As it turns out, there’s not much time for dates between rehearsals, with Shane working nearly twelve hours every day and Adam working morning shifts. Instead, there are stolen hours and Shane pressing Adam into the bar counter after everyone leaves, hand gripping the jut of his hip bone, or Adam pulling him into his apartment late in the morning, touch cool in the fiery summer as it covers all of Shane’s skin.

More often than not, it’s just Adam spouting Midsummer lines at Shane, a bit like a Shakespeare dictionary. There’s something comforting in watching Adam run back and forth insanely over Shakespeare, a constant passion that flits in and out of Shane’s day.

Before he knows it, Shane realizes he feels content. Like he’s woken up after eight years and is finally making progress.

“You look like crap,” Violet comments over breakfast two days before opening night. They’re once again back at Adam’s coffee shop, having claimed their usual window seat. Adam is nowhere to be seen, having disappeared into the back.

“You’re one to talk,” Shane raises his coffee cup to his lips, observing the dark circles under Violet’s eyes and the papers spilling out of her tote bag. A pen is stuck right behind her ear and there’s a second one struggling to hold her hair together. “Do you sleep?”

“Do you?” Violet uses one hand to tug the pen out from behind her ear and chugs her coffee back with the other. When the coffee is sufficiently drained, she leans over her clipboard, jotting down notes about lighting. “Seems like that guy has kept you pretty busy.”

Shane hides a grin behind his coffee cup. Violet had not been fond of Adam to begin with, and now it seems like she’s decided she’s going to play the gatekeeping best friend until further notice. And Adam’s terrified of her, though he would staunchly deny it if anyone asked, so this is probably the best entertainment Shane’s had in years.

Honestly, he used to avoid conflict. He has no idea what’s come over him.

“You sound jealous, Violet.”

Violet barks out a laugh, scribbling harder at her papers. What she could be writing now, considering the play goes on in less than forty-eight hours, is beyond Shane. “More concerned than anything. I mean, Adam Weir? I didn’t know anyone could tolerate that guy in real life,” she shakes her head, muttering more to herself. “I thought he was just a demon specifically created to torment me everywhere I worked.”

“He’s not so bad once you get used to him.”

Violet heaves a sigh, throwing her pen down. Leaning back in her chair, she crosses her arms over her chest. “You really like him? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you with that sappy look on your face.”

Shane doesn’t rise to her bait or argue about his sappy look. Even he can feel the fond expression that’s spread across his face, which seems to constantly stretch his muscles. “For some crazy reason, yeah.”

Violet removes the second pen from her hair, face calculating as she studies him. Whatever she sees seems to close the case. She shakes her hair out. “Alright then, I’ll accept it.”

“Just like that?” Shane says, amused. “Even if he’s a demon?”

“Sure. You’re an adult. If you want crazy in your life, who am I to argue?”

“You’re the one that cast him,” Shane says, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. “If you think about it, you’re completely responsible for this.”

Violet stares blankly. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Oh, come on. If you cast him, you must like him a little.”

“He’s good at what he does,” Violet replies grudgingly. When Shane stares at her pointedly, she caves. “Okay, he’s not as bad as he acts sometimes, and I’ll drop it,” shifting, she now changes targets completely. “Besides, we have more important things to talk about. Are you ready for opening night?”

Shane hasn’t had time to be nervous, with how busy he’s been. Even now, opening night feels so far away. Maybe that’s why he’s able to speak, with the utmost confidence. “Of course I am.”

He maintains that confidence for the next two days, all the way up until exactly fifteen minutes before the curtain is supposed to rise. Completely costumed and armed with stage makeup, thanks to Charlie, Shane peeks from the wings to see their small, but hardy, auditorium filling up. There’re more people than he thought there would be, then again, this is Brooklyn, so everyone's always looking for something to do that feels cultured. In this case, seeing Shane.

Hopefully, not seeing him mess up.

Suddenly, it hits him. The confidence he’s held onto for the last few days drains out of him. What has he been thinking? The leather jacket Violet has forced upon him feels hot and constricting now, and a cold sweat is beginning to form on Shane’s temple. Had they turned the air off?

“Are you okay?”

Shane blinks down at Adam. “Where’d you come from?”

“The sky, because I’m your guardian angel,” Adam says, slapping him on the shoulder. “I appeared from the heavens just to find you.”

Shane stares, incredulous, at this man with his too-bright smile, and too-high opinion of himself. “Did you just pull out a pickup line?”

“Of course,” Adam, dressed in a bright red turtleneck, with his curls carefully arranged under a beret Charlie declared just has to be used for Quince, leans around Shane to see the audience. “It’s filling up nicely.”

“Yeah.”

Adam eyes him, and though it’s only been a few weeks, Shane feels like the other man can see right through him from just that one word.

“First performance, right?”

Shane’s throat is so tight now, he can only nod. “I’m not sure what I was thinking,” he manages to croak out. He’s gotten better over the last week, but is it really good enough?

Adam breaks Shane’s train of thought, before it can spiral further. “Hey, come here,” Adam grabs Shane’s hand and tugs him away from the wings, a bit past the soundboard and tech manager. His hand is cool as ever, decisive in its grasp. When they stop further in the darkness, Adam looks up, and Shane’s able to see the sparkle of his blue eyes even in this light. “You wanted to prove everyone wrong, right?”

“I feel like an idiot for saying that,” at this point, Shane’s more likely to fall on the floor than prove anything.

Adam tightens his hold on Shane’s hands. “Don’t worry about that tonight. Just let yourself be someone else. Lose yourself in it.”

“I wish someone had taught me how to do that before now,” Shane says wryly.

Adam cocks his head. Then, he reaches upward and drags Shane’s face to his, mouth pressing fiercely against his own, tongue swiping against his teeth, knocking the breath out of Shane. For a moment, Shane forgets where they are, overwhelmed by the ferocity of the kiss and unable to think of anything else.

The two of them part when a stage manager hisses at them that they have five minutes. Adam looks much too satisfied and Shane wants to hate him, but he can’t. At all. Shane heaves a sigh. “Lose myself, huh?”

“Yep. You’re not your anxious self anymore. You’re just the part,” Adam squeezes Shane’s hands one more time, before releasing them. “That’s the beauty of theater, right? We can change who we want to be for a period of time. And after that, we get to go back to who we are.”

“Cheesy, but very deep.”

“Hey, I’m trying to help,” Adam says, sticking his nose in the air.

“Sure, sure,” sarcasm drips from Shane’s tone, chasing away the anxiety, cured by some miracle, Adam’s presence and his playful needling. Shane knows Adam is right. For two hours every night this weekend, Shane will stand in front of an audience, who have no idea who he is, and recite the same lines. And they might not remember him, or they might think he’s crap. But they wouldn’t know he’s Shane. His future, his past, it’s completely gone. Only he would be able to know it.

Somehow, it’s comforting.

Charlie scurries up to them wearing a matching leather jacket, nearly bouncing from excitement. “We’ve got to get back to our places, Shane,” she whispers.

He nods and she moves away. As he begins to follow her, Shane turns back to Adam one more time. “What happens after it ends?”

Adam plants his hands on his hips. “We’ll move on and find something else.”

Shane supposes that’s all he can ask for. The lights in the house drop. The stage lights click on. He closes his eyes and they take the stage for opening night.