the rest of his beer.

“Because what?

Blake is looking at him, worry lining his face. Adam could tell him right now that he’s not coming back next season. Just lay it all out on the table and then maybe Blake would begin to understand. But he bites his tongue, wants to tell him when he can look him in the eye without feeling like he might burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, Adam. I didn’t realize how much I hurt you.”

Adam wants to leave. He can feel the tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. I haven’t been a good friend to you lately. If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you. I’ll listen.”

Adam knows he's the one who hasn't been a good friend lately. He knows he's been moody and distant, but he can't ever seem to snap out of the funk he's been in long enough to pay much attention to anything around him. He hates it, wishes he could have all these thoughts and feelings go away and just be normal again.

They're sitting so close that Blake's shoulder is grazing his own and fuck, he can't handle this right now. He can't sit here and pretend everything is okay. He tells Blake he has to go and offers to pay for the drinks but Blake waves him off, lays down enough cash to cover the both of theirs. Adam hurries out to his car and his drive home is blurred by tears.

***

The next couple weeks are a blur. He's not sleeping well, not really talking to anyone except Behati and his singers, and only then he's spending the bare minimum amount of time in the studio with them. He knows he's entering that depressive stage, that low part of the emotional roller coaster, and he's only a passenger along for the ride.

On the night of the finals results, he's sitting on the edge of his seat, chewing on a fingernail, as Carson is getting ready to announce the top four. It’s down to the final spot, and when Carson calls the name of an artist from John's team, Adam bangs his fist on his desk. He didn't realize how loud it was until Kelly and Blake look in his direction. He heads backstage as soon as the cameras are off, finds his team members, congratulates them on a season well done, apologizes for not being better for them, then books it out of the studio without saying goodbye to anyone.

The next morning, he makes the mistake of watching some of the red carpet interviews from last night.

"So what's it like not having Adam here to celebrate with you all?" the interviewer asks.

"It's a dream come true," Blake answers, making everyone chuckle, "We all know he's a terrible person, now we know he's a terrible coach."

Adam immediately closes the video. Without thinking, he dials Blake's number. He picks up quickly.

"Hey buddy, what's up?"

"What the fuck is the matter with you?"

Blake chuckles a little, like this is some kind of game. "Probably lotsa things, not sure which you're referrin' to."

"I'm a terrible person, I'm a terrible coach. Is that all you ever have to say about me?"

"You know I didn't mean it. If you were in my position I know you'd be makin' fun of me.

"But I'm never in your position." The words roll out before Adam really wants them too, and he hopes Blake doesn't pick up on the jealousy in his voice.

"I'm sorry, I guess."

He can feel himself losing it. "You've said an awful lot of I'm sorry's lately but don’t seem to mean any of them."

Blake’s tone changes. “You really need to lighten up. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.

"I—I'm fine."

"You keep saying that, but I know you're not. Keep it up and you're going to drive everyone away."

Adam wants to tell Blake that, just once, he'd like to hear how he actually felt, what he actually thought about his friend Adam, all jokes aside.

He hangs up instead.

***

He makes an appointment with the producers to tell them he's not returning next season.

They tell him they had already planned on him coming back, and now they'll have to find someone last minute. Adam feels guilty, but he knows it's what he has to do. Some of them are more sympathetic, asking him if he's been feeling okay and if everything is okay at home. He waves them off with a smile, tells them everything is fine and it's nothing personal with any of the crew or coaches. They ask if he'd consider coming back after a season off, and although he already knows he won't, he tells them maybe, possibly, he'd have to think on it. That seems to make them a bit happier, and he leaves the meeting feeling dejected instead of relieved.

***

Social media is abuzz with the reveal of the Top Four on The Voice and the fact that Adam is out of the finale. He scrolls through some of the tweets (he really should have learned his lesson by now) and he isn't surprised that many of them are in agreement that he deserved it after what happened last season. Serves him right, one user said.

He's already losing hope in himself. Now the whole world is too.

Chapter 4: pieces

Notes:

So in the real season 16, John had one finalist and Blake had three. I wanted to make it to where Adam was the only one without a finalist, hence Kelly having one and Blake only having two. I kept the winner the same.

Now we know he's a terrible coach.

Adam is feeling every bit better about his decision to not return next season. And even though Blake said he was joking, Adam can't help but think that deep down, that's what he truly believes, and secretly everyone else believes the exact same thing. The thought doesn't even upset him, because these past two seasons have proved it true. They'll all be better off without him, surely, won't have to deal with his annoying antics or his desperate pitches. Someone better and more talented will take his place, and the show will thrive like it never has before.

All he has left to get through is the finale. Which, technically, should be easy, as he has no one to root for, no one to cry over if they don't win. He can just sit there, say a few intelligent words every now and then, put on a poker face for a couple hours. But he knows when he takes his place in that big red chair for the last time, with no one up there representing him, no one to showcase their talent, no token of all his hard work and dedication, he's going to fall apart.

Whether he'll be able to hold it together until after the show remains to be seen.

The notion sends him into a mild panic. He has to take a few shots of tequila in his dressing room before the show because he can't deal with everything, not tonight. It takes the edge off but he can still feel it, boiling low in his stomach.

He walks out with John, who lingers beside him before going to his chair.

"You been drinking?" he asks quietly.

And it pisses Adam off a bit, considering how Blake comes out half-drunk just about every night and everyone laughs it off, it's just Blake. But Adam takes a couple shots to calm his raging nerves and suddenly he's being interrogated.

Really he's not, but right now it feels like it.

"No," he lies, and takes his seat before John has a chance to question him further.

Blake has two singers in the finale and to Adam's surprise, doesn't once rub it in his face, doesn't make any mention of Adam being without a finalist. He stays professional yet friendly, and even swaps some light-hearted jokes with Adam. Adam finds himself letting his guard down, and for the first time this season, the mood feels the way it used to, the way Adam remembers fondly. For a moment, he questions if he's making the right decision by leaving, but he bites it down, knowing that it's for the best, for everyone.

When it's time for the winner to be announced, Adam can feel the electricity in the room die down. John, Kelly and Blake are on the edge of their seats, and the audience is hushed, all attention on Carson and the final four on stage. Kelly's artist comes in fourth, and one of Blake's third. As Blake's and John's artists stand huddled together, Adam can't help but hope that John takes it. Sure enough, he does, and John catapults out of his chair and sprints onstage. Adam stands in applause with everyone and looks at Blake, who's staring right back at him. Then Blake comes walking up to Adam's chair and takes him in a warm hug.

Broken-hearted, Adam realizes this will be the last.

***

Later that evening, while Behati and the girls are sound asleep, Adam asks Blake if he can come over. Blake says yes, of course, tells him he knows better than having to ask. Adam shows up with a bottle of wine and Blake gets out two glasses.

"What's the occasion?" Blake asks, handing Adam a glass. "Congratulatin' me on my second place finish?"

And because Adam doesn't think he can take it much longer, can't put up with any more small talk, he just comes right out with it.

"I have to tell you something."

Blake nods. "Okay. Shoot."

"I don't think I can do this anymore."

"What do you mean? Do what anymore?"

Adam takes a breath, wets his lips. "I'm not coming back next season. This season was my last."

"Oh," Blake says simply.

"I wanted to tell you personally, you know, because we both said if one of us leaves, the other would too."

Blake sets his glass on the counter, rakes a hand through his hair. "It's kind of last minute, Adam. I mean, you already said you were going to be doing it."

"I know, but I just told them I couldn't. It wasn't hard to get out of the contract."

"I knew you weren't gonna be doing it forever, I just didn't expect it to be this soon."

Adam doesn't like the way this is headed. Something about the way Blake's brows are knitted together and his lips are pressed tight causes Adam's heart to sink in his chest.

"You're not leaving," Adam says. It's not a even question, because he's afraid he already has the answer.

"We didn't even discuss it."

"We're discussing it now."

"No, you've already made up your mind. I didn't get any say in it."

"Blake, come on," Adam says, practically groveling, and he hates it, "we made a promise.

Blake shakes his head. "I can't."

"You can't, or you just don't want to?"

A flash of anger crosses Blake's face. "It's not that simple. I ain't got a family like you do. This is all I got."

You have me is on the tip of Adam's tongue, but he bites it back.

Blake's expressions softens. "I get that you wanna leave. I will too, eventually. Just not right now." He walks into the living room and takes a seat on the couch.

Adam wants to fight, wants to scream, wants to give Blake absolute hell for going back on his promise. Somewhere in his fucked up mind, he had this wild idea that he and Blake would go out in a blaze of glory. They'd finally sing their duet on the night of the finale. They'd take time off, maybe take a trip together, rejuvenate their outlook on life. It would be like he always imagined it in his head, living out his dream with his best friend. Instead he's staring at Blake, all relaxed on his couch, like Adam isn't about to break into a million pieces.

He musters the strength to say, "So that's it?"

And all Blake says is, "I'm sorry Adam."

This time, the tears burning behind Adam's eyes are relentless. They slide down his cheeks, and he knows Blake can't see them in the darkness of the room. Blake not leaving like he said he would further solidifies what Adam feared all along—he just isn't worth it.

Chapter 5: spiral

After that, Adam starts to spiral.

The producers go public with his news, and he hasn't checked the response on social media yet, really doesn't want to. He did learn that Gwen Stefani would be taking his place. Adam's worked with Gwen before, a few years ago when she was a coach, and he thinks highly of her. There's also a rumor going around that she and Blake are dating, and Adam hasn't bothered to even ask Blake if it's true because he just fucking can't. He hasn't been able to do much of anything since that night he left Blake's place.

Behati's parents had invited her, Adam, and the girls to come stay with them for a few days. Adam watched Behati's face light up as she flitted about their bedroom, gathering the clothes she wanted to pack. The knot in his stomach tied itself tighter when he had to sit her down and tell her he wouldn't be joining them. He needed some time to himself, he'd said, and although she was disappointed, ultimately, she understood. He wasn't going to let his misery take away from hers or his daughters, so he assured them he'd be fine and sent them on their way.

She knew it was partly because of Blake going back on his promise, but she didn't know that it was about Blake. And that wasn't something he was ready to come to terms with yet for himself.

On his first night in the house alone, he gets really drunk. He can't walk without feeling like he's going to fall over and so to avoid knocking over their array of expensive decor, he plops on the couch instead. He orders takeout, some greasy Chinese food, and eats all of it. He starts to feel nauseous but swallows it down with a shot of Patrón.

The bastard. He hasn't even texted. Hasn't called. Hasn't shown up at his door admitting he was an ass, he was wrong, for once in his fucking life. Radio silence, and it makes Adam's blood boil.

The nausea swells up again, this time scorching the back of his throat, and as he sucks in deep shaky breaths, willing himself not to vomit, the tears begin to fall. He wants to be mad at the world for all the fucked up things it's put him through, but really, he's just mad at himself, angry that he let himself reach this point with no idea how he got here, absolutely no idea where to go.

***

He awakens on the same spot on the couch with a blazing headache. He rubs at his temples and blinks open sandpaper eyes. The sunlight beaming through the windows stirs up that nauseous feeling again.

Behati texted him, telling him she loves him and hopes he's doing okay. He answers with a quick I'm fine and I love you too.

Then he forfeits the battle. He drags himself to the bathroom and hangs his head over the toilet, emptying everything he ate last night into it. He feels better but still heavy, bloated, and he rinses his mouth with mouthwash before starting the water for a shower. He lets hot water burn down his skin and it feels good, better than anything he's felt the past few days. He changes into clean sweats and a shirt two sizes too big, because he hates the way he looks in anything that fits. He heads back to the sofa and checks his phone, doesn't even have to open an app because he's got dozens of notifications from Instagram and Twitter. Responses to his Voice departure, he's sure. He finds a text from Jesse and one from James, and it dawns on him that he didn't even tell his own band of his decision.

And as he's staring at the long list of unread messages, it hits him square in the chest, choking the air from his lungs.

He made decisions on his own accord, without telling anyone, without asking for advice or seeking opinions, and then he just expected everyone to be okay with it, to pick up the pieces of the mess he made, expected Blake to pack up and leave just because he wanted to. It's what Blake told him without actually saying the words.

He's selfish.

Another box to check on his list of why he's such a terrible person.

***

At some point, he idly wonders if he should seek professional help.

He doesn't have it bad. In fact, he has it really good. Anyone else would be grateful to live the life that he does, which is why he feels guilty for even feeling bad in the first place. But that's the thing about mental illness; it'll fuck up anyone, any time, any place. It doesn't care if you have all the money in the world or the hottest wife or the fanciest cars or the nicest clothes. And when he thinks of it like that for the first time, as an illness, he feels slightly less guilty but still just as shitty.

At one point, he really believed things would get better. Life would start going his way again and this would all be a distant memory, and he'd laugh every time he thought back on it, how stupid and pathetic and petty he was being. He really didn't think it'd get this far, but one unfortunate event after another came hurdling his way and because he apparently was never very strong in the first place, couldn't handle any of it, couldn't be the person everyone around him needed him to be.

He doesn't want to see a therapist, not right now, anyway. Right now, there's only one person he wants to see.

He types a text to Blake, seeing if he wants to come over. He's terrified but hits send anyway, sets his phone aside and chews on a fingernail, waiting for a response. The phone dings a minute later. Blake agrees to coming over. He's on his way now.

Blake lives a good thirty minutes away, but no amount of time will help Adam look any more presentable. A baggy stained tee and worn sweatpants coupled with the fact that he hasn't showered since that morning he threw up are sure to scream I am not okay. He doesn't want Blake's pity, but he's too exhausted to really care. So he waits on the couch, bobbing a leg up and down, figuring out what to say. He doesn't really know why he asked Blake to come over, and before he has a chance to cobble together a line of thought, Blake's buzzing himself through the gate.

Then he's in the house, his tall frame taking up an ungodly amount of space, and the first notion Adam has is to rush into his arms, but he stays on the couch and Blake takes the recliner across from him.

"Hey," Blake says, "How ya been?"

"I've been good," Adam says, then catches himself, "Actually, no, I haven’t."

Blake eyes him. "Are you sick?"

He sure looks it. If only it were that simple.

"No. I just—I've just been really stressed, with everything going on."

"I get it, buddy. You're a such hard working guy. Sometimes I think you wear yourself too thin."

Adam rubs at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know. I guess I just really needed a break."

Blake's expression softens, and he leans forward, rests his arms on his thighs. "This ain't got nothin' to do with our conversation the other day, does it? 'Cause I been thinking about it, and I was worried I'd hurt you again. I hope you understand why I’m stayin’."

"No," Adam lies, "I mean, yeah, no, I get it. I shouldn't have expected you to leave. That was selfish on my part."

"I'm gonna miss the hell out of you," Blake says, "Believe it or not, I kinda like havin' you around."

Adam can't help but smile, and a heat pricks at the back of his eyes. Maybe this isn't the end of the world after all. They won't be spending as much time together, naturally, but that doesn't mean they won't ever see each other again.

"Yeah, well, I'll make sure to watch your stupid face on TV every once in a while. Even if it's just to make fun of you."

Blake laughs, that deep hearty laugh that Adam loves when he gets all to himself.

"Maybe we could hangout some at your ranch," the words come spilling out of Adam's mouth as soon as his brain forms the thought, "Ya know, before next season starts."

Blake chuckles, says yes, sure, of course, then his smile slowly fades and he recomposes himself, sits up a little straighter and wrings his hands together. "Hey, there's somethin' I wanna tell ya. I've been seein' somebody. Not long. Just a coupla' weeks. But I really like her. We get along good."

"Oh." Adam had almost forgotten. The rumors, apparently, were true.

"It's Gwen. You know, Gwen Stefani."

Adam knows. He just didn't want to believe it.

Blake goes on about how he never expected to be with anyone like her, how they're so different yet have so much in common, how they can have conversations over anything and nothing, how comfortable they are in each other's presence. And the way Blake talks about her, with a twinkle in his eye and an admiration in his voice that Adam's never heard, rips another hole in his already torn heart.

He forces a smile when Blake finishes. "You two sound perfect for each other."

"I was hopin' you'd say that," Blake says, "It really means a lot to me what you think."

What he thinks is that he's jealous. Not jealous of Blake, jealous of her. The feeling hits him before he has a chance to push it away, squash it deep down where he'll never have to deal with it again. But it's here, staring him in the face as he's staring at Blake, about to swallow him whole, and he knows this is bad, fuck, this is bad.

Chances are it's about to get a whole lot worse.

Chapter 6: (not) falling apart

Behati's flight got cancelled, so she and the girls won't be home until later tomorrow. Which gives Adam all of tonight to wallow in his misery, alone.

He finds some old videos of him and Blake, some interviews from earlier seasons of The Voice, and the one thing he can't get over is his face. He thinks he'll find one where maybe he looks bored, uninterested, indifferent, but no, he looks absolutely smitten in every damn one. He shuts his laptop. Is this why their bromance was a thing? Why so many people could look at the two of them interacting just once, and see something there? He was too blind to see it before. But watching himself now, it's so ridiculously obvious. He longs for those days, when he was so content and everything was easy.

He wants to get over it, wants to move on with his life, to just stop thinking about it, but it's latched onto him tight, coiled itself into the depths of his mind and every fiber of his being. It was probably there all along, lying dormant, peacefully undisturbed, up until the moment Blake said he wouldn't leave the show with Adam. It hurt, way more than it should have, because any other normal guy would be okay with, would be understanding, if his friend's life took a different turn from his own, would be happy for him when he found someone to love.

He is not happy, and he is not okay. And he hates himself for it.

So he sits on the sofa, where he's spent the last several nights, alone with his troubled thoughts. He thinks of Blake, and how he's losing him, watching their friendship slowly but surely slip through the cracks. A sob forms in his stomach and he doesn't hold it back, and tears are flowing down his face. He's pining for something that he wants so bad but just can't have.

As he wipes tears from his cheeks, he thinks that the world would probably be better off without him in it. He's nothing but a nuisance, too needy, too pathetic. The thought terrifies him, but maybe that's because of how true it is.

He really doesn't have much to live for now, anyway.

***

The next morning, he doesn't leave the couch.

He stays wrapped in a ball in a blanket, and he really has to pee, and he's hungry, but he can't make his body move. He drifts in and out of sleep, and the last time he looks at the clock on the wall it reads nearly noon. Rain is beating against the back glass door, and every once in a while he hears a soft rumble of thunder.

His phone dings, and he reluctantly reaches out for it.

Hey dickhead, headin to Oklahoma with Gwen to see the family. Be back in a few days. Just wanted to let ya know

Then a second later—

Take care of yourself

And suddenly he's on the verge of tears again, because he wishes he could be as casual as Blake about this whole thing, throwing out meaningless insults like nothing's changed, but instead he’s burning up inside. So many things he wants to say, but his heart aches and his head is mush and he can't sort it all out, so he doesn't respond at all.

***

Sometime later that evening, Behati's soft voice awakens him from a dream. He blinks his dreary eyes open as she sits at his feet, rubbing his legs gently.

"Hey," she says. "We're home."

"The girls—", he begins groggily.

"They're asleep," she says, "Out like a light as soon as their heads hit the pillow."

He pulls himself upright and takes her in his arms, and for a moment, he's at peace.

“Tell me all about the trip,” he says. But then the dream wears off and he remembers his reality, and not even her sweet embrace can save him. He wants to hear her, he really does, but as she's talking his mind is drifting, treading into dangerous territory, those thoughts coming again.

She finishes with a smile, and he forces one in return. She kisses him then leaves to get ready for bed. He tells her he'll be there soon, and after she's long gone and he's alone again, he wills himself from the couch. He starts to walk, but his bladder is screaming in pain, and he ends up pissing all over himself and the carpet. He musters the strength to make it to the nearest bathroom, cleans himself up and carries a towel back to the living room, wipes up what he can then drags himself upstairs, tosses the towel in the hamper along with his soiled clothes and climbs in bed beside his wife, feeling completely empty and numb.

***

He gets a call from his publicist saying that E! News wants to interview him. They didn’t give details, but he knows it's about him leaving The Voice, and he knows that in order to show the world that he is in fact not falling apart, he has to do it.

He fixes himself up the best he can and leaves the rest to the makeup artists, who swarm him at the studio. He sits in the director style chair, bouncing his legs up and down. The interviewer arrives a moment later, a young brunette who he’s never met before.

"So, Adam," she says, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs, "We heard you're leaving The Voice."

"Yeah, it's true."

"I think I speak for everyone when I say we're all dying to know why you decided to leave."

He winces. Cutting right to the chase. He expected it, but no amount of preparation would make him ready for it.

"Uh, yeah. You know, it just felt like the right time."

"But you were already signed on?"

He nods his head. "I was."

"So I have to ask, what changed your mind?"

His shitty mental health and his shitty excuse for an existence.

"I did some thinking on it, and I just knew I needed to move on. It was an incredible journey, and I can't thank them enough for giving me the opportunity."

"And your buddy Blake Shelton, how did he feel about your decision?"

Adam's breath catches in his throat. "He—he was pretty happy about it," he says, and she laughs.

"Aww, I'm sure he was a little sad. He won't have anyone to pick on next season."

"Well, honestly—we were supposed to leave together. We made a promise years ago that when one of us quit, the other would too." He doesn't know why he's saying the words, but strangely, it feels right.

That catches her attention. "Oh, really? Why didn't he hold up his end of the deal?"

He should really, really, stop talking, but he didn't realize how pissed at Blake he'd been up until this point. The words roll out smooth, and he sits up a little straighter, a new air of confidence surrounding him.

"I don't know, you'll have to ask him. He didn't really give me a reason. Just said he was staying. He did say he was sorry, but I don't really believe it."

The interviewer's face is almost comical, her jaw is hanging open and she's looking at Adam like he just shared Hollywood's juiciest secret. He glances past her at a cameraman, with his camera pointed straight at Adam. He spots another one off to his right, and suddenly he's claustrophobic, and that confidence is gone, and he knows he's said too much.

He squirms in his seat. "Um, I'm sorry, are we—can we be done now?"

And he doesn't wait for anyone's response, just gets up and rushes out the door. He walks fast, not stopping for anything until he's bursting out the back of the studio into the parking lot. He finds his car and pulls away, speeds through all the traffic until he's outside of a dim, shady bar.

He orders a shot of tequila and asks the bartender to keep them coming. He really should have gone home, but he also really wants to forget about everything. He tilts back shot glasses until his vision starts to go fuzzy, and he can't think of anything except putting one foot in front of the other to get himself back out the door. He really shouldn't drive, but he doesn't want to burden anyone else with his problems. He's always been too needy, and he'll be damned if he lets a little alcohol chase away his last stitch of independence.

He makes it home in one piece, by some miracle, probably, and quite frankly, he didn't deserve to.

Chapter 7: dangerous road

His morning starts with nausea and a roaring headache, which at this point is just routine. He takes his cup of coffee to the back deck, hoping some fresh air will help get last night's clusterfuck out of his system.

He gets a call from his publicist next.

"What in the fuck, Adam. I got calls from E saying you walked out in the middle of the interview."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, well, what can I say."

"Nothing you say will make things any fucking worse than you've already made them."

"In that case,—"

"Spare me," he interjects, "Just get your shit together. And don't you dare embarrass me like that ever again."

He hangs up and Adam winces, but he deserved it. He wonders if they'll use the interview anyway, complete with him running away like a child. With his luck, he doesn't doubt it.

***

Later that afternoon, Carson texts him, asking how he is. He appreciates the gesture, and even takes the host up on his offer to come over, which surprises him, how easily he agrees to it, but there's always been something about the man that brought Adam some comfort. He's the one person who he thinks he'll be able to face right now.

Carson's house is big and homey, darker than Adam's but has a friendly, welcoming air about it. They sit in the den on warm leather couches, and Adam finds himself relaxing, and it feels good.

"You want something to drink?" Carson asks, "I've got tea, soda, water, beer."

Adam shakes his head. "I'm good man, thanks."

"So how've you been? Feels like we haven't talked in forever."

"Yeah, I know. I've just been busy with—everything."

Carson eyes him. "Like leaving the show?"

He of course found out from the producers, but suddenly Adam feels guilty for not telling him himself. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I get it. But why? What's going on, Adam?"

It's such a loaded question, he doesn't even know where to begin. "I've been—having a lot of anxiety, not really feeling like myself."

Carson's gaze doesn't leave him but it's soft, unassuming, just patiently waiting for Adam to open up and finally, he does.

"I guess it started at the end of last season. You saw how badly that went. Honestly, I didn't even want to come back for this season. But I thought maybe I could redeem myself, turn shit around, you know. But nothing felt the same, and the shit in head kept getting worse, and then Blake—" He trails off.

"What about Blake?" Carson prompts gently.

"I went over to his place one night, to tell him I was leaving. And it's like he didn't even care. I thought he'd want to leave to, you know, if I did." Adam looks down at his hands. "It's stupid, I know."

"No, it's not stupid. You two were the pillars of the show, and honestly, I thought you'd both go together too. Didn't think we'd ever be able to separate ya."

Adam offers a small laugh. "Yeah, well, now you've got one less pain in the ass to deal with."

"You're not a pain the ass," Carson says, "Well, you are, sometimes, but we all are sometimes. You're an amazing dude, Adam, and we've been so lucky to have you. And I'm saying that as your friend, not as your coworker."

"Thanks," and he means it, he feels it. Carson's words touched a spot on his heart that, for whatever it's worth, make him feel a little bit better.

"Have you guys talked since?"

"Yeah, a little. But not since he went back home."

Back home. With her. When it was supposed to be Adam. Jealously fizzes up inside him again but he bites it down.

"Look, I don't know what Blake's motive is to stay. And I can't say I'm not a little bit glad that at least we won't be losing both of you guys. But I'd hate to see this come between your friendship. Promise me you won't lose contact with him, alright?"

And to make Carson happy, and maybe to placate his own agitated mind, he promises. But what hurts the most is the reality that they've even reached this tipping point, where Carson basically has to beg them to remain friends.

All of a sudden anger is boiling inside him again, because as much as he wanted to be at peace with Blake staying on, he's been unable to get over the dejection, unable to shrug off the casualness with which Blake made his decision, without regard for the nature of their friendship, without thought of anything between them in the future. Then Adam's mind stops dead in its tracks, because he absolutely cannot go here, refuses to let his mind wander down this dangerous road. And amidst the unrelenting anger and despair, amidst all the muddled thoughts and stressful sleepless nights, a new possibility strikes him—maybe, all this time, he had it wrong. Maybe for Blake, it was just a work relationship. He didn't care about Adam, not like Adam thought he did, not like he wanted him to, and the notion cuts a slice deep in his chest.

Everything the past eight years had been a lie. A facet of his imagination. His dreaming heart gone wild.

He's jolted back to the present at the sound of Carson's voice. "You okay? I lost you there for a second."

It's embarrassing, really, how he can't even hold it together long enough in front of one person, his friend, to not let whatever it is going on up inside his head show. Impulse wants to say I'm fine but he's tired of hearing himself say it and it couldn't be farther from the truth.

"Hey man, I'm really tired," he says instead, getting up to leave, "I should probably get going."

***

He leaves Carson's place and it's dark now, and he drives to a secluded pull-off in the mountains overlooking the city. He gazes out over a sea of twinkling lights and thinks of his family, of his wife who he doesn't deserve, of all the artists who he'd let down as a coach, and of Blake, how he was never enough to change the country singer's mind.

He tries to make himself believe it was just about Blake not leaving, but the truth is creeping up on him, and he doesn't know if he can take it anymore.

He pulls out his phone and calls Blake.

"Hey buddy, what's up?" Blake answers on the third ring.

"I, um—," he stammers out. His voice is weak, he can't find the right words, and Blake picks up on it.

"What's wrong? Is it Behati?"

"No, no, she's fine. It's—um—"

"Adam, what's goin' on? You're scarin' me."

Adam paces the dirt, phone clutched to his ear, his face wet with tears. "I—I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry, Blake. I'm so fucking sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Blake's voice is pressing now, bordering on a growl.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Adam, don't you dare hang up on me. Dammit, I need you to tell me what's goin' on."

"I'm—"

"Don't you fucking say you're fine," Blake cuts in, "You ain't fine and I know you haven't been for a long time."

Then why didn't you do something about it! he wants to scream.

A whimper escapes his throat, and Blake's tone softens. "Please Adam, talk to me."

"I need you."

"What?"

"I—can you come home?"

"Adam, it's late," Blake coos, and his tone is tinged with pity.

"I get it," Adam says. He stops at the edge, peers over. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called."

"Dammit Adam, don't be sorry. I'll be on the next flight out."

Chapter 8: all of you

Gwen is in the shower and Blake is searching for a movie for them to watch when Adam calls.

Blake mutes the TV and picks up his phone.

"Hey buddy, what's up?"

"I, um—"

Adam stops, and Blake waits, and the silence sends a chill down his spine. It's far from Adam's usual cocky greeting. "What's wrong? Is it Behati?"

"No, no, she's fine. It's—um—"

His voice is strained and he's stammering, and Blake hears a sniffle, wonders if he's been crying. "Adam, what's goin' on? You're scarin' me."

"I—I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry, Blake. I'm so fucking sorry."

He doesn't know where Adam is or what he's doing, nevermind what he's thinking. "Sorry for what?" he presses.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Adam, don't you dare hang up on me," Blake says, because he knows it's a real possibility given how flighty Adam's been recently, "Dammit, I need you to tell me what's goin' on."

"I'm—"

"Don't you fucking say you're fine," Blake cuts him off, "You ain't fine and I know you haven't been for a long time."

Then he hears a soft sob and it breaks a piece of his heart, hearing his friend like this but having no idea how to help him. "Please Adam, talk to me."

"I need you."

"What?"

"I—can you come home?"

"Adam, it's late." Blake looks at the clock on the wall, knows it's two hours earlier in California but he can't even imagine there would be a flight out at this time of night. He's on his laptop anyway, checking.

"I get it. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called."

There's one, and if they leave soon, they can make it.

"Dammit Adam, don't be sorry. I'll be on the next flight out."

***

Adam couldn't go home. He couldn't make himself move if he wanted to.

So he sits, face buried in his jacket, on the hood of his car, overlooking the city, waiting for Blake. A small part of him thinks this is all just a dream, that Blake didn't actually agree to fly halfway across the country in the middle of the night just to console his undeserving self, and he's almost made himself believe that he's crazier than he originally thought until he sees Blake's truck crunching its way up the gravel road.

Blake steps out of the truck, all jeans and flannel, his face etched with lines deeper than Adam's ever seen. "'Bout gave me a heart attack, Levine."

He knows what Blake's thinking, that he'd show up here and Adam would be dead. Would it be so bad if he was?

Blake makes his way over and stops a few feet from the car, hands in his pockets. "What're you doin' up here anyway?"

"I just needed to get away." He doesn't tell Blake that he's been here for hours, that he couldn't go back to face reality, that he had too many thoughts keeping him glued to this very spot.

Blake joins him on the hood, slides close enough so that their hips are touching, and lets a gentle arm drape around his shoulders. The night breeze is cool and the gesture instantly sends a warmth through Adam's chest, and it's a feeling so familiar yet foreign.

"I don't know why you came. You really didn't have to."

"I don't think I could'a lived with myself if I'da stayed after hearin' you like that," Blake says, "I was worried you might do something...I don't even wanna think about it." He sounds genuinely sincere, and Adam really wants to believe him, but that little voice in the back of his head keeps reminding him of the truth.

"Is there something wrong with you?" Blake asks, and the way he says it makes Adam pull away a little, and Blake immediately corrects with, "I mean, are you sick? Be honest with me."

"Yeah, I guess I am," Adam says, because Blake keeps asking that and he doesn't know what else to say and in a way, it's true.

Blake turns so that he's facing him, brows furrowed, blue eyes studying his face, concern creasing the lines around his mouth, and Adam can't take the guilty feeling that rises up inside him for making Blake worry this much.

"No—I'm not, sick, sick."

"So you're not dyin'," Blake says, and he looks somewhat relieved.

Would you miss me if I was? Adam thinks, and wow is that pathetic or what.

Blake stays silent, and Adam knows he's assessing the situation, probably wanting to crack some stupid joke to try to make him feel better but not wanting to cross the wrong line.

"On the phone, you said you knew I haven’t been okay for a long time. Why didn’t you talk to me?" Adam asks.

"I tried to, but you kept shutting me out."

"That's—"

"It is true, Adam."

"I told you I was fine."

"Yeah, and that was the problem. Everyone knew you weren't and you ain't that great of an actor."

"I—" he starts, but quickly shuts his mouth. He doesn't have anything left to say because Blake is right.

Blake's hand is on his thigh now, squeezing gently, comforting. "Adam, what's going on?"

The hand is burning a hole through his jeans, and he can't take it. He jumps off the hood and faces Blake. "You tell me, Blake. You’re the one who went back on your promise," he snaps. Fuck the voice of reason.

"Is that what this is about? I thought we were past that," Blake says, except he's not angry. He looks confused, and maybe a little hurt.

If he was past it, he wouldn't be up here when he could be at home in bed, wouldn't have called Blake asking him to come back, wouldn't be thinking or doing any of the shit he's been thinking or doing.

"Yeah well—I’m not."

"Okay, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll quit too. I’ll tell them something came up and I can’t do another season."

"That’s not what I want."

"Then what do you want, Adam?" Blake cries, confusion and desperation bleeding out of him. "God, do you always have to be so damn difficult? I flew all the way back out here because you called me all upset and cryin' and I'm tryin' to help. So for Christ sake, just tell me what you want!"

Adam knows he's difficult. He's on the verge of breaking again, a sob welling its' way up his throat and warm tears pooling behind his eyes. He diverts his gaze to the ground.

Then Blake is beside him, wrapping him in one of those bear hugs Adam loves so much, loves too much, and he doesn't want to pull away but he does and the look on Blake's face is of pure bewilderment.

"You don't want me to hug you?"

"You shouldn't," Adam says, a tear sliding down his cheek. "I really don't deserve it."

Blake looks like he might burst into tears at any minute too.

"I don't know why you came. I don't know why you pay any attention to me. I don't know why you even care. I'm a fucking shitty person," Adam chokes out.

"What—who told you that?"

Through the tears, Adam can make out Blake's face, pain straining his features like he's never seen before, and the fact that Blake Shelton is about to fucking cry because of him, is something he almost can't handle.

"C'mere." Blake's voice is gentle, fragile even, and he closes the space Adam put between them, pulls Adam into his chest and squeezes him tight. This time, Adam doesn't let go. He wraps his arms around the larger man and buries his face in his shoulder.

"You ain't a shitty person," Blake says, "You're one hell of a dude and I love you. So much. Don't ever forget that."

Just hearing Blake say the words in such an earnest manner makes his heart skip a beat, even though they're not said in the way he wishes they were.

It's the feeling that he kept trying so hard to push away, but it's so real now it physically hurts.

He doesn't just want Blake like this. He wants all of Blake, all the time.

But it's just a fantasy, and ultimately, he doesn't deserve him.

Chapter 9: most definitely not

Adam cried an absurd amount and soaked Blake's flannel with tears and yeah, it was embarrassing, but it felt really good. Like a weight lifted off his fragile shoulders.

Bless Blake. Blake stood still as rock and let him.

They're sitting on the hood of Adam's car. Blake's hand is on his thigh again, and seriously, fuck him, but Adam doesn't push it away, lets himself be content with the contact.

"I won't keep grillin' you for details," Blake says, "I know you were goin' through some stuff with the show and all. All I ever wanted was to try and help. I'm sorry if I stressed you out more."

"You didn't," Adam replies quickly, because despite it all, he can't begin to express how grateful he is that Blake came, that Blake is here. Blake's presence is just the tranquility he needed.

"You're a pain in the ass sometimes, you know that right?" Blake says and Adam looks at him, the tiniest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah, I know."

"You're also incredibly talented. Thoughtful, generous, loving. I'm funny as hell and sometimes you give me a run for my money."

Blake is smiling now, and Adam rolls his eyes. "Okay, I get it. You don't have to keep complimenting me."

"Yes, I do." Blake takes Adam's hands in his own. "Somewhere along the way, you stopped believin' in yourself. I don't want you to ever forget how amazing you are. I mean it, Adam."

At least he was wrong in thinking Blake didn't care about him at all. The realization has him fighting back a few tears. He will not cry again. He simply won't.

"Plus you're really attractive," Blake adds.

"Oh my gosh," Adam whines. "Really, that's enough."

"Thought I'd go ahead and feed your ego, while I'm at it."

Adam blushes, tries to listen to Blake keep talking and not focus too much on the fact that Blake felt the need to throw that out there with that level of sentiment in his voice.

Then somehow the conversation takes a turn, and he hears Gwen's name, and he was so swept up in the beauty of the moment that he forgot about her. He forgot that Blake has a girlfriend, a whole life away from Adam, and that aching in his chest returns.

"So, uh, how's that going with her anyway?" Adam bites the bullet and asks.

"You know I don't like'ta rush into things," Blake says, "But I have a really good feeling about it."

"That's good." He draws his lips into a tight smile, looks down at his hands then away. He can feel Blake staring at him.

"Like I said, you ain't a good actor," Blake's breath is on the back of his neck. "What's wrong?"

He turns his head back and shrugs. "Nothing. I dunno. I mean, she's a nice person and all..."

"But?"

"She just...doesn't really seem like your type."

Blake frowns. "I thought you were happy for me."

He feels insignificant under Blake's scrutiny, who's looking at him like Adam just told him Santa isn't real. "It really doesn't matter what I think."

"'Course it does! I'd like for you to be happy for us. Especially after you told me you were."

Adam shakes his head. "No, it doesn't matter." He slides off the car and walks a few feet away. "Just do whatever the fuck you want."

"You've got to stop doin' this," Blake says.

"Doing what?"

"Runnin' away."

Adam turns around, spreads his arms out. "I'm right here."

Blake sighs. "I mean, runnin' away from conflict."

"Are you my therapist now?"

Blake's blue eyes are piercing his own. "Maybe you need one."

Adam clenches his jaw as anger stirs within him. It was one thing for him to consider therapy for himself, and a complete other for Blake, of all people, to realize just how fucked up he is.

"Is there something about Gwen I don't know? Is she an ex-con or something?"

Something about the way Blake asks a genuine question in such a light-hearted way, such a Blake way, makes him laugh a little in spite of himself. "No," he answers, rejoining Blake on the car.

"I know, she's way prettier than I am."

"What? No, Blake, that's not...she's great, okay? And you're great. I'm sorry for what I said."

He'll lie about her if it means keeping Blake happy. He can't bear to lose anymore of Blake than he already has.

Blake slings an arm around Adam, rubbing at his shoulder with his thumb. "It's alright. I know we probably seem like an odd pairing."

"That's what they said about us," Adam says, and he's getting ready to kick himself for letting that stupid comment spill out of his mouth until Blake starts laughing.

"I'd still love for you to come out to Oklahoma. Taping's startin' soon and I'm sure you guys'll be back in the studio."

He hasn't thought about new music in ages and his band probably think he abandoned them. "I'd love to."

Blake's still got his arm around Adam's shoulders and his other hand is now rubbing his thigh again and if Adam didn't know better he'd assume Blake wants to throw him down and fuck him right here in the dirt but Blake's a handsy guy, always has been, touching all over Adam any chance he got. Adam never really understood it but welcomed it all the same. He has to remind himself that for Blake, this is normal. For Blake, they're just two friends engaging in a friendly conversation.

For Adam, well—he's just glad it's night and his jeans are dark.

***

Adam sneaks back into the house, careful not to disturb his sleeping family.

He lays face up on the couch, shoes on and everything, stares at the ceiling until his vision swims, tries to calm the restlessness in his belly and sort out in his mind why in the everloving fuck his body did the most unimaginable thing and gave him a hard-on for Blake fucking Shelton.

God, he needs sleep.

He gets up and pours himself a shot of tequila, throws it back and relishes the burn on the way down. His phone dings in his pocket, a text from Blake.

It was real good talkin to you. I'm glad you came to your senses and realized ya needed me back in your life. Ha! I'm glad I could be there for ya. Things will get better. Night buddy

He pictures Blake falling asleep with an arm draped across Gwen’s naked chest, their thighs touching, feet intertwined in the sheets.

He pours himself another drink.

He's not attracted to Blake. Like, at all. Blake's a giant, masculine, straight as an arrow hillbilly, who just so happens to possess the ability to make Adam throw his head back laughing at the stupidest thing, wheezing until his sides hurt. He's not sexually attracted to anything about Blake. Blake just happens to have dimples for days and smells like a warm log cabin at Christmastime.

He is most definitely not gay, or bi, or anything else but straight, married to a beautiful woman with two beautiful children.

He pulls out another bottle of tequila.

***

The next day, he puts in a call to his doctor.

"Adam, haven't heard from you in a while! Which is a good thing," Dr. C chuckles softly.

"Yeah—actually I think I'm sick."

"Not like you to get sick. What's bothering you? Respiratory, stomach..."

"More like, my head."

"Headaches?"

"Could you like, prescribe me some antidepressants or something?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm certified in many areas but psychiatry isn't one of them."

"Maybe some Xanax, Valium..."

"Adam," Dr. C interjects, "What's going on?"

"Just—don't worry about it. Thanks anyway, doc."

"I'd be happy to give you a psych consult. We've got a wonderful new doctor upstairs. It's important to take care of your mental health just as much as your physical."

No shit. Where was that advice when he needed it months ago?

Notes:

This chapter was fun to write.

Chapter 10: fade to black

The season 17 promo is out, featuring Blake, Kelly, John, and Gwen, the only new coach, Adam's replacement. It's a strange experience, watching the video on his phone from his living room, rather than being there living through it. He doesn't think it could possibly get any weirder until he sees the coach chair lineup—Blake, in his usual end spot, followed by Kelly then John, then on the far end, none other than Gwen. In Adam's chair. And it shouldn't bother him, he shouldn't be upset like a junior would be over a freshman stealing his seat at lunch. But he just knows that the show is going to try to milk her and Blake's relationship for all that it's worth. At least they aren't seated next to each other. But somehow, this is worse. A pang of heartbreak hits him, and suddenly he misses it. Misses the jokes they'd swap during breaks and the days, however long, that were filled with laughs and good memories. He's supposed to be there, not her. But he has to tell himself he's better off without it, and they're better off without him.

The comments, to his surprise, lean heavily towards his side. He didn't think he'd be receiving much empathy after the past two seasons but people are so hooked on his and Blake's 'bromance' that they actually miss him. It lifts his spirit, if even a tiny bit.

The first day of taping comes quickly. Blake hadn't gotten around to bringing Adam to Oklahoma and he apologized profusely, but Adam waved him off, told him it was fine, he understood, that later in the summer would probably be better anyway. With his current mental state, he wouldn't have been able to enjoy it anyway.

They finish late, and Adam's been sitting in his car for over an hour, but he's used to waiting and he's okay with it, especially if it means he's waiting on Blake. Blake emerges from the back door of the studio, Gwen hooked on his arm. Adam steps out and waves. Blake spots him and strides over.

"Hey buddy, what're you doing here?" He's all smiles, which means he's either really happy to see Adam or he just had a really good first day of auditions. He tries to push the third possibility out of his mind, but it's hard when it's hanging all over Blake like a schoolgirl.

"Just wanted to come see how the first day went," Adam says, making it a point not to acknowledge Gwen.

"Oh, it was amazing!" she chimes in anyway, "Blake was amazing. We've seen so much talent this year already."

"I wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink?" Adam offers, keeping his eyes on Blake, silently manifesting that he'll get the message and send Gwen on her way.

Blake immediately looks down at Gwen, who bobs her head vigorously. "We're in," he says.

Adam offers to drive. Blake gives Gwen shotgun and he shoves his oversized frame into the backseat.

"It's so good to see you again Adam!" Gwen places her perfectly manicured fingers on his arm and he hopes she doesn't feel him flinch. "I'm so glad we can all finally catch up."

It's Thursday night and the bar is packed. Adam follows Blake and Gwen to a booth in a back corner. He's a little surprised when Gwen takes the side across from Blake. He must be standing there like an idiot because Blake says, "Well don't stand there like an idiot. I've got a spot right here for ya," and pats his hand against the wooden seat.

The booth is plenty big, but for some reason Blake has decided to sit more on Adam's side than his own, leaving Adam with no choice but to let their jeans rub together. Blake doesn't seem to mind, because in no time he's on his third beer and laughing that deep hearty laugh, probably at something vaguely funny that Gwen said, and he hasn't once offered to scoot over nor has he shoved Adam out onto the floor for disrespecting his personal space. Not that Adam's only thought this entire time was of the lack of breathing space between them.

"Earth to Adam." Blake's voice booms in his ear. He sounds drunk but he's not, it takes a lot more than a few beers to get Blake drunk drunk. He's just being his usual loud, obnoxious self.

Adam sets his glass down. "What?"

"Aww, he's so cute when he's daydreaming," Gwen coos. He doesn't know how long his mind has been wandering but it must have been a while because she most definitely is drunk.

"He's so cute all the time," Blake says, turned so his whole body is facing Adam, a cheeky smile on his face.

"Fuck you," Adam says, because he doesn't know what else to say as he diverts his eyes to his lap and fights a blush from overtaking his face.

"You are though. You got those big soft eyes and that warm smile. I like it when you got that little bit of scruff, too." His hand goes to Adam's face, but Adam brushes it off.

He can't believe what he's hearing. It's like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him, finally paying him back for all the shit that he's done in his life. He thinks he may have underestimated the power that alcohol has had on Blake tonight until he looks up and meets Blake's gaze and the man bellows out another laugh.

"Yer face is so red right now," Blake says, "You should see it."

"Blakey, be nice," Gwen drawls.

"I was bein' nice. I'm man enough to tell another man he's good-lookin'."

Blake claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, and suddenly he's back to that night when they were sitting together on Adam's car, when it was all he could do to keep from hyperventilating under Blake's touch and the deep warm pull in his belly and groin.

He jumps out of the booth. "I have to take a shit," he announces before making a beeline to the nearest bathroom.

He locks himself inside a stall and takes in a deep, rattling breath, sliding his hands over his face and trying to breathe. He can't go on like this. He can't keep hearing Blake say all these things and just get away with it. Blake can't keep doing this to him, can't have this hold on him.

He can't be this obsessed.

He could use a strong shot of tequila right now, but the cigarette in his pocket will have to do. He smokes it all and, feeling a little more composed, finally unlocks himself from the stall. When he returns to the table, Blake and Gwen are leaned across it, holding hands.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. "Blake? Can I, uh, talk to you outside for a sec?"

Blake breaks her gaze and looks up at Adam, a tinge of worry replacing his smile. "Yeah, sure."

"Everything come out alright? Did ya have diarrhea or somethin'?" Blake asks once they're outside.

"No, I'm fine," Adam says, letting the door shut behind them. The parking lot is quiet, but he can hear the roar of the crowd behind them. "I don't have time for jokes right now."

Blake sticks his hands in jeans pockets. "Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," Adam says. He steals a quick glance around. "I just want to know what's going on."

"Whad'ya mean?"

"You keep telling me shit like I'm hot and amazing and whatever. Why? What are you doing?"

"I always tell you that stuff," Blake answers, looking genuinely confused.

You used to, at work, when things weren't complicated and none of it meant anything and I wasn't a complete wreck because of you.

"If it's to try and make me feel better about myself, it's okay, I'm fine now. You don't have to anymore." Really, you don't have to.

Blake looks at him long and hard then lets out a sigh. "Maybe I took it a little too far, and I'm sorry if I embarrassed ya. I've been worried about you for so long that I just wanted to make sure you knew how I felt."

Knew how he felt? How? Did Blake really think he was the most charming, charismatic, attractive human being he'd ever laid eyes on, so much so that maybe, he wanted more...

"But—" Adam's mind is reeling and You have a girlfriend is on the tip of his tongue, threatening to roll off at any second.

"You're like a brother to me," Blake says, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around him, his face smothered against Blake's chest. "Promise, I'll lay off ya a little."

He couldn't take Blake saying those words that drove him crazy in ways he can't fully understand, but now he wishes he could take this whole conversation back, wishes he'd never brought anything up and just let Blake continue saying those things, because it gave him the tiniest glimmer of hope that there was a chance, and as much as it ate at him trying to figure out what it all meant, it was somehow better than this reality, where Blake is straight and in a relationship and thinks of him as a brother.

He trails behind Blake back inside, where the noise is too loud for his already aching head. Blake slides back in his place and Adam stays at the end of the booth, staring at the space where he's supposed to sit, long enough so that it starts to go blurry. He blinks but the blurriness stays.

"Adam?" It's Blake's voice, loud, and concerned. "You alright?"

He can't form the words to speak. His heart starts to pound in his chest. He can't breathe. Suddenly the earth beneath him doesn't feel steady. He lurches forward, catching himself on the table edge. A cold sweat washes over him and the room begins to swirl around him. The last thing he remembers is falling back and someone catching him under the arms before his world fades to black.

Chapter 11: complete

Adam awakens in a bed with white sheets. His world is quiet, except for a soft beep, keeping a steady rhythm. As his eyes adjust to the light, they follow the cords attached to his arms, trailing up to various poles. A hospital bed. He tries to recall the events that landed him here, but his head starts to ache with the strain. Was it a seizure? Stroke? Heart attack? This is it, he thinks. He must be dying.

Then he sees his wife, and she's sliding open the door to his room, collapsing at his bedside, taking his hand in hers, tears filling her eyes. A large man in a white coat comes in, introduces himself as Dr. Ford. A panic attack, Dr. Ford tells him. He hyperventilated so much that he passed out. A memory comes floating back to him; a strange feeling of overwhelming anxiety, crippling his entire being, until he felt nothing.

But he's going to be okay. At least, that's what the hospital staff tell him. He'll believe it when he lives it.

Then he remembers. Blake.

Blake's face, the last thing he saw before he blacked out.

But Blake isn't here. It's just him and Behati in the hospital room now.

Adam shifts under the covers. "Where is Blake?" he asks, his voice rough with disuse.

She grips his hand tighter. "He left after they brought you in here. He said he somewhere to be? He seemed in a hurry."

And that's when Adam chokes back a sob. He didn't have anywhere to be. He just didn't want to be around Adam.

***

"Do you want another?"

Adam turns his attention from tracing the rim of his margarita glass to the bartender in front of him. A roll of thunder echoes outside.

"No, thanks. I'm good."

He downs the last swallow then looks around the bar. People, happy, everywhere. It makes his stomach churn. He hates them, but he also envies them.

Then he sees something that makes him wish he could pull his eyeballs from their sockets. He ducks his head low and seethes inwardly.

"One beer, please," he hears from a few heads down the line of barstools.

For him to show up in the same bar where not but five days ago, Adam suffocated himself to unconsciousness, then to not even stay while he was lying in a hospital bed, then to not even call or text to see how he was doing? The fucking audacity.

Adam is getting ready to make a break for the back door when the same voice looms beside him.

"Hey."

Adam doesn’t respond, keeps his eyes glued to the back of a bartender's head.

"You feelin better?"

You might know, had you decided to maintain some line of communication.

"Never better."

"Can we go someplace and talk?"

Adam looks at him. "Whatever you want to say to me, you can say in front of these fifty other drunks that don't give a shit."

"Alright," Blake says. He settles on the empty barstool next to Adam.

"Okay, see, no, we're not doing this." He is not about to sit here and pretend to be interested in the football game on TV and have a friendly conversation over a beer. He shoves his keys in his jacket pocket and gets up.

"It's pourin' down rain out there," Blake says.

Adam shrugs. "A little water never hurt anybody."

Blake stays on Adam's heels until they make it outside. In no time, Adam's entire body is drenched. He has every intention to get in his car, drive away and never look back until—

"Adam, wait."

He stops but doesn't turn around.

"I get that you're angry. Just please hear me out."

"Oh, now you have something to say."

"You're acting childish."

Adam spins around. "I'm acting childish?" He takes a step closer, raises his chin higher. "You know, since the day I met you I've been nothing but a good friend to you. I helped you anytime you needed anything, no questions asked. Hell, I let you stay at my house when you were going through a divorce. I've never had a bad word to say about you."

Rain is running down Blake's face, his hair a sloppy mess, plastered to his head, and he simply blinks at Adam, which only throws fuel on the fire.

"You think this friendship is a joke? Am I a joke to you, someone you get some entertainment value from then kick to the curb? You think you can just do whatever the fuck you want? Do you treat everyone in your life this way? No, of course you don't. You're over here telling your girlfriend oh, I love you so much and you've known her for what, eight minutes? You've known me for eight fucking years. So you obviously possess the ability to say nice things to the people you care about. And that bullshit that you've been spewing because you felt sorry for me, doesn't cut it."

He stops, and good fucking God he could go on, he's craving a good fight, but he needs some more ammunition, so he glares at Blake, hoping he'll say something, anything, but he remains tight-lipped.

"So suddenly this is too hard for you. As if I haven't been to absolute hell and back."

"Believe me, I know," Blake says, "And I know I'm the reason for some of that."

"You don't know anything." Adam pauses as a chill run downs his spine from the memory. "You know what I was doing on that cliff? I was one bad thought away from diving over head first. I was so stupid to think that I needed you. To think that you would miraculously make things better."

It's a moment before Blake asks, "Do you know why I didn't stay? At the hospital, the other night."

"Because you're a fucking coward."

"I couldn't bear to see you like that. It made me realize that anything could happen to you, and it scared the shit outta me. I realized how much I care about you. How much I love you."

Adam nearly laughs. "Yeah, don't worry, I get it. You love me like a brother."

"No, Adam. I think I’m in love with you."

Adam stares at him, his expression deadpan, and if he could smack the look off his face he would. "You know what, Blake? I've had enough of your shitty games, alright? Take that shit somewhere else. I've put up with it for too long and I'm not doing it anymore." He turns on his heel to leave but Blake grabs him by the arm.

"Let go," Adam spits.

"I don't expect you to forgive me. I know you don't believe me. But would you believe me if I did this?"

Then Blake's face is easing closer to his, his lips slightly parted, and Adam's brain doesn't have a chance to comprehend what's happening let alone what's coming next. Blake's lips are pressing against his mouth, his teeth grazing his lower lip. And in those fractions of a second, his brain has a chance to catch up.

He shoves at Blake's chest, trying to push him away, but only pushes himself backwards instead.

He drags an arm across his face to pull water away. He has to shout above the rain. "What the fuck are you doing!"

He has to be dreaming. He fell into a coma in that hospital bed and this is karma out to get him. His head is spinning and he doesn’t know if his own legs will hold him up much longer. At any second, Blake's figure will disappear and he'll wake up. Surely, this isn't real...

"Don't act like you don't know exactly what just happened."

Adam watches Blake, his blue eyes never wavering from his own. And in that moment, realization hits him like a freight train.

He takes a step closer. His heart is pounding in his chest as he tilts his head, ever so slightly. Blake's big hands reach for his face and cup his cheeks, and the warmth of his breath is on his chin. He coud reel back, drive his fist right through his lying face, but instead—

Adam smashes their lips together. The effect Blake's lips have on him is instantaneous. He grabs a handful of wet flannel and melts into Blake's body, clinging to him like he's the only thing left in his fragile world, the larger man still with a feel on his cheeks, until his hands move down Adam's neck and stay there, caressing it effortlessly.

In that moment, time stands still.

He spent so long denying his body, heart and soul a chance of ever achieving a moment like this. There's a million reasons why this is wrong but he's locked in on the one reason why it is so right and he can't bring himself to let it go. He can't even breathe, and if it's the last breath he ever takes, he would die right here, in a puddle with the rain, complete.

Notes:

I had this whole story planned out up until this chapter. I wrote something, then deleted it all and came up with this instead. It was a challenge, but I’m proud with how it turned out. Writing angry Adam was my favorite part lol.

Chapter 12: just them

He hasn't seen Blake again since they left the bar that night.

Sometimes he gets an urge to text him, but each time he stops short, twiddles his phone around in his hands, really with no clue what to say. He's not angry, or upset, or sad, he's just—he has no fucking idea. It's such a stark contrast to the absolute whirlwind of emotions he's been constantly feeling over the past several months, that he wonders if maybe this is it, if he's finally better.

So how were you able to overcome your anxiety and depression?

I kissed Blake Shelton.

He's going to have to come up with something that's, well, not that.

But fuck, if it wasn't one of the best kisses he's ever had in his life. The way their bodies molded together, every curve of Adam fitting somewhere into Blake, the way their lips glazed over each other, working in unison. It was everything he could ever have imagined kissing Blake to be. Not that he regularly envisioned Blake's tongue down his throat, but if he had, that would have been the kiss.

But as wondrous as it was, it came to an end, as all good things seem to do, and reality was right there to remind him that he's not living in a perfect world, one where he and Blake could be together. This isn't a love story in a movie. This is real fucking life, and sometimes, it really fucking sucks.

One thing he knows for certain—falling harder for Blake Shelton absolutely, one hundred percent, cannot happen.

***

Behati's noticed. She doesn't know what happened, but she's noticed. He's different, more distant, trying to figure it all out in his own head that he sometimes forgets another world exists around him. He's in a state of disbelief, walking around in a shell of his former self.

They're sitting on the sofa one evening, watching an old Bruce Willis movie, when his phone lights up in his pocket. He slides it out halfway and sees Blake's name flash across the screen. He shoves it back in his pocket.

A few minutes later it comes again. This time he opens the message.

can you come over?

He types back a quick—

not right now

please

"Everything okay?" Behati asks, now turning her attention from the screen to Adam.

"Blake and Gwen had a fight. I need to go check on him."

He gives her a kiss on the cheek and she offers a tight smile. Guilt has a death grip on him as he heads out the front door.

***

Blake's place is completely dark except for a soft light shining out of the kitchen window. Adam lets himself in, and sees Blake rested against a counter.

"This better be good. I had to lie to my wife to get over here."

"I'm sorry," Blake says, his face drawn. "I just figured we needed ta talk."

"There's really nothing to talk about. It happened, and it can never happen again. Alright? You get that? It can never happen again."

"I know, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

Adam nods. "Okay. Good."

"Adam I'm sorry, if I made everything harder for ya. I knew you were still in a bad place. But I knew if I didn't tell you how I felt, I never would."

Adam eyes the taller man, finding it hard to believe that just a few nights ago, he was locked in on those lips. "Do you regret it?"

"No, I don't. You?"

"No," he finds himself admitting, "I don't."

Blake clears his throat. "I wanted to clear this up in person, you know, rather than over text."

"I get it."

Blake stares silently at him until Adam shifts from one foot to the other. "Well, uh, I don't wanna keep you from your evening."

"We were just watching a movie. It'll come on again."

"I can walk you out," Blake offers.

Adam's got only one button on his shirt done up and he can feel Blake's eyes boring into him. The look of lust on his face fades quickly into disbelief as Adam strides over, grabs the man by his shirt collar, and collides into his lips. The next thing he knows Blake's hands are around his neck and he's bent backwards over the countertop, Adam climbing him like a fucking tree.

Two things Adam realizes in this moment—one, he apparently has no self control, and two, if he's going to do something stupid, it might as well be this.

***

He and Blake have made out seven times now. Yes, he's kept track. It's becoming a sort of therapy for him at this point. He's got those lips mapped out like he owns them, knows exactly what he needs to do to get Blake to moan under his touch. Every time their lips meet, an electricity flows through him, rattling him to his very core. He might even go as far to say that he's never felt this alive in his life. Who needs a shrink and medication when you can have a tall handsome redneck?

One afternoon on Blake's lunch break, Adam is in his trailer, about to leave, when Blake stops him.

"Hey, there's somethin' I've been meaning to ask ya."

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Do you wanna be my advisor this season?"

"I don't know if that's the best idea—"

"C'mon, it'll be fun. Nothing weird, I promise. Strictly professional. It'll be like ol' times."

Adam scrunches his nose. "So what you're saying now is kissing me is weird?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I'll think about it."

"The thing is, I kinda gotta know by today."

The look on Blake's face is equal parts adorable and pathetic. Adam rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine, I'll do it."

Blake is all smiles as Adam leaves the trailer, the probability high that Blake did not need to know by today.

***

The producers can't agree to it fast enough.

They never wanted him to leave in the first place, so for them to get him back and paired up with Blake must be a network dream. The bromance sells and all.

To his surprise, it's actually a hell of a lot of fun. He doesn't miss the rigorous schedule and the stress of making sure everything is perfect, but he's missed the people he worked with, missed getting to help new young promising talent. This way, he can still do some good, show the world that he's doing just fine, while also not taking anything too seriously or personal.

And of course, the best part is Blake.

He rarely sees Gwen anymore. She's busy with her team and it's Blake and Adam taking on this thing together, for once not rivals, and it feels good, really good, to have that comradery.

While they're in between artists or on breaks, Blake is touching him any chance he gets, rubbing his hand across his thigh, sneaking up to hug him from behind, those big warm hands on his stomach, leaving little kisses on his cheeks. And each time he's wrapped up tight in Blake's embrace, those butterflies unrelenting, he realizes that no one questions a thing, because this is what they've always done. This is just them.

With advising coming to an end, they sit down for one final interview together.

"So Blake, what's it been like having Adam back as your advisor this season?"

"It's been a dream come true, honestly," Blake says, looking at Adam, "I know we tease each other all the time and sometimes get under each other's skin, but at the end of the day, this guy really is my best friend, and he's been one hell of an advisor to my team."

Adam can't hide the smile that spreads across his face. He doesn't realize that the interviewer is looking to him for a response until Blake shoves his knee.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, it's been really awesome coming back, and I'm glad that Blake asked me to. It's been a lot of fun."

"Yer blushin'," Blake says, jabbing a finger towards his cheek.

"Am not," Adam replies, but it's a lie and there's no sense in hiding it because the interviewer is smiling and giving a thumbs up to the cameraman behind her.

This one will be going on YouTube for sure.

Chapter 13: back home

Adam and Blake back together, partners in crime. Adam's riding on a high, looking down on what used to be his life, still unable to believe that this is his life now, and everything is right with the world until one day he's kicked back on the sofa in Blake's trailer, like he usually is, for a few minutes on lunch break after Gwen leaves, when Blake says words he wishes like hell he didn't hear.

"This thing we're doin'—we can't do it anymore."

Blake's sitting across from him, arms rested on his knees, beer in hand, and he just says it, and Adam just blinks, because it's so sudden and unexpected and totally opposite of everything that's been happening.

"It's because of her, isn't it?"

"Yes," Blake answers, "And the fact that you're married. We both have lives and careers we need to focus on. I hope we can still be friends. But you and I both know this wasn't meant to last."

Everything Blake just said is so painfully true, and the fact that Adam got so wrapped up in this, whatever the fuck this was, that his mind seemed to gloss over the fact that he was, indeed, unfaithful to his wife, makes him feel like the biggest scum on earth. He should have known better, should have known that it all would come crashing and burning down on him with time, just as everything in his life seemed to do.

"I shouldn't have expected anything different," Adam says with a shrug of his shoulders. And because he's upset, and pissed off and wanting to be petty, he adds, "You throw everything good away."

"I'm sorry, Adam," Blake says, ignoring the remark, "I let my emotions get the better of me."

Adam thinks back on what Blake said, his confession of love, how it was all probably a big fat fucking lie.

Blake, as if reading his mind, says, "I want you to know that I don't regret any of what happened. I do love you, and I probably always will. But neither of us are in a place in our lives where we can act on it. I think this is for the best."

Blake's looking at him with eyes filled with certainty, leaving no room for Adam to argue. He sets his jaw, holding back all the things he wants to say but can't, and it's taking everything in him to not break down. Rejection sits in the pool of tears behind his eyes as he holds onto the last few moments of one of the best things that's ever happened to him, really, everything he ever wanted.

"Do you agree," Blake says with a gentler tone, "that this is for the best?"

Blake looks like he might cry any second too and it leaves at least one of Adam's heartstrings intact, knowing that he really doesn't want it to end this way either.

Adam nods, and Blake stands up so Adam follows, and they step into each other's arms, and as much as Adam wants to reach up one last time and kiss those lips, he doesn't, because it's for the best.

Blake's voice is broken when he lets Adam go and says, "I better get back to work."

Then he walks out, leaving Adam in the empty trailer.

***

Adam goes home. He's alone. Behati is out with the girls.

He rummages through the cabinets, pulling out any alcohol he can find. Whiskey, tequila, vodka, beer. Pops the top on them, starts taking swigs of them right out of the bottles. He goes upstairs and strips down to his underwear, starts the water running for a shower. He makes it hot, really hot, so it'll burn his skin all the way down as the alcohol burns down his throat. He steps under the stream and finishes a bottle, sets it on the sink and reaches for another one, tips it back and does the same. His skin is red and tears are streaming down his face, mixing with the hot steam and all he can think about is Blake's lips pressed against his own, Blake's hands gently cradling his face, the warmth of Blake's chest that feels too much like home. He can't stop. He just wants it all to stop.

The next thing he knows Behati is shouting his name, but he doesn't have the strength to answer. She's bursting into the bathroom and crouching outside the tub. He doesn't know when he sank to the floor but she's hoisting him up now, prying the bottle from his hands and then the water stops and his skin stops burning but he's so weak that he can barely stand, and she's telling him to take a step so he does, tries to make it over the tub but his foot catches and she has to hold him tight to keep him from falling to the cold tile. He's all but dragged into the bedroom, where he sees the bed and once they're close enough he falls from her arms and collides with the soft mattress and his body sinks deeply into it and he wonders if he'll ever be able to get back up.

He sleeps, he assumes, because when his eyes open again, he's tucked neatly under the covers and Behati is sitting on the edge of the bed, hand on his leg and her face shot with worry, but she manages a weak smile when he meets her eyes.

"What time is it?" he asks.

"Ten in the morning," she answers.

He scrunches his nose as the first wave of nausea hits. "I slept?"

She nods. "A long time. You woke up once in the middle of the night to throw up, then fell back asleep."

He doesn't even remember. But his stomach is rolling and he knows it won't be long before it happens again.

"You're staying right here today, and I'm taking care of you."

He doesn't protest, and sinks back into the pillows as a sign of surrender. He slept for hours, but his body still feels exhausted.

"I'll let you rest some more," she says. She plants a slow kiss on his forehead and strokes his hair before getting up from the bed. "Then we'll talk about getting you some help."

***

He starts his Mondays and Thursdays with therapy now.

He's mostly going to make Behati feel better. He doesn't believe it'll do any good. And it doesn't. Really, at first, it just makes things worse. Being forced to talk about his problems, all the fucked up things that are going on inside his head, just makes him feel even shittier about himself every time he walks out that office door. He doesn't tell Dr. Wells that though. She must not need his confession, because one Thursday, several weeks after they started seeing each other, the conversation goes a little differently.

"What do you hope to get out of these sessions, Adam?"

"I don't know. I guess I just don't want to keep feeling the way I have been."

"So you're not doing this for anyone else, you're doing it for yourself, correct?"

"I mean, not really. My wife is the one who wanted me to come."

"But you agreed to it?"

"Yes."

"And the answer you just gave me, you don't want to keep feeling the way you have been. That's for yourself, is it not?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"So despite wanting to make others happy, you want to make yourself happy as well. She encouraged you to come, but you wouldn't be here if deep down you didn't believe you could get better. I can help you Adam, but you have to be willing to help yourself."

So finally, he does.

He starts by getting back into yoga. His body isn't very happy with him the morning after his first session back, but God, how he's missed it, missed that clarity it gave his mind and purpose it gave his body. The next step is getting back to his regular diet. After a day of eating nothing but fruits and vegetables, his stomach thanked him for food that finally wasn't fast. It all has such a strong effect on him that he can't believe how far he'd let himself go. It's like breathing fresh air again, the feeling of something long lost coming back into his life.

He also gets back in the studio, his bandmates welcoming him back with open arms, fully understanding of him needing a break, and he's so grateful to them that his heart could burst. He may not be ready to pick up where they left off, but music is on his mind again, and that's another step in the right direction.

Once you hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up.

***

He realizes, way too long after the fact, that he never made a personal statement regarding his Voice departure. So he searches through the photo albums on his phone, looking for just the right picture to post to his Instagram. He picks a candid of the original four coaches, a time when they were in between shooting promos and someone snapped something that no one else probably ever saw but he saved it and now he's glad he did. They're all laughing, probably over some stupid joke Blake cracked. He starts a new post and types the words that come to him—

This is long overdue, so here we go.

About eight years ago, Mark Burnett convinced us to sign up for this show where you sit in a big red chair with your back turned away from the singers on the stage. First thank you must go to Mark. We had no idea what we were doing or where it was going. After the first day of shooting, I sat there, stunned. I said to myself "there's some magic here. Something is definitely happening." It went on to be a life shaping experience that will be close to my heart forever. Thank you NBC for signing me up. I am truly honored to have been a part of something that I'll always cherish for the rest of my life. Thank you to every single coach I ever sat in those chairs with. That is a shared experience that is singularly ours. We have that for life. Thank you Carson Daly for babysitting the musicians and making sure our shoes were tied and we had our lunch boxes. You are the backbone of this thing and we appreciate you more than you know. Thank you to the people behind the scenes who do the real work and make this machine hum. To the amazingly talented vocalists who competed on the show and blew my mind on a daily basis. To all of the loyal fans, there's literally no show without you guys. Your support has meant everything. Lastly, I'd like to thank my manager Jordan for convincing me to take that meeting. What an amazing ride.

And BLAKE FUCKIN' SHELTON. I couldn't hide my love for you if I tried. Seriously. I tried. Can't do it. Our friendship is and always will be one for the books. Whatever this whole surreal experience was, I'm just happy I got to experience it with you. You're my brother for life and I love you.

The last part hurts, more than anyone but he and Blake will ever know, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't shed a tear while typing it. He reads it over once then hits post and closes the app.

***

One evening, he opens up Twitter for the first time in a while.

The first thing on his timeline is a tweet from Blake, to him.

Missin' this idiot a little extra today @adamlevine

And attached is a picture from Blake's birthday years ago, of Adam wearing a little cardboard party hat and shoving cake in his mouth.

Blake posted it two days ago, but he's had his notifications off since leaving The Voice.

He doesn't respond or hit retweet like he wants to, because he knows that in order to heal, he can't keep letting himself go back.

His next therapy session, he opens up about Blake, and all that he's been too afraid to face, worrying that it might shatter him into a million pieces all over again.

"I miss him," he admits, "so fucking much. I know I shouldn't, but I do."

"It's perfectly fine to miss him," Dr. Wells says, "He was your best friend. Is your best friend."

Adam shakes his head. "I have no idea where we stand anymore."

"Have you spoken to him at all?"

"Not since that day in his trailer." He pauses, thinking. "Do you think I should? Talk to him?"

"I think there's one important question to ask yourself," she says, "Do you think you can start over and maintain a friendship with him after everything that's happened?"

That's one important question, all right. One that has Adam ruminating on for a while.

***

three weeks later

One warm sunny Saturday, Adam takes his coffee to the back porch. As he watches his dogs romping in the yard, a smile spreads across his face, and it's a good feeling, smiling again for the simple reason of just being here to take it all in.

He hasn't felt this level of peace and clarity in a long time. He takes a moment to appreciate all the blessings in his life—his beautiful children, his amazing wife, his supportive peers who stuck by him even when he couldn't stick by himself. And he realizes, this is it—this is the feeling he'd been trying to get back to all this time.

He sets the coffee aside and pulls his phone from his sweatpants pocket. He opens a new text message, but closes it and pulls up a name in his contacts instead.

It connects on the third ring.

"Hey," Adam says.

"Hey. I been meanin' to call ya, but I—well, I'm just glad you called."

"You're an idiot?"

A chuckle on the other end. "Yeah, I'm definitely an idiot. Honestly I figured you were pretty upset with me. I wouldn't blame you if you hated me."

"Jesus Blake, I could never hate you."

"Good," Blake breathes, sounding relieved. "But I wasn't happy with how we left things. I thought maybe giving each other some space would help, but not talkin' to you for so long has made me realize I can't do this without you. I'm so damn sorry. And if I ever have to say that to you again, I give you permission to slap the hell out of me."

"What if I just slap you for the hell of it?"

"Wouldn't be something you haven't done before," Blake laughs. "Gosh, it's so good to hear your voice. I've missed ya, dickweed."

"I've missed you too, bigfoot."

"Listen, I'm back home for a few days. Gwen stayed behind to wrap up some stuff on the new album. What'dya say we finally make good on that invitation for you to come to the ranch?"

"Finally," Adam says, trying his best to sound exasperated as a smile spreads across his face, "I thought you'd never ask. But on one condition."

"What's that?"

"We put all this shit behind us, start over, and have an amazing time."

Adam can practically see Blake's stupid dimply grin all the way from Oklahoma. "It's a deal."

Notes:

This is the last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's sad to think that this is the end, but it's been an amazing journey and I'm so proud of how it turned out. Thank you all so much for riding along with me!