“So you haven’t seen him in two days?” Cameron sweeps her violet bangs out of her eyes, as she counts the money in her hand and makes a note on her sheet.

“No,” Adam replies, trying to focus on not spilling the coffee beans all over the floor. In his defense, he hasn’t been able to focus much these past few days, let alone at five in the morning. “Not a hint, not a hair, not even an eyelash.”

“Why don’t you text him?” Cameron asks, making, perhaps, the first reasonable suggestion she’s ever made to Adam in his history of knowing her.

“I don’t have his number.”

“You kissed him and you still don’t have his number?”

Adam grimaces, shoving the filter into the coffee machine harder than he needs to. Not for the first time, he regrets telling Cameron about the kiss. But goddamn it, when she started up again about his romantic life, what was he supposed to do? So, he had broken. It had at least been worth it when Cameron simply stood there, gaping.

Not to mention, he needed to talk about it with someone. And who else was he supposed to talk about it with? His roommate, who left his dirty socks on the kitchen floor every morning? His mother, who would start on a long rant about why he hadn’t brought a nice boy home yet, or his father, who gets that oddly blank expression on his face whenever he’s reminded that Adam’s gay? Certainly none of his acting friends, who’d probably spread the news to the rest of the community in minutes.

Cameron, unfortunately, was the safest bet.

“Honestly, Adam. Usually, you get the number before you start making out with them. You know, so if you like it you can do it again.”

“There wasn’t exactly a lot of time between, ‘Hey, let’s practice lines,’ and me leaving his apartment. What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, we don’t really like each other, but can I have your number?’”

“Hate sex is a thing,” Cameron points out.

“You would know.”

“I would,” Cameron says smugly. “But come on. You’ve gone on dates before, you know what it’s like.”

“Sure, with dating apps. Not someone that knows people I know or whatever. Not that it matters now, I guess, since it looks like I’m never going to see him again.”

“You’re hopeless.”

Adam can’t help but agree, but he’s never going to tell her that.

“You never know, though? He might turn up today. Although, it’s kinda nice right? Since you get to play a bigger role.”

“Yeah,” but Adam’s voice sounds hollow and he grimaces. “It’s nice.”

* * *

As it turns out, Shane’s still not at rehearsal when Adam arrives later. He puts his bad mood down to the terrible customers he had earlier in the day and the coffee staining his favorite t-shirt. Today, Adam’s the last to show up, something that’s happened only once before. The rest of the cast have already spread out amongst themselves. Dropping his bags, he joins Grace, Charlie, and Stefan by the stage.

“Still no Shane?” he says in lieu of a greeting.

Charlie shakes her head. “I texted him but no response.”

Adam tells himself he’s not annoyed that Charlie has Shane’s number. He reminds himself he’s an adult and could easily ask if he wanted to, but he doesn’t need to.

“It’s a shame, really,” Grace’s eyebrows pinch together, as she twirls the end of her ponytail in one hand. “I was really getting fond of working with him.”

“He did get much better,” Stefan says. “And it was nice to have fresh blood in the show.”

“Maybe he’ll come today,” Charlie pulls out her phone, as if that would make him miraculously appear.

Violet takes that moment to make her entrance, a grim look on her face. She doesn’t look particularly happy on a normal rehearsal day, but today, her hair has frizzed out completely, and her mouth is set so deep in a scowl Adam wonders if she painted it on. She takes her place at the end of the stage. “I’ve got news for everyone, which I’m sure no one will be surprised by,” she rubs the side of her temples, closing her eyes briefly. The rest of the cast holds it breath, or at least, Adam feels like they are. Dropping her hands, Violet reopens her eyes. “Shane, unfortunately, has to drop out due to work conflicts.”

And there it is. Adam’s heart does this weird thing where it feels like it clenches, and his stomach swoops. He’s getting what he wanted, yet it doesn’t feel much like a victory.

“So, Adam, you’ll be taking the role of Lysander, as agreed,” Violet says. Stefan grins, clapping him on the shoulder with one hand. “And I’ll do some rearranging to take care of your role.”

Briefly, Adam’s elated. For a moment, he thinks this must be the start of his good luck. And then it hits him again. Adam deflates, realizing he didn’t earn it at all.

There’s no arguing about it now though. Everyone has begun to stand, moving into their positions for the first scene. Violet glances over at him. “Adam, you know your lines?”

For the first time, Adam wishes he didn’t.

The rest of rehearsal goes by in a blur and Adam struggles to feel connected to the play at all. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t care less about Shakespeare.

“Good job today, Adam,” Stefan says as they wrap up rehearsal later that evening.

Adam waves in response, hoping that conveys his appreciation enough. He’s almost out the door when he stumbles into Cynthia and Kyle. Cynthia, for her part, offers a soft smile. “Nice job, Adam.”

“Thanks, you too,” Adam glances warily at Kyle. They haven’t spoken much since the fire, and he suspects that’s for the best.

The other man snorts, stroking his beard with one hand and placing an unlit cigarette in his mouth in the other. “I’m impressed you managed to run another actor out of a role. You’ve got more luck than I can even imagine. Still,” he cocks his head thoughtfully as they exit the building. “Better you than him this time.”

For some reason, anger flares in Adam. He curls his hands around the straps of his bag and reminds himself that he’s never punched anything in his life, and punching Kyle’s face would definitely hurt.

“It’s not,” he says, coming to a stop right outside the building.

Kyle casts a sideways glance at Adam. “Not what?”

“Not better,” his hands curl tighter around his bag. “Sometimes, someone’s just right for something you know?”

Cynthia frowns at him like he’s an unreasonable child. “Anyone can play Lysander. He’s not difficult.”

“No. But some people can bring a little more to it,” fuck. Adam can’t believe he just admitted someone might be better than him at something.

Kyle shakes his head. “You’re overthinking it, Weir. That guy wasn’t bringing anything to the table. We’re better off.”

“You’re just too self-obsessed to see it,” Adam says, disgusted.

Adam doesn’t expect Kyle’s eyes to flare and for the man to take a step forward. “Like you aren’t? Fucking Adam Weir, you think you’re so much better than everyone, you think you can do everything better. Just be happy you got what you wanted.”

Adam’s speechless. Kyle clenches his fists and Adam wonders if he’s actually going to get punched today. He braces himself for the hit, thinking he probably deserves it.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Cynthia places a hand on Kyle’s elbow before Adam can retort. “You two have spent enough time arguing during this production. Let it go, Kyle. Adam,” she pauses, considering him from behind unreadable blue eyes. “There’s not much we can do now. Have a good night, okay?”

Without waiting for a response, Cynthia pulls Kyle away. Adam stands there, watching them fade into the night. Only when he notices he’s the only person left in rehearsals does Adam finally begin to move again. As he begins his walk to the train, Kyle’s words ring in his head. Why isn’t he happy with what he wanted? This type of thing happens in community shows all the time, actors come and go, and others fill in for them instead. Losing Shane shouldn’t have thrown him off so easily.

Adam, impulsive as he is, decides there’s only one thing he can do.

* * *

At the end of the day, Adam has next to no common sense. If he had any, he figures he’d be in law school. His mother always says he can argue his way out of a straitjacket, or at the very least, annoy people so much they have to listen to him.

He certainly would not be standing in front of a bar at eleven at night, about to try to convince someone to come back to a play, despite having spent the first three weeks of rehearsal desperately hoping he would leave.

Adam Weir, no common sense and, apparently, easily swayed by one kiss.

In his defense, he considered it a good kiss. Electrifying. Grand.

If nothing else comes out of it, he thinks it would be worth it to watch Shane’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head when Adam steps into the bar. It’s a Monday night and the bar is light on customers, so Shane spots him right away. Adam grins at him and hopes it looks dashing, rather than insane. Because that’s what he feels like right now, a little insane. Adam hops onto the barstool directly across from Shane, whose mouth is still wide open.

It is oh so satisfying to see Shane, who is normally cool and confident, lose his composure for once. “What are you doing here?”

Adam flutters his eyelashes at him. “Hi, Shane. I’m good, thanks for asking. Rehearsal is good too. Everyone misses you.”

Shane visibly takes a deep breath, seemingly restraining himself from wrapping his hands around Adam’s throat. Adam’s grin just grows wider. People wanting to strangle him is nothing new.

Slowly, though, his grin slides off his face as Shane just continues to stare. Scratching the back of his head, Adam heaves a sigh. Why did this whole caring-for-people thing have to be so difficult?

“Guess I’m not a face you want to see,” Adam says, attempting a joke.

Shane’s unmoved. “Sorry if I’m a little surprised to see someone that hasn’t talked to me in days,” he replies dryly.

Adam winces. Okay, he deserved that one. “I said hi the other day.”

“I must have missed the part where you became incredibly laconic.”

“Ooh, big word.”

“Former English major.”

“Really?” Adam says, momentarily distracted.

“Before I dropped out and started working here.”

Shane seems to have mostly recovered from shock and begins to bustle around the back of the bar. Adam watches as his hands easily shuffle around glasses, delicately putting them back in their places. It’s so odd to see someone with such large hands handle things with such care.

“Was it really a work conflict that made you quit? Or was it the cast?” Adam pauses, and then voices the fear he didn’t even realize had been lingering. “Was it me?”

Shane, to his surprise, snorts. He abandons the rest of the glasses and leans heavily over the bar counter. “A kiss wasn’t going to make me quit the play, Adam. We’re not high schoolers.”

Adam’s more relieved than he wants to admit. “Okay, so what’s with work? That didn’t stop you before.”

Shane doesn’t answer him right away, studying Adam’s face. With him leaning directly in front of Adam, they’re close enough that one of them could easily close the gap. Shane’s brown eyes catch the dim lighting of the bar, adding a glow to them. He clearly hasn’t shaved for a few days and dark circles have begun to creep under his eyes. “I’ve been working here eight years, you know. It’s a long time.”

The change in topic throws him for a loop. “Sure,” he says at last.

“My other coworker, Sam, had also worked here for eight years. And he just up and left,” Shane looks away. “And, well, Ben can’t operate this place alone.”

Seriously? That was it? “Just make him hire another person,” Adam points out.

“We’re going to. But Ben doesn’t let just anyone work the bar, especially at night. And he threatened to fire me if I wasn’t able to do the happy hour and night shifts.”

“You’re kidding me. That’s why you had to leave?”

“I know it seems trivial.”

It’s Adam’s turn to want to strangle Shane now. “Yeah, it’s really fucking stupid, Shane.”

Shane laughs. It’s nothing like the laughs Adam’s heard before. This one’s bitter, biting in a way Adam has never associated with Shane. “You always get mad so quickly.”

“Only when people are being stupid, which is all the fucking time, by the way,” Adam rubs two fingers against his forehead.

“I thought you’d be happy now. You finally got the role you wanted and you guys don’t have to worry about a mediocre actor forgetting his lines.”

And there’s the guilty feeling again. Adam’s getting pretty sick of it. “You’re…you’re not mediocre, Shane. You could be really good if you wanted.”

Shane gives him a look, but Adam forges on. “No, seriously. And maybe it’s our fault for not being open or helpful to someone who wanted to try. But you can’t let some stupid job stop you from doing things that actually matter.”

But Shane is shaking his head now. “That’s the thing, Adam. Acting might be the thing you’ve devoted yourself to, but I can’t just abandon how I make money to do it. It was never anything more than a side hobby,” Shane turns a piercing stare onto Adam now. “And why do you care so much anyway?”

“Art should never just be a side hobby,” Shane gives him an unimpressed look, as if he can completely see through Adam’s bullshit. Adam tugs at the top of his hair, looking away, at anything besides Shane. “Maybe, you know, some of us liked having you around, Shane.”

“What, like Kyle? He’s probably thrilled, now that I think about it,” Shane shrugs his broad shoulders. “The cast is in good hands without me.”

“No, you idiot. I did. I liked having you around and I liked seeing you every day,” the words are out of Adam’s mouth before he can stop them, because Adam’s never been able to stop himself from saying something. But he’s no coward. He turns back and finally looks Shane in the eyes again. “You might have been awful at first, but…you made things interesting.”

“Adam,” Shane’s face has gone incredibly soft, and wow, Adam hates this. “I appreciate that. More than you know. But I…I still can’t give this up.”

This is what Adam can’t understand. He’s fought for everything in his life and he simply assumed Shane would want to as well. That he would just need a little push. “You’re not going to fight for it? At all?”

Shane’s face closes, his expression completely unforgiving. “There’s nothing to fight for, Adam. I’m done.”

Recoiling, Adam wonders if they’re still talking about the play anymore.

“I see,” Adam drums his fingers on the counter. “Okay, then.”

He stands and this time, he doesn’t look at Shane at all. With the weight of Shane’s gaze on his shoulders, he leaves the bar and pretends none of it matters. Not in the slightest.