Chapter Eleven
Darcy shivered in the cool evening air of early October, but they were almost at their destination and he knew it would be plenty warm inside. Still he was surprised when Michael grabbed his hand and pulled him across the street at a run.
“We could’ve waited for the light,” Darcy said, breathless as they reached the other side.
“Yeah, but the show starts in ten minutes.”
They had free tickets to the Plan Chromatic concert at Centennial Hall so there was no rush, but Darcy just laughed and allowed Michael to continue dragging him up the steps to the entrance. He released Darcy’s hand and brandished his free pass before stepping aside for Darcy to do the same. They got bracelets that would give them access to backstage and then Michael grabbed Darcy’s hand again and pulled him with a laugh into the crowd.
Darcy let himself be swept along—if Michael hadn’t been holding onto him, they probably would have lost each other in the crowd—until they were just in front of the stage. Security was holding people back, but Michael was grinning as if he were the band’s biggest fan.
“Come on, you said you’d never been to a concert before.”
Darcy could barely hear him. He leaned close and said loudly, “That means I’m not sure how to behave.” He looked at the fans surrounding them. They seemed very young and predominantly female.
“Just act like you love the music and jump up and down and wave your hands in the air,” Michael said in his ear, the noise level already high.
The opening act was a local band, Avocado Crime Wave, whose name Darcy had seen around town. He wasn’t much for clubbing—too many people assumed he was looking to hook up, and it was exhausting to deal with their expectations. He assumed—and was not wrong—that their style would complement Plan Chromatic’s.
As the crowd pressed in, Darcy lost the spirit of the concert. He hadn’t thought of himself as claustrophobic, but the huge arena was loud and packed. Someone squeezed his butt cheek and Darcy jumped into Michael’s side so hard, only the crowd kept him from falling over.
Michael’s arms went around him, and his lips brushed Darcy’s ear as he asked, “You okay?”
He tilted his head up to reply. “Someone grabbed my ass. Surprised me, is all.”
“You just stay in front of me.” Darcy had never truly appreciated Michael’s extra height and shoulder breadth until Michael used it as a buffer between the pressing crowd and himself.
By the time Plan Chromatic took the stage, Darcy had relaxed enough in the shelter of Michael’s body to be having fun again. As the band played, Michael gave him light, reassuring embraces every so often and Darcy grinned his appreciation. It was nice to be out having fun, without feeling any sort of pressure to conform.
By the last encore, the security staff had let them and a few others with backstage pass bracelets through the barricades. It was marginally quieter, and while the floor was treacherous with cables, it was far less crowded. Backstage was a litter of makeup and costume bits strewn with chairs and a laden table that seemed stacked several layers high, like something from an historical film.
Emslie, a towel around her neck and bottle that might not contain water in one hand, kissed the air beside Darcy’s cheeks. “Darcy! So glad you could make it.” Her greeting for Michael was less enthusiastic. “You’re…?” Her glance flickered between them and her expression cleared. “You’re Darcy’s boyfriend, of course! Come, help yourselves—there’s punch,” she said with a wink, “and this huge table of ridiculous food.”
Although Michael had not minded the seniors of Darcy’s art class thinking of them as boyfriends, Darcy wasn’t sure he’d want everyone to think so. “He’s not—” Darcy began, but Emslie was already off air-kissing more cheeks.
“Don’t worry about it,” Michael said, grinning as if he found it amusing. “I don’t mind, and it’d probably take too long to explain anyway.” His smile faded into concern. “Unless it bothers you.”
Darcy shook his head slowly. It didn’t bother him. Being seen as unavailable was easier than confessing he wasn’t gay or straight or feeling guilty about it afterwards. “No, it doesn’t bother me.”
Michael’s easy grin returned. His convivial mood throughout the concert, and seeming amusement now, made it easy to relax and roll with the flow.
As if Michael understood how twitchy crowds made him—and he clearly did—he was always ready to grab Darcy’s hand as he navigated the room, the table, the people. He even waited outside the washroom door when nature called.
Darcy hadn’t imagined he’d like someone trying to protect him, but it was not unpleasant at all.
They ended up taking a cab back to Starving Artists’ Alley. The clothes they’d worn in anticipation of the heat of the arena weren’t enough to ward off the chill of an October night, no matter how early in October it was.
The cab drove away, and Darcy tilted his head back in expectation of Michael requesting a kiss, as he did every time they were out together. When it didn’t happen, he opened his eyes to see Michael grinning at him.
“What?” he demanded, feeling caught off guard, without knowing why.
“You want me to kiss you. You were asking for it.”
Darcy’s face suddenly burned in the chilly night air. He hoped the streetlights weren’t bright enough to show it. “Wasn’t. You always want to kiss me good night.”
“You benefit too.”
More or less. He would know how to kiss for any upcoming job that might require it. “I didn’t say otherwise.” He hoped that didn’t sound as petulant to Michael as it did to his own ears.
“Sure,” Michael said. If he meant to sound soothing, the big grin on his face kept it from doing so. “So do I still need to ask?”
Darcy tightened his mouth defiantly, but his head still tilted upwards again.
Michael, still grinning, took him gently by the shoulders. Darcy could feel the warmth of Michael’s hands through his thin jacket and shirt. He shivered, feeling the chill of the night all the more.
Then Michael’s lips were on his, warm, sweet from the punch they’d drunk backstage. His breath ghosted like a summer breeze across Darcy’s cheek.
Darcy wanted to push in closer, steal the heat of Michael’s body, but that seemed more intimate than their relationship allowed. Which was a funny thought given they were kissing.
A smile replaced the purse of his lips and Michael matched it, smile to smile, before he stepped back and said, “G’night, Darcy.”
“Night.”
It was too cold to watch Michael walk away, and he wondered if he should have invited him up. But no, he had an early day tomorrow and it was already late enough.
It was confirmed—Darcy’s character was going to die in the season finale. The death of Dana didn’t really come as a surprise to Darcy. He’d known going in that he wouldn’t be picked up as a recurring regular. Still, it would have been nice if the writers had just killed off Dana’s father and let him go back to the generic city life he’d run from. If only because it left room for Dana to come back at some future date, hopefully not in drag.
Weirdly enough, they were also going to make a Holiday Special, which seemed like it would air after the finale of the thirteen-episode season. Why Dana would be part of that, he didn’t know.