Where is he?!

He's not...

"Max?" Julian's scanning the bar too. The band before us starts their second song. I have to start getting my stuff ready but I'm too worried. "He's not here."

"I know." Where is he? Why isn't he here? He's never been late before...

There's a soft hissing sound behind me as Tobey tests his cymbals. He looks at me sideways through narrow brown eyes. "Ants got in your pants?" he says to me sweetly. I give him the finger.

Gabe's going over the songs carefully, sitting on a badly scratched plastic stool deep in the wings, his bottle-green eyes intent on the notes. He and Tobey are the only ones who actually learned music in school, so they do most of the songwriting and we just chip in.

His lips are moving, but I can't hear him over the noise of the other band. How can he read in there? How can he hear himself with all this shit going on?

Once in a while he closes his eyes and nods to the music in his head. Now that I think about it, his looks don't match his voice. He should have long blond or dark hair, like Eddie Vedder or Van Halen. He should look more...I don't know. More like the lead singer of a rock band. Gabe has, instead, short chestnut hair cut in a messy, tousled boy-band way, like Nick Carter in the early days of the Backstreet "okay, we're all gay" Boys. And green eyes shaped sort of like cats' eyes: a little bigger than usual in guys, tilted a bit downward towards the nose, deep-set. And he has a surfer kind of body, except with not as many muscles. Lead singers should be more, well, pretty. Or manly. Gabe isn't either of those things.

I suddenly realize what I'm doing. I'm trying to see Gabe through Tripper's eyes. If I can figure out what Tripper sees in Gabe, maybe I can find out what he likes. Maybe I can figure him out.

Which reminds me. I sneak back up to the edge of the wings again, peek out. No pretty Jappy boy.

Goddammit, where IS he?!

* * *

First set done. He still hasn't shown up.

"Maybe he's late," offers Julian tentatively. He's starting to look worried too. Even Gabe has a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"He's never been late before," I snap back, grabbing my water bottle as one of the bar staff hands it to me. The girl gives me a "well, excuse me, Mr Rock Star" look and leaves. Well, how the hell am I supposed to act normal when our only fan doesn't show for the first time in our whole tiny fucking career???

Tobey rolls his eyes and gulps his beer at the same time. His special trick. "Jesus, Max! You think the boy isn't off doing something else for a change? People have lives, you know. Jobs. Night school, how should I know? Drink your water and get your ass up there, and this time try not to play like you have frostbite."

But as I push angrily past him, I see his eyes flicker toward the door. The big fake...he's worried too.

Jobs. Is Tripper...is someone...Somehow the thought hurts even more than it used to. I watch that boy all the time. I love him. And people he doesn't even know get more from him than I do.

No time to think about that now; I have a show to do. Never let it be said I wasn't there for the band.

* * *

Sometimes it seems like me and the rest of the band have been with each other forever.

Julian and I went to the same high school. I'd lived in New York all my life; he was a black-haired, soft-spoken country boy up from South Carolina. I brought my Gibson to school one day; he came up to me, asked to try it out, and we hit it off pretty well from there. We were both quiet types, neither too outstanding or too weird. So we hung out just mostly with each other, although I wouldn't really call it friendship : watched TV, tinkered with the guitar. He bought a bass soon after that, and we'd jam sometimes, just covers. Any songs we tried to write mostly sucked, although I flatter myself we were pretty good otherwise.

Then, a few months before grad, we saw the flyer. It said AUDITIONS, and it had a date and a place, and that was all we needed to know. We went and met a guy built like a trucker with a college accent on his swearwords, and an unassuming young man with "California" in big signs all over him. Tobey and Gabe were in NYU then...still are, actually, although Tobey's graduating this year.

And that, as they say, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Julian and I went from being classmates to bandmates, to roommates, to, finally, friends. I found out he's a pretty good friend, once I started talking. Knows when to nod and be sympathetic, and when to kick my ass when I'm whining.

Tobey's an okay guy. He's really smart, even though he looks like one of those guys who work in construction and make rude comments to women who pass by. I mean, you know what they say about drummers? Tobey completely defies that. But sometimes I think he took special classes in Being An Asshole 101, or How To Annoy Your Friends In 10 Easy Lessons. Don't let it fool you; he's a big softy under there. Somewhere.

And then there's Gabe. You know Gabe. I can't really explain him properly anyway.

And me? Well, I play guitar, and I like boys. And that's really all there is to say about me.

* * *

That's it. We're done. Time to pack up and go home, and still no sign of my boy.

And then I catch a flash of color outside, by the stage exit. I drop my guitar---my faithful Gibson, I love that guitar, but I drop it--and run, dodging amps, leaping over wires in my hurry to get outside.

He jumps when I throw the door open, and then he turns and runs.

I know I should let him go. I can't. I know it was my fault that he's not showing his face tonight. But I've let him run off too many times, and I am fucking damned if I let him get away again.

I don't care if he's in love with Gabe. I want to make friends anyway. He just seems so lonely. Maybe if he got a new set of friends (I don't even know if he has any) he'd be happier. Maybe he and Gabe could even end up together. That thought kind of hurts, but I think it hurts a lot less than the thought of him all alone, sucking off pedophiles for a living, always uncertain and unhappy.

So I chase him down the parking lot and grab him by the arm; the momentum spins him around to face me. He lets out this little scream, and it feels like it could cut right through my chest. Who's grabbed at him before, to make him so afraid? Or is he just scared of me?

"I'm sorry," I gasp, letting go of his skinny wrist. The skin was cool, but just for a second I'd felt his pulse under my finger. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just didn't want you to go." My ears are so hot I think they might just fall off. Wouldn't that be embarrassing.

God, why am I doing this? Is he listening? Please don't let him run away. I love this boy. I don't know him yet, but I love him.

"You don't have to hide from us. We missed you during the set. We always see you dancing, or something. It just doesn't feel normal, playing when you're not there."

His eyes widen a little, so black and deep. Insert cliche of depth here; I could say something like I could fall forever into his eyes. But I can't say anything, even something lame.

"R...really?" he whispers, his accent making the word sound like "reeri?"

"Yeah." A flash of inspiration hits. "Gabe was wondering where you were." Evil of me, but it's more than worth it just to see his face light up like that. I've got him now. Just a little more persuasion...

"Please. Come and have dinner and hang out with us. You don't have to make conversation if you don't want to; Tobey and I usually talk enough for everybody. C'mon. Please?"

He hesitates, and then says shyly, "Okay," a deep blush staining his cheeks. He casts his black lashes downward very demurely, and then makes me a little bow from the waist. "Thank you very much."

There he goes again! Prostitutes don't blush, and his manners are way too good for someone who grew up on the street. Tripper is well-bred. So why is he selling himself to furtive old men in town cars?

I can find that out later. I have all the time in the world. Right now I only need to ask the easy questions.

"So, what is your name anyway? I didn't catch it the other night."

Blush again. "Hisamu."

My problem with Japanese names is that I don't really hear them as words, but as sounds. Tripper's name sounds like silk sliding off metal. He has to repeat it twice before I get it right.

"Shisenu?"

"Hisamu."

"Chisumu?"

He laughs! I can't believe it, Tripper's actually laughing. Sometimes it's great to be an idiot.

"Hi - sa - mu," he enunciates clearly, still laughing softly. I get it more or less right this time, although I can't say the hi or the u like he does.

"Very good," he says, and gives me a lovely smile.

I float happily back to the stage entrance with him, only to find the rest of the band clustered in the doorway watching us. Both Tripper and I turn a brilliant red.

Gabe is smiling like a benevolent god, which just makes Tripper go redder when I introduce them. (His name is beautiful, but I still want to call him Tripper, in my head where he can't hear.) Julian is grinning, and he shakes Tripper's hand, which startles the boy. And Tobey is smirking all over his big smartass face.

Do I even care?

* * *

Burger King for dinner. Tripper insists on paying for himself. When I open my mouth, he gives me a small, quiet look. Not fierce, or stubborn, not any kind of don't-mess-with-me look. Just a gentle smile, a tiny one that somehow reminds me I don't know the least thing about him, so it wouldn't do to cross his lines before I even know what they are.

I jam my wallet back in my pocket.

He's quiet for the whole meal, but I know he's watching all of us, drinking us in like his bottomless Coke. His pretty eyes follow each of us in turn as he munches silently, but I see them darting back to Gabe a lot. Then to me: he knows I'm watching him stare at Gabe.

When he watches us, there's a kind of wistful look on his little face, like a street kid looking into a toy shop window on Christmas. Tobey winds up a great joke that takes six minutes to build up, and we all explode in laughter. And Tripper smiles, not at the joke (he doesn't seem to understand it) but at us, at his idols. And it's a very sad smile.

This was a mistake. He never wanted to come.

I'm as pigheaded as the next guy when I want to be, though. And I want to spend more time with him. I waited months for this chance; no way am I letting it go now. So I push it. As we leave the burger place I take him aside, just beside the exit, and ask him if he feels up to a night of hanging out with us.

He doesn't. Looks for a minute like I just asked him to have sex with me. I don't see what's wrong about hanging out with the band. I mean, he wanted to meet us, didn't he? He showed up every night for our shows and never left till we were done. Even when we sucked he loved us. So...he should be happy, right? Why is he so fucking scared of us?

I don't want him to go yet. I'll do anything.

"Gabe wanted me to ask you, " I say desperately. "He..."

The look on his beautiful face stops me. "Please don't lie, Max," he says softly. He lingers on the "x" in my name, breaking it up into its component syllables. Mak-ku-su.

"I--I'm not, I..."

A slender, pale hand reaches forward and captures mine. Suddenly I can't breathe. This is better than anything I ever dreamed of. Well, not better than everything I imagined, but definitely better than anything I expected. He's making the first move this time. His hand is petal-soft...and warm...and so comfy curled up in my fingers...

"You are the one who wants me to stay," he informs me gently.

My knees feel...gone. "I..." Ah, to hell with it all. "Yeah. I...I do."

"Why?" almost wonderingly. He tilts his head a bit to one side to gaze up at me, like a small elegant bird.

The hand curled in mine seems to lend me confidence. "Because...I've been watching you. Since you first showed up to listen to us. And you seemed so...sweet..." God, I'm blushing so hard I think my face is going to evaporate. I want to tell him about the time he cried, but I don't think he wants to talk about that just yet. "And I just, well, I always look for you, and I think," I swallow before going on in a rush, "I think I love you."

For a moment it's like his eyes aren't human eyes at all. They turn into these two little black pits of terrible sadness. I didn't expect that. I've never seen that kind of look in anyone's eyes before. Where the hell did a kid so young get so much grief? And what did I say to bring it all back?

But the look is gone again, and there's only the quiet little do-you-really-know-me smile. "Will you come home with me?" he asks softly.

Will I...? Am I dreaming? Is Tripper asking me to come home with him?

"W-what about Gabe?" I stammer.

Another small smile, this one a little bitter. "He does not like boys."

He knows this from a few hours of hanging out with Gabe? Well, it's true Gabe isn't gay. He's not so much into girls as most guys our age, either. Gabe is the rare breed of guy who still believes in stuff like "true love" and the "One". But I personally thought that Tripper could change anybody's mind. I was actually kind of hoping I could convince Gabe somehow, kind of nudge him Tripper's way. But now...

But now Tripper's asking me to go home with him. To his actual place.

"And you are very nice," he adds wistfully. "And," in a whisper, "and I am very lonely..."

Ah, God. That does it. I have to. I pull a little on his hand, and he comes closer, and lifts his face, and...

...and it's everything I ever dreamed of, his beautiful, lush lips on mine, tasting a bit like charbroiled burger and ketchup but who cares, who the hell cares. His arms slide round my neck and I press him gently against the wall, his tongue slipping expertly into my mouth, his body molding itself to mine, moving against me in all the right places. I've never been kissed like this--he knows exactly what to do. But even if he didn't know a thing, just the fact that it's him kissing me now, my beautiful Tripper...that'd be enough.

My dreams are starting to come true.

END PART 2