Page 127 of Fate Fiction

We’d have a barrier of separation, he’d be up and out of reach, and I’d be another face in the crowd. In public this version of the celebrity and regular person dynamic was a simple one to maintain.

Evan was only terrible for me when he was painstakingly real and up close.

Excitement had swept through the crowd. Giggling whispers and pointing rippled through it like a rock thrown into a lake. Every person in the group to my right ogled at Evan from his rightful place above. The golden-boy celebrity floating above us peasants.

My eyes followed the direction they were looking, he was leaning against the railing in VIP, staring me down. Like he’d been waiting for me to give in among the rest of the crowd. Our eyes met and a flash of a smile spread across his face. A nanosecond of eye contact was all it took.

“Guys, I swear he just smiled at me,” a voice beside me squealed followed by a few bright giggles.

He and I were still looking at the other, I was too afraid to break the spell.

I considered waving, he had casually acknowledged a few fans vying for his attention. This was his life, after all, I’d managed to avoid seeing much of it when we were together. The realization slammed into me. From down here I was no better than them, hoping my tiny sign of affection would be acknowledged by Evan McLeod.

I smiled instead, more of a reflexive act of defense than reciprocation, and he nodded and pointed to the phone in his hand before whipping it out. Mine buzzed a few seconds later, the spotty service slowed down the message.

Maybe: Evan:

Come backstage later?

I read the text a few times and looked back up at him, he’d turned to someone in the seat next to his and was chatting casually.

The lights went down and Evan faded into the shroud of darkness. I knew for the next hour and a half or so I’d be constantly glancing in his direction, it would be a reflex I’d need to fight off. There was a strumming of the opening chords to Shelby Dawes’ most popular song, and when the lights came up on her on stage the crowd erupted in cheers.

Towards the end of the show some stagehand in black ran out to swap Shelby’s electric guitar for an acoustic one. She said into the mic something about how every musician writes a cheesy love song at least once, and only the boldest ones force it into production.

“It’s a lot easier to sing a song like this when you have someone in mind,” she glanced vaguely to the balcony. I did too, and there I met Evan’s gaze again.

My throat clenched right as the lights dropped into a single spotlight on Shelby and her guitar.

Caroline gripped Andrea’s arm beside me as Shelby began playing the first few chords. I recognized it as their proposed first dance song. I’d seen them clumsily practice it a few times in their kitchen, both tripping over the other and erupting into giggling fits. They clutched onto one another and began rhythmically swaying to the music, staring at their respective bride-to-be singing the lyrics like any two lovers would.

The words were corny, the lyrics are the sort that would be best printed out in a sweeping script on a Valentine’s Day card. Words I’d write in a fluff-filled fanfiction.

Through the sickeningly sweet words something kept forcing my attention back to Evan.

Because when I heard these lyrics, that’s who I thought of.

I tried to glance casually, letting my eyes wander across the stage and at the embellishments of the establishment before finding his silhouette on the balcony. He was leaning on the railing, and I watched his shadow nodding along to the music. A spotlight suddenly swept over the crowd and flashed in the VIP section. I caught him looking directly at me. Another nanosecond of eye contact.

I watched his eyes soften a bit and a smile spread across his face. I broke away immediately, but felt his eyes lingering.

He was thinking of me too.

It was an unspoken conversation held from a hundred feet away.

My stomach flipped, and I felt nauseous. The room was minuscule and overheating, I needed fresh air desperately. Evan’s face had such sureness to it, like he’d waited all night for that song to send me some long distance signal. It was too much. I checked the time and the concert was nearly over, I whispered to Andrea about needing the bathroom and some water and walked out into the lobby.

It was cooler out here, and the song was muffled the moment the door slammed. Security staff were lining up in preparation for the mass exodus of people making beelines to the T or their overpriced parking. I stood for a second, dodging them as they moved about. This recycled air wouldn’t be enough. I stepped out the exit doors plastered with “NO RE ENTRY” signs into the cold darkness. Lansdowne was bustling with drunk college students and finance bro coworkers looking for their last call after a week of doing whatever consultants do. I was surrounded by dozens of people, but as I looked at my phone and scrolled to the text I’d ignored from Evan a loneliness pried my heart.

The message still glowed with a silvery newness, awaiting my reply.

Maybe: Evan

Come backstage later?

I leaned against the side of the venue and shut my eyes momentarily. He deserved an answer, he most definitely noticed I’d left.

I was about to type out a reply saying I was tired and would see him tomorrow when the door behind me opened and almost knocked me on my feet.