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The show ended hours ago.
The venue was nearly empty. Just the sound of distant equipment being loaded into trucks, the low hum of fluorescents, and two exhausted figures left alone at center stage.
Bobby was perched on the edge of the stage, legs swinging, eyes locked on his phone like it was the only thing keeping him sane.
Ryan spotted him from across the stage, arms crossed.
He waited. Two minutes. Five minutes.
Nope. Still scrolling.
Ryan stomped out across the stage with just enough noise to make a point.
“Let me guess,” he said, standing in front of Bobby with his arms crossed and hip popped to one side, “you’re doing something very important that can’t possibly wait until tomorrow..”
Bobby didn’t look up. “I’m just checking-“
“You’re being impossible,” Ryan interrupted. “Let me also guess: it involves doomscrolling until you start spiraling over something that you have no control over.”
“…I’m being productive.”
Ryan snorted. “If ‘productive’ means spiraling while pretending not to spiral, then yeah—you’re killing it.”
Bobby’s thumb kept moving, despite everything Ryan just said. Focused. Stubborn. It was kind of a good look on him, though Ryan wouldn’t admit that.
Ryan wandered over and stopped right in front of him. “Seriously. You do know the show ended, right? Like, three hours ago?”
“Just a few things I need to cross-check.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Ryan asked, crouching to Bobby’s level. “You’re one scroll away from dying of sleep deprivation.”
Bobby smirked faintly. “And yet, here you are. Still hovering.”
“I hover with purpose,” Ryan said. “Also, I’m legally required to prevent your descent into madness. It’s in the assistant contract. Small print.”
Bobby chuckled under his breath but didn’t stop scrolling.
Ryan sighed, and then, without warning, snatched the phone right out of his hands.
“Ryan—!” Bobby reached for it, but Ryan held it up high—just high enough to be annoyingly out of reach.
“You forget,” Ryan said, smirking, “these bad boys give me the advantage.”
He tapped a heel dramatically.
Bobby scowled. “We’re the same height.”
“Were,” Ryan corrected. “Now I’m taller, and in control of your screen time. You lose.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Although, I’m still the one making sure you’re still functioning like a normal human being. Tragic.”
“I’m just—keeping an eye on things.”
“You have two eyes,” Ryan said. “Maybe use one of them to notice that I’ve been trying to help for the past forty-five minutes.”
Bobby blinked at him.
Ryan rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically as he stuffed Bobby’s phone into his pocket. “This weird little complex where you think being constantly stressed and not asking for help equals being good at your job is gonna have to stop, Bobby.”
“I’m not constantly stressed.” Bobby huffs, sitting back on the edge of the stage in defeat.
Ryan raised a brow.
Bobby gave him a look. “Don’t raise your eyebrow at me like that. You literally haven’t slept in three days.”
Ryan opened his mouth. Closed it.
“Okay, boss-“ he said, a hand on his chest as he took offense. “This isn’t about me.”
“You drank two cans of Monster and then immediately complained about your heart rate.”
“…Touché.”
Bobby laughed under his breath, continuing. “And here you are- Voluntarily watching me lose my mind at 2 a.m.”
“And again- I’m here for quality control,” Ryan shot back. “Also to make sure you don’t die from overachieving.”
“Touching.”
“Don’t make it weird.” Ryan muttered.
Bobby’s grin softened, just slightly. “But.. Anyways. Thanks for staying.”
“Whatever,” Ryan muttered. “It’s not like I had anything better to do. Like, say, sleep.”
“And speaking of, look at you- The moment you’re off your screen you look like you’re about to pass out.”
Bobby narrowed his eyes at that, he couldn’t defend himself even if he wanted to, he was too tired, and Ryan was unfortunately correct.
Bobby’s phone chimed in Ryan’s pocket, the look on his face not going unnoticed, but at least he wasn’t trying to get it back this time.
…That’s progress.
Ryan sat beside him without asking, letting their knees nearly touch.
“You didn’t have to wait on me, Ry.” Bobby muttered, the nickname coming out more naturally than it should have.
Ry? Ryan thought to himself, subconsciously mouthing the nickname and pretending it didn’t affect him.
“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”
Bobby actually saw the way Ryan mouthed the nickname, and he found it endearingly cute, but made no comment. Just giving him the tiniest nod and slouched forward.
Knees bent, arms draped lazily over his legs. Ryan’s eyes scanned the ceiling, the rafters, the cables that still swayed slightly from earlier movement. He didn’t speak.
The adrenaline of the night was finally wearing off.
It’s just the two of them. In silence.
For once.
Ryan glanced at him—half out of habit, half out of something else he didn’t really have a name for.
And then kept looking.
And then forgot to stop.
God, Bobby looked... soft like this. Not in a weak way- But in a way Ryan wasn’t built to handle. The sharp tension Bobby always carried in his shoulders had slackened. His hair was messier than usual, his eyelids drooping just slightly, and the faint glow of the lights highlighted those—barely visible, but very much present—freckles across his nose and cheeks.
Ryan felt his heart clenching so hard it was almost embarrassing.
Those damn freckles.
They always did him in.
He saw them every now and then, in quiet moments like this—barely visible, like a secret only he‘s allowed to know. And every time, he wanted to trace them. Memorize their pattern.
Maybe connect them like stars. Maybe just kiss them-
Get a grip, Ryan told himself, blinking hard and pushing his glasses back up his face, trying to ignore how his cheeks felt like they were starting to burn up.
He was so in love. Hopelessly. Helplessly. Unapologetically.
The kind of love that curled up in his chest like it lived there. The kind he couldn’t scrub out even if he wanted to—which he didn’t. Not one bit.
Because Bobby, sitting next to him with his eyes barely open, his hair a mess and those freckles catching the light—was everything to him. And Ryan would absolutely take that to his grave before saying it out loud.
He sighed quietly and looked away, trying to pull himself together before he did something stupid, like reach out.
Eventually, Bobby spoke, voice low and fading. “I see you, by the way.”
Ryan blinked. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
Ryan shifted, embarrassed. “I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
Bobby didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, he sounded… tired. Warm.
Ryan looked away. “You look like you’re gonna face plant into the ground any minute now.”
That got the faintest huff of a laugh out of Bobby.
Then—quietly—he tipped his head. And let it fall gently against Ryan’s shoulder.
And Ryan stopped breathing, his brain short-circuiting for a full three seconds.
Then almost naturally, he relaxed into it. His heart pounding too fast for someone he merely works for as just an “assistant.”
He tilted his head slightly until it brushed Bobby’s hair—barely touching, just enough to feel real.
And then, even more foolishly, he looked again.
The freckles were even clearer up close. Ridiculous, perfect little constellations on skin Ryan wanted to memorize in every kind of light.
He smiled softly. It was, dumb, a little dazed.
You don’t even know what you do to me, he thought. And I’m gonna let you fall asleep on my shoulder like it’s fine. Like I’m totally normal. Like I’m not in love with you to the point that I feel like passing out at this VERY instant.
Bobby’s breathing eventually evened out, warm and steady.
Ryan didn’t move. And he’d be asleep too from how warm Bobby felt against him, if only his heart were to calm down and not try sending him into cardiac arrest.
He stayed.
Because no part of him wanted to be anywhere else.
And if this was all he got—sitting in the dark while Bobby slept against him—then yeah.
This is enough. More than enough.