Chapter 10
The arena is so packed the air runs thin and hundreds of thousands of voices scream in unison.
Alex stands in the wings, mic in his hand, staring at the stage lights like they’re a storm.
The label statement is still folded in his pocket.
Unsigned.
Jackson is somewhere on the other side of the curtain, surrounded by handlers who keep trying to reshape his face back into the product they sold.
Embarrassment hits first.
Not the “caught zooming” kind.
The “the whole world knows your heart now” kind.
A stagehand runs past and bumps Alex’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” she mutters, then does a double take. “Oh. It’s you.”
Her eyes flick down to Alex’s left hand.
Alex doesn’t even realize he’s holding it oddly—protecting it.
There’s no ring on it yet.
The ring is in Jackson’s pocket.
Because “it’s not time,” the label said.
Because “we need to manage optics,” they said.
Because “you can’t propose onstage,” they said, like love is something that needs permission.
Isolation creeps in.
Alex is surrounded by people and still feels alone.
Because even after Jackson said love on camera, the machine is still trying to swallow them.
The bitch manager appears again, clipboard in hand. Smile too bright.
“You’re going to keep it clean tonight,” she says. Not a question.
Alex doesn’t answer.
She leans in. Low voice. “No touching. No statements. No… extra.”
Extra.
Like Alex is a special effect.
Embarrassment burns hot.
Alex’s grip tightens on the mic.
The manager’s smile sharpens. “If you want to keep touring, you’ll cooperate.”
She walks away.
Isolation settles deeper.
Alex stares at the curtain.
He thinks about the farm.
About quiet mornings. About work that hurt your hands but didn’t touch your soul.
Then a hand finds his.
Jackson.
No warning. Just there.
Alex turns.
Jackson looks different.
Not styled different.
Chosen different.
Eyes steady.
He squeezes Alex’s hand once.
Small connection.
One squeeze that says: I’m here. I’m still here.
“They tried to make me sign,” Jackson murmurs.
Alex’s throat tightens. “Me too.”
Jackson nods like he expected that.
He glances toward the stage.
Then back to Alex.
“I’m going to do it,” Jackson says.
Alex’s heart stutters. “Do what.”
Jackson’s mouth twitches. “Stop asking permission.”
The stage manager shouts: “Thirty seconds!”
The crowd is a living thing out there. Roaring. Hungry.
Alex swallows. “They’ll punish us.”
Jackson leans in, forehead almost touching Alex’s.
“Let them try,” he whispers.
Alex’s chest tightens.
This is what he wanted.
This is also terrifying.
Because choosing Alex publicly means Jackson loses control.
And Jackson’s always been terrified of losing control.
Jackson steps back, eyes locked on Alex.
“Trust me,” he says again. The same words as the kiss night.
Alex’s pulse spikes.
He nods.
The curtain lifts.
They walk into light.
The crowd screams. The sound hits Alex like a wave.
He sings.
He always sings.
But tonight, he sings forward.
Not half a step behind.
He takes the center on the first chorus, voice cutting clean through the noise.
The crowd reacts. It’s different when they react to him. Less practiced. More surprised.
Jackson watches him for a beat too long.
Then the second verse hits.
And Alex sees it.
Jackson’s manager is at the side of the stage, making a slicing motion across her throat.
No.
Stop.
Don’t.
Embarrassment flares.
Because everyone can see them seeing each other.
Isolation tries to creep in.
Because this is still Jackson’s stage.
Still Jackson’s crowd.
Still Jackson’s world.
But then Jackson moves.
He crosses the stage.
Not choreographed.
Not approved.
His hand reaches for Alex’s.
Takes it.
The crowd gasps.
Then cheers.
Louder.
The sound is wild. Real.
Alex’s breath catches.
Small connection becomes public connection.
Jackson pulls Alex close during the bridge, their shoulders touching.
The manager is losing her mind at the edge of the stage, but the crowd is drowning her
out.
Jackson leans in, voice low enough only Alex can hear.
“I meant what I said,” Jackson murmurs. “About proving it.”
Alex’s throat burns.
“Then prove it,” Alex whispers back.
Jackson’s hand tightens around his.
The song builds.
The lights flare.
And then Jackson turns fully toward Alex.
He lifts Alex’s hand to his mouth.
Kisses the knuckles.
The crowd screams like the building might crack.
Alex’s face burns.
Embarrassment. Intense. Blazing.
But it’s different now.
Not humiliation.
Exposure.
Honest exposure.
Jackson grins. Not the bad boy grin. Not the polished grin.
Something real.
Then he kisses Alex.
Onstage.
Open.
No hiding.
Alex kisses him back, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break his ribs.
When they pull apart, the band behind them keeps playing like they’ve rehearsed this.
Like they’ve been waiting.
Jackson steps back.
Reaches into his pocket.
Alex’s breath stops.
The ring box appears under the lights.
The crowd sees it and loses their minds.
Noise becomes a wall.
Jackson drops to one knee.
Right there.
Right in the center of the stage.
Alex’s brain short-circuits.
Embarrassment blasts through him so hard he almost laughs.
Jackson looks up at him, eyes bright and wet.
“I know what they fucking told me,” Jackson says into the mic. Voice shaking. “I know what I’m supposed to do.”
He swallows.
“But I’m done being the version of me that hurts the person I love.”
The crowd screams again.
Alex’s hands shake so badly he has to hold the mic with both hands.
Jackson opens the box.
The ring catches the light.
Jackson’s voice goes quieter. Still amplified. Still heard.
“Alex,” he says, “you were the one thing I tried to keep private because I was scared of
losing you.”
Jackson laughs once, broken. “And the whole time, hiding you was what was killing us.”
Alex’s vision blurs.
Jackson’s eyes don’t leave his.
“Marry me,” Jackson says. “Not because it’s perfect. Because it’s real.”
Alex’s chest caves in.
He nods once.
Then again.
“Yes,” Alex says, voice cracking. “Yes.”
Jackson stands so fast he almost stumbles.
Alex catches him by the shoulders.
They laugh into each other.
They kiss again.
The crowd is screaming, lights flashing, the whole arena shaking with it.
For one perfect second, it feels like they won.
Then Alex sees the manager at the edge of the stage.
Her face is white.
She’s holding up a phone.
On the screen:
A live notification.
Alex’s stomach drops.
Embarrassment spikes.
Isolation tries to claw back in.
Because the machine is still hungry.
Jackson sees it too.
His smile fades.
The crowd is still cheering, unaware.
Jackson leans in, lips brushing Alex’s ear.
“Whatever happens,” he whispers, “I’m not undoing this.”
Small connection.
A vow.
But then the betrayal hits.
Not from Jackson.
From the world.
Because Alex realizes the proposal wasn’t the end.
It was the trigger.
Alex turns his face back to the crowd.
Keeps smiling.
Keeps holding Jackson’s hand up like a victory.
Even as the phone in the manager’s hand glows like a threat.
And Alex thinks, with terrifying clarity—
The first time Jackson said unless I need to, he meant power.
Now the label is saying it too.
Alex leans into the microphone.
“Don’t ever let someone tell you to not be who the hell you want to be. Life is short. You only get one chance. And this is ours. This may be the last time you ever see us perform but I want you to know that no matter what you have to be yourself. You can’t win being someone else. And if the world doesn’t like who you are – create a new universe” he says turning back to see Jackson crying with love. The power is cut. The microphones are turned off. And they’re left standing in darkness. The crowd screams so loud the floor shakes. They hold hands in the darkness. In the love.
In the honesty. In knowing that whatever crazy shit comes next, they have each other.
