Episode 1

Lucas

My Uber stopped outside The Loft. I sat there for a moment and watched the excitement on the street through the tinted window. People talked and laughed near the entrance, while others made their way inside. The sun sat high enough to make the theater's glass doors glare. Marcus hadn't been kidding about tonight being packed.

I grabbed my overnight bag and wrestled my suitcase out of the back seat.

"Thanks," I told the driver and paid.

The sidewalk radiated heat as I stepped out. I held up one hand to block the sun and spotted Marcus and Becca near the entrance. Marcus saw me first, his whole face lighting up.

"Lucas!" Becca waved. "You made it!"

I crossed the sidewalk to them, dragging the suitcase behind me. Becca pulled me into a hug before I could set anything down, and Marcus followed with one of those backslapping embraces that made my ribs complain.

"Good to see you." Marcus stepped back, then spotted the suitcase. His eyebrows climbed.

"What?"

"That. That is an enormous piece of furniture" Marcus circled around it like he was inspecting a suspicious package. "You planning to move in with us permanently?"

"Look, it's a perfectly reasonable—"

"It's the size of a small car," Becca cut in, trying not to laugh.

"From here it looks more like a shipping container." I turned. A bear of a guy with a greying beard grinned at us from near the entrance. His friends—five or six of them—had clearly heard every word and were already enjoying this way too much.

One of them leaned in. "Go on, Zach. Help the poor man."

"Everything alright?" Zach called over, committing fully to the bit. "Your friends kicking you to the curb already?"

"We're considering it," Marcus said, deadpan. "He's a lot of work."

Zach's friends were drifting closer now, all of them looking way too entertained.

"I can always offer shelter," Zach said, looking at me with an absolutely straight face. "If your so-called friends don't come through."

I couldn't help laughing. They wanted in on this, and honestly? I was having fun with it. "That's very generous."

"I mean it." He pulled out his phone, thumbs already dancing over the keyboard.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and opened the DM while Zach watched. The message was short: Serious offer. Great couch. Even better host.

I looked up, with a well-practiced smile on my face. "Confident."

His grin widened. "Accurate. Just making sure you know where to find me when these two kick you out."

I tapped my chin a few times, weighing the offer. "You know what? I'll give them one last chance to prove their friendship. But next time—" I gestured at his phone. "Next time, I'm definitely taking you up on that offer."

"The couch?" Zach let that sit for a second. "Or the host?"

I grinned. "Yes."

One of Zach's friends burst out laughing and started pulling him toward the door.

"The offer stands!" Zach called over his shoulder. "I've got plenty of room for you and that suitcase!"

"We're leaving now," one of his friends said, tugging Zach's arm harder.

"Maybe just you," Zach added, digging his heels in for one more line. "The suitcase can sleep outside."

"ZACH." His entire group physically herded him through the door.

"Text me!" he managed before disappearing inside.

Marcus waited until they were inside, then slowly turned to face me.

"Don't start," I said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it very loudly."

Becca laughed. "You went full actor mode for them. I watched the smile activate."

"They recognized me," I said, defensive. "I was being nice."

"You were being Lucas Hart," Marcus corrected. "There's a difference."

"They seemed like good fans. Might as well give them a story to tell."

"Oh, they have a story." Becca was still grinning. "Zach's never going to let his friends forget this. 'The time I flirted with Lucas Hart.'"

"I wasn't—" I stopped. "Okay, fine. A little. But it was harmless."

"Very professional," Marcus agreed. "The 'Yes' was a nice touch."

"I'm versatile."

Marcus shook his head, grinning. "Come on. Let's get your ridiculous luggage to the car before they start a group chat about the wedding."

I glanced back at the theater entrance. Zach and his friends were pressed against the glass doors, very obviously watching.

"Too late." Becca laughed. "I think they're already planning the seating chart."

I gave them a small wave. All six of them waved back immediately.

Then I added a wink.

Marcus's groan was immediate. "Oh my God. You're encouraging them."

"They seem nice!"

Becca shook her head. "You're still in actor mode. Turn it off."

I saluted her.

With an exasperated sigh she shook her head. "Unbelievable. Well. I'm getting snacks before the queue gets bad. You two get rid of this monstrosity before another fan service is due because of this."

Marcus and I grabbed the suitcase and hauled it down the block to where they'd parked. It was heavier than I remembered packing it.

Marcus heaved it into the trunk, brushing his hands off. "Heard anything about the pilot?"

"Nothing yet. Rachel's already pushing other projects, but I told her—not till I'm back."

"Good call." Marcus closed the trunk. "So, the house. Keeping it?"

"I don't know. Haven't seen it since I was a kid." I leaned against the car, watching the evening foot traffic pass by. "Might keep it. Might Airbnb it. Might turn it into some weird artist retreat. No idea."

Marcus grinned. "That's the Lucas I know."

Marcus and I headed back toward the theater. The sidewalk was busier now. More people milled around the entrance, clusters of theatergoers waiting for doors to open. A few heads turned as we approached, and I caught that familiar flicker of recognition on a couple of faces.

I gave them a simple smile. One girl waved enthusiastically, and I waved back.

Marcus glanced at his watch. "I should get backstage. Curtain's in twenty, and I still need to get into costume. Grab a seat—I'll see you after."

I caught the subtle eyeliner making his lashes even longer, the hint of shadow around his eyes. So well done I'd almost missed it.

"Twenty minutes is plenty when you've already got the makeup done. That probably took longer than the costume will."

Marcus grinned. "You noticed. Been here since four doing this."

"Worth it—looks great." I paused. "So how long does the actual costume take?"

"Three minutes. Maybe less."

"Should I be worried?"

"Probably." Marcus started backing toward the corner of the building. "Enjoy the show!"

"That's what I'm afraid of," I called after him.

His laugh echoed back as he disappeared around the corner toward the stage entrance.

Someone in the crowd shifted like they were about to approach, and I quickly dove into a cluster of people heading for the doors, letting myself get swept inside with the current.

Becca was already there, arms absolutely loaded—nachos, popcorn, two Cokes, a box of Maltesers, what looked like a bag of gummy bears, and some kind of chocolate bar. She was balancing it all with the ease of someone who'd done this a dozen times before, which didn't make it any less impressive.

"Are you preparing for hibernation?" I stared at the haul.

"It's your last night in LA." She handed me a Coke and the nachos. "You're not watching Marcus's show without snacks. I have standards."

"This could feed a small village."

"We're sharing," she said, already tearing into the Maltesers. "Well. Mostly."

Inside, The Loft had that perfect indie theater vibe. Proper stage with curtains, rows of velvet seats that had seen better days, small balcony running along the back. Four hundred seats, maybe, but the space still felt intimate. The house was already filling up, voices bouncing off the walls, and the air was warm with bodies and anticipation. We found our seats about six rows back, center, and I settled in with nachos balanced on my knee.

Around us, the audience was buzzing—conversations overlapping, laughter breaking out in pockets, programs rustling. Someone behind us was explaining the plot to their friend in excited whispers.

I glanced back to scan the crowd and caught sight of Zach and his friends settling into seats a few rows behind us. Zach spotted me at the same moment and grinned, giving me an enthusiastic wave.

I waved back, trying not to laugh.

"Your fan club made it inside." Becca followed my gaze. "Should I save them seats at the reception?"

"Very funny."

"I'm just saying, they seemed very committed to the seating chart—"

The lights dimmed, cutting her off, and the audience noise dropped to scattered whispers and then silence.

Saved.

The overture opened and I was already grinning. The full orchestra in the pit sounded massive. Brass cutting through bright and clear, strings carrying everything underneath. I was sitting forward before I realized it. God, I'd forgotten what live music could do. The whole theater felt it, that energy building and swirling until everyone was holding their breath.

The curtain rose, and I caught my breath. Warm amber light flooded the stage, sunset colors washing over an LA skyline painted across the back wall. Fire escapes, brick buildings, the whole urban landscape catching that golden-hour glow.

Becca's hand found my arm, squeezing once. When I glanced at her, she was grinning from ear to ear, eyes sparkling and wide.

The overture melted into the opening number, and suddenly the stage was full. Ensemble flooding on, different characters weaving around each other without ever really connecting. A woman with grocery bags. A guy in a suit checking his phone. Someone with headphones, completely lost in their own world. All of them invisible to each other, moving through the painted city alone.

Their voices started layering, building on each other, singing about being unseen, about waiting for someone to notice them, to pull them out of the daily grind. Around me, I could feel the audience leaning in. Someone behind us let out a soft "oh" of recognition.

The music swelled, all those separate voices coming together but never quite meeting, and then the ensemble scattered. The stage opened up—a platform rising at the back, revealing a rooftop against the painted skyline.

And there was Marcus.

Alone, silhouetted against the sunset.

He took the ensemble's theme and made it his. Smaller, more personal. His voice cut through the space, clear and aching, a tenor that turned their collective loneliness into something raw and immediate. I'd heard Marcus sing a hundred times before—acting school showcases, tiny productions where we'd all pitched in to cover rental fees—but this was different.

This was Marcus at his best.

Someone in the back row hooted when he hit his first big note. Becca's grip on my arm tightened, and when I glanced at her again, her eyes were already wet with tears, that huge grin still plastered across her face.

Yeah. He really was incredible.

The show pulled me in completely. Scenes bled into songs, Marcus and the ensemble building something that felt way bigger than the theater could hold. I lost track of time somewhere in the second act, forgot about the nachos balanced on my knee, forgot Becca was still gripping my arm. And then suddenly we were in the finale.

The music swelled. The whole cast flooded onstage, voices layering over each other in this massive, gorgeous wall of sound, and Marcus was right in the center of it, singing and moving like he'd been born doing this.

The audience started rising before the final note even landed. I was on my feet with them, hands already coming together, and then everyone was clapping. The sound filled the whole theater. Four hundred people losing their minds, cheering and whistling. My hands started to sting, but I kept going.

Marcus took his bow, and his face was wet with tears. The rest of the cast was crying too, arms around each other, and the applause just wouldn't stop. It kept building, wave after wave.

Becca grabbed my arm, pulling me close so I could hear her over the noise. "This is what he does!" Her eyes were shining, her whole face lit up.

I knew. I'd known Marcus was talented. But watching it happen right in front of me—seeing him own that stage, seeing four hundred strangers on their feet for him—yeah. It hit different.

The lights came up slowly, and people started filtering toward the exits, still buzzing with energy, voices overlapping in excited chatter. Becca tugged my arm.

"Come on. Let's go tell him he's amazing."

Backstage was chaos.

We squeezed through a narrow hallway that smelled like dust and old paint, dodging crew members hauling equipment and cast still in costume. Everyone was talking over each other, that post-show energy making voices loud and bright. Somewhere ahead, a champagne bottle popped, and plastic cups appeared, getting passed hand to hand. In the corner, the director was giving some kind of tearful speech, but no one was listening. They were all too busy laughing and hugging and reliving the show.

Marcus spotted us and cut across the room, pulling both of us into a hug that smelled like stage makeup and sweat.

"What did you think?" He pulled back, face flushed and shining. "Be honest—was it terrible?"

"Are you kidding?" I shook my head. "That was—I don't even have words. You were incredible."

Becca beamed. "You nailed the finale. I told you you would."

"I almost missed my cue in the second act." Marcus ran a hand through his hair, laughing. "Thought I was going to black out for a second."

"No one noticed. You looked like you'd done it a thousand times."

One of the ensemble members—a woman with her costume half-undone and her makeup smeared from crying—grabbed Marcus's arm. "Your friends?"

"Yeah." Marcus gestured to us. "Lucas and Becca. They won't be able to stay long, though. Lucas is leaving tomorrow."

She blinked at me. "Leaving? Where are you going?"

"Germany."

"Germany?" Her head tilted. "Why would anyone leave LA for Germany?"

I couldn't help smiling. "Just for a few months. Family stuff."

Her eyebrows lifted, interest sparking. "Oh. You have family there?"

"Distant relatives. Just handling some things."

"That's so—" she started, but someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her into a hug, and she got swept back into the crowd with a quick wave in my direction.

Marcus watched her go, then turned back to us. "Give me ten minutes? I need to shower and get out of this costume. Then we can get out of here."

Becca wrinkled her nose. "Please do. You smell like a theater."

Marcus drew himself up. "I smell like art."

"You smell like sweat and stage makeup," I helped.

"That's what I said. Art." Marcus grinned. "Ten minutes. I promise."

Becca checked her phone. "We're timing you. I'm starving."

I turned to look at her. "Wait. You're what?"

"Starving."

"You ate—" I gestured vaguely at the theater. "—all of that. The nachos, the Maltesers, the everything. How are you possibly—"

And then it clicked.

"Oh my God. You're not human."

Before she could respond, I grabbed her shoulders. "Where did you take the real Becca?!"

Becca burst out laughing, trying to swat my hands away. "Stop!"

I shook her gently. "Alien preparing for hibernation. I knew it. Where is she?"

"I'm still me!" Becca was laughing too hard to defend herself properly.

Marcus shook his head, trying not to laugh. "You two are ridiculous. Ten minutes. Try not to expose any extraterrestrials while I'm gone."

He disappeared into the crowd, and Becca elbowed me in the ribs, still grinning.

Becca and I kept mingling while Marcus disappeared to shower and change. The champagne kept flowing, plastic cups passed hand to hand, everyone still riding that post-show high.

He reappeared nine minutes later. Hair damp, back in street clothes.

Becca checked her phone. "I'm impressed."

"I'm efficient." Marcus grabbed his jacket. "Alpenrose?"

"Obviously."

Someone pulled him into a photo, and Becca tugged my arm. "Come on. We'll meet him outside."

The October air hit cool against my face after the warmth of backstage. The street was quieter now, crowds already dispersing. I leaned against the brick wall, and a minute later Marcus emerged, shoving his phone in his pocket.

"Ready?"

The restaurant was only a couple blocks away, so we left the car where it was and started walking.

The air was still warm. Marcus walked ahead, staring at every menu board and food photo we passed. A man running on empty after two hours onstage. Becca and I followed at an easier pace, letting him lead.

A bus sat stopped at the corner, doors open, people streaming off.

Marcus froze mid-step.

I followed his gaze.

My face. Ten feet tall on the side of the bus. The Crimson Throne advertisement—me in full costume as Prince Adrian, standing with a sword raised, crimson magic crackling around the blade. My co-star Elena pressed against my side, her hand on my chest. The tagline blazed across the bottom: POWER. PASSION. BETRAYAL. FINAL SEASON STREAMING NOW.

One of the bus's tinted windows sat perfectly over my left eye. Made it look like Prince Adrian had a massive black eye.

Marcus made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

Becca's hand flew to her mouth.

The bus pulled away.

We stood there on the sidewalk, watching my ten-foot bruised face disappear down La Brea.

Marcus lost it. Full body laughter, bent double, wheezing.

"The black eye—" He couldn't finish.

"I saw it."

"Prince Adrian looks like he lost a bar fight—"

I rubbed both hands over my face.

Becca grinned. "You're famous. Get used to it."

"If they'd told us in acting class we'd end up ten feet tall with magic swords on buses," I said, starting to walk again, "I might have reconsidered my career options."

Marcus fell into step beside me, sweeping his hand through the air like reading floating letters. "Too late now. You're Lucas Hart, guy-with-his-face-on-buses. That ship has sailed."

We were almost at the restaurant when Becca stopped walking.

"Oh my God."

Marcus and I both turned. "What?"

She was staring at a café. Closed now, metal shutters pulled down, but the sign was still visible above the door. Faded letters: Groundwork Coffee.

"Do you guys remember this place?"

Marcus squinted at the sign, then his eyes widened. "Wait. No way. This is—"

"The terrible coffee shop," I finished. "I haven't thought about this place in years."

"God, we spent so many hours in here." Becca shook her head. "How did we forget about this?"

Marcus laughed. "Because the coffee was awful and we were broke. Not exactly prime memory material."

Becca turned to me. "Wasn't this when Lucas was dating that comic book guy? And you got really into D&D for absolutely no reason?"

"Hey, I still love that game."

"Yeah. Sure, man." Marcus grinned. "But it definitely helped that the guy was ripped as fuck."

I couldn't exactly argue with that. "That...might have been a factor."

"What was his name?" Becca asked.

I could see him. Dark hair, stupidly handsome, shirtless half the time explaining dice mechanics. That grin when he'd rolled a natural twenty. But his name?

Nothing.

"It was..." I paused. "Something with a D?"

"Oh my God. You don't remember."

Marcus was laughing. "You dated him for three months."

"Four months," I corrected. "And I remember what he looked like. Great eyes. Great... dice rolls."

Marcus nearly choked on his laugh. "Dice rolls."

"Very skilled dungeon master," I added, and Becca burst out laughing.

"I'm sure he was," Marcus said, deadpan.

My face was definitely warm now. "Can we move on?"

"This is the guy you were going to marry," Becca said, wiping her eyes. "You had a whole vision board."

"I did not—"

"You absolutely did," Marcus said. "You showed us apartment listings in Silver Lake. You'd already picked out which room would be his studio."

"That was just... looking."

"You picked out paint colors," Becca added.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. "They were nice colors."

"For the dungeon," Marcus murmured.

They were both laughing now, and I couldn't help it—I was too. It was ridiculous. All of it. The vision board, the paint swatches, the fact that I'd gone all-in on a guy whose name I couldn't even remember anymore.

The smell of schnitzel and beer was already in the air, drifting from Alpenrose down the block. Marcus had gone quiet, staring at the restaurant with the kind of longing usually reserved for lost loves. I was pretty sure I heard a growl coming from somewhere in the vicinity of his body.

"Come on." I started toward the restaurant. "Let's get you fed before you collapse."

Becca linked her arm through mine. "You're terrible at protesting."

Marcus pushed the door open. "I'm hungry. And Lucas is buying."

"I am?"

"You're rich and famous now. It's only fair."

"Outside?" the host asked when he saw us, already grabbing menus.

"God, yes," Marcus said.

The patio out back was small. Six wooden tables under strings of fairy lights. Red bulbs, blue, green, yellow, all swaying slightly overhead. The air smelled like beer and fried food and warm October night.

Marcus dropped into his seat with a groan that sounded almost indecent.

"You good?" I asked, sliding into the chair across from him.

"I will be once I have actual food in my body."

Becca sat beside him, already scanning her menu. I picked mine up.

"So, how authentic do you think this place is? Real German food or German-American fusion nonsense?"

I set my menu down. "No idea."

"Didn't you visit your aunt when you were a kid?"

"Aunt Greta, yeah. Once. Maybe twice." I stared past Marcus at the brick wall behind him, trying to remember anything from back then. "I'm pretty sure I was about seven."

I tried to picture it, but nothing concrete came. "Honestly? I remember basically nothing. Old stairs that creaked, I think. And the kitchen always smelled like cinnamon." I shrugged. "That's it. I probably spent the whole visit begging for chicken nuggets."

Marcus grinned. "So you're going into this completely blind."

"Pretty much."

"Were you close? You and your aunt?"

"Not really. After my mom..." I trailed off, took a drink.

Becca waited.

"Lost touch with that whole side of the family. Didn't even know she'd died until the lawyers found me—what, two years later? I'd moved like five times..."

Her expression shifted—that look she got when she was trying to decide whether to push or let something go.

"She still left you a house."

"Yeah. She did."

"Maybe she knew you'd need it someday," Marcus said.

"Or maybe I was just the only living relative they could find."

Marcus rubbed his face. "Lucas."

"I'm serious. I didn't stay in touch. I didn't call. I didn't even know she'd died." I set my glass down. "I'm not exactly winning family member of the year."

"You were dealing with your own shit," Becca said quietly. "That's not—"

The food arrived, cutting off whatever she was about to say. The server set plates down in front of us: schnitzel for Marcus, bratwurst for Becca, sauerkraut and potatoes for me. Marcus immediately picked up his fork like a man who'd been waiting his entire life for this moment.

"You're going to come back twenty pounds heavier from all the discovery eating," Becca said, cutting into her bratwurst.

"Or I'll be cycling and hiking everywhere and come back ripped."

"Please. Remember Yellowstone?"

"What about it?"

"First it was the bugs," Marcus said.

"Then the sun," Becca added.

"Then the bears we never saw," Marcus continued.

"Then the sun again."

"There was a lot of sun," I said.

"You didn't stop complaining," Becca said, grinning, "until we were on the highway back and you saw the city."

"Civilization," I corrected. "I saw civilization."

"Right." Marcus grinned. "'Civilization.' You're going to find the nearest café with WiFi and never leave."

They weren't wrong.

We ate for a while in comfortable silence, the Yellowstone roasting giving way to easier topics.

Marcus swirled his wine. "Six weeks in Germany. In winter."

"Yeah, I know. Brilliant timing on my part."

"You're going to freeze," Becca said.

"I'll buy a coat."

"A California coat or an actual coat?" Marcus asked.

"What's the difference?"

"About forty degrees," Becca said.

I laughed. "Fine. I'll buy an actual coat."

"Six weeks, though," Marcus said. "That's a long time to sort out a house."

"I know. Honestly, I have no idea what I'll do with myself."

"You'll get restless after three days," Becca predicted.

"Four days," I corrected. "Give me some credit."

Marcus laughed. "You're going to text us constantly, aren't you?"

"Every. Single. Day."

"But you'll be back before Christmas?" Becca asked. "Early December?"

"That's the plan. Definitely before the holidays."

"Good," Marcus said. "We're already planning the menu."

"Ambitious, considering last year's turkey disaster."

"That was one time," Marcus protested.

"Memorable," I said, grinning.

The server cleared our plates. Marcus ordered a bottle of wine for the table, and when it arrived, the mood shifted. Lighter, warmer.

"To Germany," Marcus said, raising his glass.

"To coming back," Becca added.

I raised my glass. "To us."

We drank, and the wine was good, rich and smooth, warming me from the inside out. The patio emptied around us, the evening winding down, but we stayed at our table under the fairy lights, the conversation meandering through old memories and half-formed plans.

Marcus was still riding the high from the show—I could see it in the way he kept grinning, the restless energy in his hands. "God, tonight felt surreal. You know how many auditions it took to get here?" He shook his head. "Years of 'we'll let you know' and 'you're not quite what we're looking for.' And tonight—" He gestured at the theater behind us. "Four hundred people. Standing ovation."

His phone buzzed on the table. Then again. And again.

Marcus picked it up, his eyes widening as he scrolled. "Oh my god."

"What?" Becca leaned closer.

"Someone posted a video from the show." Marcus turned the screen so we could see—a performance shot from tonight. Him mid-choreography in a white tank top, completely soaked through.

I nearly choked on my wine.

"The comments—" Marcus was scrolling, his face flushing. "'Tell me why this man's voice just awakened something in me.' 'The ARMS in that costume, I cannot.' 'I need him to ruin my life.'"

Another notification. Then another.

"Oh god, now they're finding my Instagram." Marcus kept scrolling. "'Wait, he's friends with Lucas Hart?' 'LUCAS HART WAS AT THE SHOW TONIGHT?!'" His eyes widened. "Someone just posted a photo of us hugging outside the theater before the show."

"Oh no," I said.

"'They're FRIENDS?' 'The fanfic writes itself.' 'NEW SHIP UNLOCKED.'" Marcus was still scrolling, his bewilderment shifting toward something closer to panic. "Someone's asking if we're together. Multiple people are asking if we're together."

The notifications kept lighting up his screen.

"Wait—" Marcus stopped scrolling. His face went pale. "This photo isn't real."

"What do you mean?" Becca leaned in.

Marcus turned the screen. It was us—supposedly us—making out against a brick wall. Extremely detailed. Completely fake.

Becca's eyes went wide, then she started laughing. Not polite laughing—full-body, tears-streaming-down-her-face laughing.

"It gets worse," Marcus said, still scrolling. "Someone made one of us in bed. Like—cuddling. We're both shirtless. There's mood lighting. Someone put a filter on it to make it look like a Polaroid."

Becca was wheezing now, gripping the table for support.

"How is this even possible? This was posted fifteen minutes ago. The show ended an hour ago!" Marcus looked genuinely distressed. "Someone's already written fanfiction. It's called 'Backstage Pass' and it's got three chapters."

"Three chapters?!" I couldn't help it—I started laughing too.

"It's not funny!" Marcus said, but he was starting to crack. "Someone made an edit set to a Lana Del Rey song. We're walking in slow motion. There's rose petals. I don't—when did anyone even film us walking?"

Becca had given up entirely. She had her head down on the table, shoulders shaking.

"There's a poll," Marcus said weakly. "'Who's the top?' Sixty-three people have voted. Lucas is winning."

That broke me. I was laughing so hard I had to set my wine down.

"I'm getting DMs from your fans now," Marcus said, scrolling with the resigned air of someone watching their life spiral. "Someone wants to know if I'm single. Someone else wants to know if you're single. Someone wants to know if we're open to a third."

Becca made a sound that might have been a scream or might have been more laughter. It was hard to tell.

"Welcome to my life," I managed.

Marcus set his phone face-down on the table like it had personally betrayed him. "Tomorrow I'm going to get hit on taking out the trash, aren't I?"

"Probably," I said, still trying to catch my breath. "And when you're trying to buy milk. And definitely if you go near a coffee shop."

Marcus looked at me, and I could see him processing it—the reality of what being visible actually meant. The absurdity. The complete lack of control.

"This is insane," he said quietly.

Becca finally lifted her head from the table, mascara smudged, still giggling. "Your mentions are exploding. The gays have found you. Both of you."

"At least it'll blow over in like three days," Marcus said, picking up his wine again. "Next week someone else will do something viral and everyone will forget I exist."

"Three glorious days of chaos," Becca said, grinning. "Enjoy it."

Marcus's phone buzzed again. He glanced at it, then flipped it face-down with a groan. "I'm turning off notifications. This is ridiculous."

"Good idea," I said.

"Backstage Pass," Marcus muttered, shaking his head. "Three chapters. In an hour."

"Give it a week," I said. "There'll be a whole series."

"With fan art," Becca added helpfully.

Marcus looked genuinely alarmed. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm not joking," I said.

"Oh god."

The server appeared at our table, looking pointedly at the empty patio around us. "Can I get you folks anything else? Last call."

Becca checked her phone. "Oh shit, it's nearly midnight. We should go."

I pulled out my card and handed it to the server.

He took it, then hesitated. "Hey, I don't usually do this, but—would you mind a quick selfie while the payment goes through?"

"Sure." I stood up, and the server pulled out his phone.

Marcus and Becca watched, still grinning, as the server and I posed for the photo. He checked it, thanked me about five times, then disappeared to run my card.

"See?" Marcus said. "That's what I've got to look forward to. For three whole days."

"Yep," I said, sitting back down. "Welcome to the circus."

The server came back with the receipt. I added a generous tip and signed it, and we gathered our things as the last of the patio lights clicked off around us.

We walked back to where they'd parked, and I hauled my suitcase out of the trunk while Marcus called an Uber. None of us were driving after that much wine.

The Uber arrived. Black sedan. We loaded in, suitcase taking up half the back seat. Marcus gave the address and we pulled away from the curb.

LA at night slid past the windows. Empty streets, streetlights making everything orange and soft, the occasional late-night bar still glowing. The city felt quiet. Almost peaceful. Like it was saying goodbye.

The driver dropped us at Marcus and Becca's building. We took the lift up, too tired to talk, just standing there watching the numbers climb. Third floor. The hallway smelled like someone's dinner and old carpet.

Marcus unlocked the door and we filed in. Small one-bedroom, familiar and cluttered and warm. My suitcase went by the couch.

"Blankets are in the closet," Becca said, already heading toward their bedroom. "You know where everything is."

"Thanks." I looked at both of them. "And tomorrow—"

"We're taking you to the airport," Marcus said.

"I know. Just..." I paused. "Keep it together, yeah? Both of you."

Becca and Marcus exchanged a look.

"We'll see," Becca said, grinning.

"I'm serious—"

"Good night, Lucas," Marcus said, still grinning.

They disappeared into the bedroom, and I stood there in the living room, surrounded by my suitcase and their life, and tried not to think about how much I was going to miss this.