Chapter Text
The night at the pool changed a lot of things for Joe and Shorty, something Joe had not expected.
Joe had liked Shorty for years now, that was nothing new. But Shorty was extremely blind and Joe was extremely secretive. While that didn’t stop the entire band from realizing Joe’s “crush” on his fellow guitarist, that didn’t change anything. He’d never gotten any clue that his friend liked him in any way more than platonic, but that didn’t stop Joe’s mind from getting attached to the idea.
And while Joe desperately tried to stop himself from pining, he just couldn’t help himself. It was too sweet, too addicting. The electric shock up his arm whenever his bandmate tapped his shoulder or the fluttering of his heart when Shorty said his name.
Maybe he was delusional but he could’ve shown that it sounded different to when he called out to Jim, or Bobby, or Chuck. It was such a simple sound, but he clung to it, ringing in his ears oftentimes.
But that night gave him hope that he never had before. Whenever he thought back on it, he was certain it was a dream.
Even if nothing happened , Joe could sense the energy shift between the two. They were closer, connected. That old, lingering longing that plagued Joe’s heart was reignited with a newfound hope. It reminded him of the silly, simple love songs he wrote years ago, ones he kept tucked under his bed that would never see the light of day if he counted on it.
Yet, he hated that it affected it so much. He was tired of the cycle of constantly looking for signs and clinging onto those small pieces of evidence that maybe, just maybe , Shorty might like him back, that he might have a chance. But something always got in the way, proved his hope to be misplaced.
But this time, he held onto their small memory under the blue pool lights or the sparkle of small stars scattered throughout the sky. That moment, it was just the two of them. And he longed for more small moments, ached for the touch of skin, yearned for the sound of Shorty’s laugh or twinkle in his eye. He wanted him .
But even with his thoughts telling him that it wasn’t worth it, his heart beat extra fast at seeing Shorty the next day.
And yet, Roger could tell when something was new in Joe, he had a sixth sense for it. Roger always told him how he knew Joe better than himself. There was almost nothing Joe couldn't get past Roger, even if he wanted to.
So it was no surprise when Joe tiredly got up that morning but perked up at the sight of an equally exhausted Shorty, that Roger connected the dots.
Joe could tell by the way Roger’s eyebrows furrowed as both guitarists’ eyes seemed to soften at seeing the other. Or the way Shorty playfully bumped Joe’s arm as he sat down.
Joe’s breath caught in his throat at this but, as usual, went unnoticed by Shorty, who continued rambling to Jim across the table about something Joe didn’t catch.
After yet a second scolding from Ulbrickson about the hair dye incident, Roger and Joe trailed back to their room, Roger taking this moment to strike.
“Sooooo.” Roger started, looking towards Joe and hands behind his back.
“So?” Joe responded, a tone of suspicion in his voice.
“Joe, what happened ?” Roger exclaimed, the “situation” clearly having been eating at him, “With you know who ?”
Joe felt a blush creep up his neck (Joe prompting cursing himself for it), responding, “I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“ Don’t know ?” Roger continued, crossing his arms, “You two are making fucking lovey-dovey eyes at each other! That’s nothing new for you…”
Joe rolled his eyes, Roger huffing in frustration, “But he’s looking at you that way, which switch did you flip in him?”
Joe’s eyebrows furrowed, stomach churning slightly, “Was he?”
“ Yes , but that’s beside the point,” Roger searched his mind for answers, “Was it the whole thing on the bus?”
“No, no , how did you know that?” Joe’s heart ached in embarrassment.
Roger only had to mutter one word, “Bobby.”
Joe sighed, unsurprised, but finally gave Roger the answer he desired, “ No , it wasn’t that.”
“So something did happen?” Roger smiled, rubbing his hands together and nodding.
Joe smiled in spite of himself, rubbing a hand over his face, “ Yes , are you happy now?”
Roger crossed his arms, amusement coating his voice, “Not until you tell me what happened!”
Joe contemplated, in all honesty, wanting to keep this moment to himself. It was special, his . But logically, Roger would keep nagging til he got an answer and Joe also was yearning to tell someone about this, needing someone to reassure him that he wasn’t crazy. That Shorty might possibly be interested in him.
In all honesty, Roger was the type to feed into Joe’s delusions, and the guitarist knew why. But Joe couldn’t deny how he enjoyed the joy it gave him to see Roger reassure him that the little signs were, in actuality, signs.
As Joe explained, a smirk not leaving his face the entire time, Roger sat cross-legged on the bed across, commenting excitedly throughout.
“Ok, so we’re normally grasping at straws here,” Roger expressed once Joe finished, Joe nodding in agreement with his comment, “But this , we actually have some potential here!”
Joe laughed, shaking his head, “Don’t give me hope.”
“But there is ,” Roger insisted, seeming more excited than Joe was, “There is hope, Joe!”
Joe sighed, eyes trailing back to Roger, “We say that every time though, Rog.”
“But this time’s different!” Roger clapped, “C’mon, Joe… Just give it a chance~”
Joe sighed, eyes trailing back towards Roger’s thrilled expression, “Fine… I’ll, I don’t know, test the waters.”
~~~~
Ok, maybe that was a slight lie… But in Joe’s defense, the aspect of flirting with Shorty was already a great feat.
Joe could flirt with girls just fine. But the thing was, they normally were flirting with him. Not the other way ‘round. Joe could easily flirt back but it was difficult to begin that train of conversation. He already had slight difficulty with social interaction, let alone flirting… With a guy. It was just different, and Joe didn’t know where to start.
It was especially hard to even string sentences together around his fellow guitarist, let alone flirt .
That afternoon was a prime example of this.
The band had a free day or two to explore the city before their weekend shows that Friday, so the group began trickling down into the lobby once again to discuss their plans.
Joe and Joe sat at a booth-like area, most of their bandmates sitting at the longer table opposite the two, chatting amongst themselves.
“So what did the Professor say our rules were for this evening?” Bobby drawled to Jim, the Professor a nickname for Bolles given by the group. Jim was, to the surprise of many, their unofficial official leader. He was reasonably responsible but friendly and approachable. He was able to keep them all relatively in line, Ulbrickson and Bolles often tasking him with making sure the band wasn’t doing anything stupid.
Most people would assume this leadership role would fall on Bobby or maybe Joe, which they weren’t completely wrong about. On stage, they all had to follow Bobby’s lead, and it was great for morale. However, due to the singer’s inability to follow instructions on and off stage, he was a no-go in their managers’ eyes. And Joe had been their “leader” at the beginning, but after they got their footing, it was clear that Joe was not sociable (... or mentally stable enough) to carry the load of eight other guys and their actions.
So, Jim was the best option and the best option he proved to be.
“Well, we’re free to go where we’d like, as long as it’s not on the main streets and all, and security joins us,” Jim shrugged, “The usual. Don’t do anything insanely stupid, hook up with anyone who might cause controversy, etcetera etcetera.”
“So what I’m hearing is I can get severely drunk tonight and not get in trouble?” Bobby responded, tipping the glass that was already filled with some form of alcohol towards Jim.
The bassist rolled his eyes at this, “At your own risk, of course.”
“Did someone say drunk?” Shorty trailed to the table, the last of the nine of them to see the group text, Joe assumed. The boy’s hair seemed to be wet, showing off the curls that oftentimes found themselves on the business end of a hair straightener when dry. Joe had to force his eyes away from his bandmate at this, cursing himself for staring as long as he did.
“Oh look, we summoned the second alcoholic,” Gordy teased, punching Shorty’s arm as he approached.
“I simply don’t know what you’re talking about!” Shorty said dramatically, plopping himself down between Joe and Jim, draping both arms over the edge of the booth. The touch of the guitarist’s pointer finger grazing Joe’s shoulder sent a shock down Joe’s arm. Joe had to bite his cheek in order to keep any sound from leaving his mouth, finding Roger’s excited eyes staring at the two.
Yet, it wasn’t like Shorty was just draping his arm especially close to Joe. The other was also across Jim’s end.
“So, what are we doing tonight, gentlemen?” Shorty drawled, the sound of the boy’s deep voice close to Joe’s ear made his heart race faster than Joe wished it would.
Chuck shook his head, remarking, “This is Vegas , what do you think we're doing?”
“Well that’s the thing ,” Shorty shrugged, “This is like the place for partying. There’s gambling, bars, clubbing .” It was clear what the guitarist’s hope for tonight would be.
“ I like the sound of that ,” Bobby muttered excitedly under breath.
“We could do all three?” Roger suggested, “We have tonight, Wednesday, and Thursday, right, Jim?”
“Well we do have rehearsal on Thursday, but I’m sure we could fit something in after?” Jim responded.
Joe’s eyes seemed to catch Don’s at this moment, both of them seeming to feel the same about the upcoming days. Look, Joe loved his fellow bandmates dearly but they seemed to have endless energy for social activities, something Joe didn’t exactly get.
The idea of being in crowded and loud areas for three nights in a row before a show sounded hell-like for Joe, and telling by the anxious look on Don’s face, he didn’t seem to be alone in these feelings.
Yet, the rest of the boys chatted to each other excitedly, unfazed by the possible endless social interactions coming up in the next few nights.
“So, you’re joining us, right?” Shorty asked, causing Joe’s head to tilt towards the other boys, their noses nearly bumping in the process. This caused, by reflex, Joe to jerk back slightly. Shorty quickly scooted back slightly at Joe’s discomfort.
“Uh-” Joe’s mind was still processing what just happened, taking him a moment to respond, embarrassingly shaky he might add, “I-I’m not sure.”
Shorty’s voice took on a casual tone, a little too casual, “Aw, c’mon, you gotta come.” Shorty bumped Joe’s arm playfully as he did so.
“I don’t know, I really gotta practice-” Joe rambled, making a lousy excuse.
“Out of everyone, you’re probably the most practiced,” Shorty remarked, crossing his arms, and tilting his head in Joe’s direction, “ Pleaseeee .”
Joe contemplated but what confirmed his decision was the particular softness in Shorty’s voice as he murmured, “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Joe sighed, rolling his eyes playfully as he remarked, “ Fine .”
“Great!” At this, Shorty shot up from his seat, ruffling Joe’s hair in the process.
Before departing to his hotel room, the guitarist remarked, “I gotta go fix this mop.” Shorty gestured towards his hair.
“Ya know, for…” Shorty paused, rubbing a hand behind his neck, “For all the ladies and all.”
Joe’s heart sank. It’s not like it was unexpected, this is just what happened when Roger convinced you that there was hope when there wasn’t. Joe responded, nodding as casually as he could, “Yeah, yeah, I get ya.”
Shorty gave his fellow bandmate a small wave, “I’ll see ya tonight then.”
Yet, as Shorty began to casually walk in the other direction, Roger’s voice seemed to whisper in the back of his mind, Joe, just give it a chance , and in the spur of the moment, Joe called out, “Hey Hunt!”
Shorty flipped around, the usual twinkle in his eye clearly visible as Joe nodded, “You should keep it natural… For the ladies and all.”
Shorty sent a charming smirk towards Joe’s way, nodding a bit, “Alright, anything for you, Rantz.”
And the guitarist turned once again, leaving Joe to curse his bandmate for constantly being so damn confusing .
~~~~
Shorty did in fact leave his hair natural, and Joe practically fainted at the sight of him. Roger could sense Joe’s bi-panic, leaving his friend grinning.
Roger, being the wingman he was, guaranteed that Shorty and Joe sat next to each other in the cramped van they were all pushed into. Joe was stuck in a middle seat, Shorty on his left and Roger on his right. And as the van jostled at the seemingly constant sharp turns, Joe's bare arm often bumped with Shorty’s. It didn’t help the fact that Roger was quietly whispering encouragement in Joe’s ear, which he ignored.
They finally managed to pull up to the first club of many that night, the group quickly shuffling out. Joe sighed in relief at this, ready to be out of such close proximity to Shorty but this breath was quickly caught in Joe’s throat as he felt a gentle hand touch the small of his back as he stumbled out of the car.
The guitarist was thankful for the dark lighting of the night, being that it prevented the sight of the extreme blush that had crept up Joe’s neck, and yet, Shorty seemed completely normal. It left Joe to wonder, Did that actually just happen?
That question continued to circle in Joe’s mind as he sat at their small table in the corner of the club, next to Don, who seemed particularly uncomfortable.
Noticing this discomfort, Joe signaled to Don, practically yelling over the music, “You good!?”
Don hesitated before nodding, mouthing, “ Just a little loud. ”
Joe nodded in agreement, quickly pulling the bag at his feet onto his lap before pulling out a pair of headphones. The guitarist continued to yell, “It’s not gonna block it out completely but it might help!”
Don quickly took the headphones, placing them over his ears and nodding in appreciation. Joe’s eyes found their position back towards the crowd, specifically Shorty, who was now dancing with his third girl of the night. At this sight, Joe downed the rest of his whiskey, wincing at the burn as the liquid trickled down his throat.
“Hey, Joe!” A shout from across the table broke Joe out of his haze, eyes drifting to the sound of the voice, Gordy, “You feeling ok?!”
Joe’s eyebrows knit at this, “Why wouldn’t I be?!”
“Well, aside from the fact that you look like you might kill someone in the next few minutes,” Gordy chuckled a bit, “I’m not sure! You tell me?!”
“It’s nothing!” Joe shouted back, getting up, “Really! I’m getting a refill, want one?!”
“I’m fine, thanks though!” Gordy remarked, but before Joe could drift towards the bar, his fellow guitarist lightly gripped his arm, “Hey, you’ll get there eventually!”
Joe sighed at this, annoyed at the fact that everyone seemed to know this damn secret he had.
As he approached the bar, he yelled to the bartender, “Can I get a straight whiskey?!”
The bartender gave Joe a quick nod, Joe leaning against the countertop as he waited, running a hand through his now slightly muted, green hair. The numbness that alcohol brought began to settle in Joe’s chest, giving him some relief from the intense jealousy and confusion he felt.
The voice that began to grow louder and louder as it got closer especially didn’t help, “Joeyyyyyyyyyy!”
Joe’s eyes found an extremely drunk Shorty stumbling over to him, yelling a nickname that was only given to him when Shorty was intoxicated. His fellow bandmate approached, quickly wrapping an arm around Joe’s shoulder, murmuring into the boy’s ear, “Come dance with me, Joeyyyyy!”
“I’m good,” Joe nodded toward Shorty, trying to convince himself that Shorty was just drunk . The touch didn’t mean anything. As Joe got his fresh glass, Shorty quickly tried to take it as his own, Joe remarked, “Maybe you should take it easy for the rest of the night!”
“Nooooooo,” Shorty drawled, his deep voice sending a shiver of flusteredness down Joe’s spine, “I’m good, I promiseeeee!”
At the sight of Shorty’s extreme… you could say, vulnerable state, Joe sighed, “Maybe we should get you home?!”
“No, no, no,” Shorty giggled, shaking his head, “I’m good, I’m good, I’m good! Just a little tiredddd…”
“Yeah, let’s get you home,” Joe patted his fellow bandmate on the shoulder, hand hesitantly gripping the arm Shorty had wrapped around Joe’s shoulder. Joe quickly closed out his (and Shorty’s for that matter) tab, calling an Uber, and texting Jim, all with one hand and Shorty murmuring directly in Joe’s ear.
Finally, at the sight of the car pulling up outside their club, Joe took hold of Shorty and practically dragged him out.
The two stumbled into the car, Shorty giggling uncontrollably and Joe’s heartwarming at the sound.
As the car set off towards their hotel, Shorty’s head nuzzled into the crook of Joe’s neck, stopping Joe from breathing entirely. He kept telling himself how Shorty does the same thing with Jim when he’s drunk and yet, he couldn’t stop his heart from beating so quickly, for him to savor the touch, even if it didn’t mean anything.
It hurt, sure. But it was also wonderful, which is probably why Joe hated himself so much for it. Joe enjoyed it, even if it was fake. Why did he have to keep putting himself in this position? Why did he have to keep setting himself up for heartbreak?
As they arrived, the trek up to the hotel room was a bit of a fever dream. But what Joe does remember is the fact that Shorty did not have his hotel key so Joe was forced to plop his drunk bandmate onto his own bed and deal with it .
Shorty allowed all this easily, following Joe’s lead willingly (not without mumbling about god knows what). The guitarist flopped onto the bed, almost dragging Joe with him but the other man stood his ground.
“Ok, go to bed.” Joe drawled, looking at a very smug-looking Shorty.
“Joeyyyyyyy?”
“Yes, Shorty?” Joe crossed his arms, trying not to let any affection shine through.
“I loveeeeeee you,” Shorty murmured before passing out and leaving Joe’s heart to break because Shorty was drunk and it didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything.
But yet panic still was set in his system as he rushed to the bathroom and pulled out his phone, proceeding to spam Roger. His friend eventually picked up, clearly tipsy but conscious enough to comprehend Joe’s panic.
“Shorty is in my bed, Rog!” Joe whispered, quite loudly, to Roger, trying to convince himself of this knowledge more than anyone else.
“Holy shit?!” Roger exclaimed, “Did you two fuck?!” Joe could manage to hear claps coming from Roger’s end as he whooped loudly.
“No, no,” Joe quickly yelled back, “He’s drunk and in my bed because he doesn’t have a key. What do I do???”
“Uh, I don’t fucking know?!” Roger yelled back, sounding slightly disappointed.
“Here, I'll just find Gordy and take Shorty’s room and you sleep in mine!” Roger yelled over the music, “Shit, my phone’s gonna die. Just- sorry I'll call ya in the morning!”
And then Roger was gone, and Joe was left to deal with this by himself.
Joe slowly left the bathroom, settling down in Roger’s bed and flicking off the lamp. Here, he sighed, already feeling exhaustion begin to take him.
Without thinking, he murmured, “Why do you have to be so confusing ?”
No answer.
“I just-“ Joe sighed, running a tired hand over his face, “You flirt with me and then other girls. But then you tell me you love me while you’re drunk but I can’t convince myself you like me back because you’re not gonna remember this in the morning.”
Joe turned on his side, facing the sleeping face of his fellow guitarist, “Yet, I can’t not hope. Because that’s just who you are. You have to be so goddamn charming all the time.”
“I’m just so tired of the waiting game, ya know? I wish you’d just kiss me or tell me you don’t see me the same and that’d be the end of it. But no, it wouldn’t be the same if I asked. It’d never be the same.”
“I couldn’t risk that. I couldn’t risk you looking at me differently. I couldn’t risk sacrificing the fucking friendship because that took so long already…” Joe sat in the silence for a moment, “I just wished you’d stop giving me false hope.”
~~~~
“Now, this is our anniversary tour in a way,” Bobby sat crossed-legged near the end of the catwalk, silver microphone gripped in hand, “Of being stuck with these idiots.”
The band near the end of the stage gave mock-offense groans and looks, which left the crowd laughing along. Bobby turned his head back towards his friends, smirking, and gave a wink, “Except Don, of course.”
Some fans in the crowd broke into screams and Joe rolled his eyes at the Don and Bobby edits that were mostly likely going to get a huge kick out of that. Look, they were right and the entire group was surprised the two hadn’t gotten together yet. But Joe understood Don’s position, going through something similar with Shorty.
But at least, they seemed like they were getting close, Bobby becoming significantly more flirty towards Don specifically.
“But being how this is celebrating four years’ worth of music,” Bobby turned back towards the crowd, shrugging, “I feel as if we should go back to our roots, don’t you all agree?”
Yet another loud yell of approval from the audience. At this, Bobby turned yet again towards the band beginning to walk back down to them, mouthing R U Mine?
Bobby then flipped back around, counting down from five on his fingers as always.
Joe had written that song a while back, but it took an entirely new meaning now. He actually related it more than when he had originally written it.
And yet, Shorty sent cocky grins Joe’s way, the diamond studs placed in his ears seeming to glitter as he did so. Joe tried to ignore this, tried to ignore how his stomach seemed to knot in attraction.
Instead, Joe switched his frame of focus to Bobby, prancing around the stage, interacting with the crowd, nearly tripping. It left a small smirk to grow on his face, thrilled at the distraction.
Regardless, Joe occasionally still felt Shorty’s eyes looking his way. And how desperately Joe wanted to find eye contact.
But he couldn’t bear that feeling of such strong pining. So he didn’t look back. He kept his eyes towards the crowd, the sense of longing still lingering in his throat.