𝙴𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ★ 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ★

𝒩𝑒𝑔𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

The house was quiet again. Too quiet. The clock ticked softly, each second dragging as you curled up on the couch, a book in hand that you hadn't turned the page of in what felt like hours. Your eyes kept drifting to the front door, waiting for the sound of Eric's key in the lock, the familiar creak of his boots on the hardwood floor. But the silence stretched on.

He was with KISS. Again.

You sighed, tossing the book aside. It wasn't his fault, you told yourself. It was his dream—he had worked so hard for this, practiced for years to earn his place with the band. And now he was living it, traveling the world, playing sold-out shows, and recording albums with legends. You were proud of him. You loved him. But sometimes, you felt like a shadow in the corner of his life, fading into the background as the band took center stage.

It had been weeks since you had a real conversation with him, months since you'd spent more than a few days together without the looming threat of another tour or recording session pulling him away. Phone calls were brief, always ending with, "I've gotta go, babe. Paul's calling for me," or "I'll try to call you tomorrow, okay?" Sometimes, there wasn't even time for that—a rushed note left on the kitchen table was all you'd wake up to.

Loneliness gnawed at you as you wandered through the house. His things were everywhere: his drumsticks scattered across the coffee table, his jacket draped over the back of a chair, a half-finished cup of coffee from that morning still sitting on the counter. Signs that he lived here, that he was supposed to be with you. But he wasn't.

Not really.

You stopped in front of a framed photo of the two of you from a few months back. It had been taken at a rare break in his schedule, a weekend where you had escaped to a small cabin by the lake. The sunlight was golden, casting a soft glow on both of you as you sat on the porch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, a broad smile on his face. You remembered how happy you had been then, how carefree. It felt like another lifetime.

The sound of the front door opening jolted you out of your thoughts. You turned, your heart leaping for a moment—until you saw him. Eric stood there, his hair a little wilder than usual, his eyes tired. He smiled when he saw you, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey, babe," he said, dropping his bag by the door. "I'm home."

"Home?" You forced a smile, though the words tasted bitter. "For how long?"

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sharpness in your tone. "Uh, just tonight. We have a session tomorrow morning, but I wanted to stop by and see you before—"

"Before you leave again," you finished for him, your voice a little sharper now. "Before you're gone for God knows how long. Do you even remember the last time we had dinner together? Or spent an entire day without KISS getting in the way?"

Eric ran a hand through his hair, a flicker of guilt passing over his face. "I know it's been rough. But I'm trying—"

"Are you?" you cut him off, the frustration you'd been holding in for so long bubbling to the surface. "Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm always waiting for you to come home, and when you finally do, it's only for a few hours before you're off again. I never see you anymore, Eric. It's like... it's like I don't even matter to you."

His expression softened, and he took a step toward you, reaching out to take your hand, but you pulled away. The hurt in his eyes made your heart twist, but you couldn't stop. Not now.

"You matter," he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. "You matter more than anything. I'm sorry if I've made you feel like you don't."

"Then show me," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I need more than a few stolen hours between gigs and rehearsals. I need you."

Eric's face fell, and for a moment, he looked like he didn't know what to say. The silence hung heavy between you, and you wondered if he was going to walk back out the door, leave you here to figure out how to pick up the pieces of your heart on your own.

But then, he moved closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen, and when you finally looked into his eyes, you saw nothing but love and regret.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice low and raw. "You're right. I've been so caught up in everything with the band, and I haven't been fair to you. I should've been here more. I should've made more time for us."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, searching his face. "What if it never changes? What if I'm always waiting for you, always feeling like I'm second to the band?"

"I don't want that for you. For us," he said, his voice cracking. "I'll fix it. I don't know how yet, but I will. You're everything to me, and I can't keep putting you through this."

His words settled over you like a soft blanket, easing some of the ache in your chest, but it wasn't enough to erase the loneliness that had been growing inside you for months. Still, you nodded, letting out a shaky breath.

Eric pulled you into his arms, holding you close like he was afraid to let go. You melted into his embrace, resting your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart soothing some of the turmoil in your own.

"I love you," he murmured into your hair. "And I'm not going anywhere tonight. We'll figure this out, I promise."

You closed your eyes, wishing that promise could erase the distance that had formed between you, but for now, his arms around you were enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

Even if the spotlight would always be calling him away, you hoped there was still room for you in its glow.