Preacher Man // ross lynch + driver era

The End

a/n: I'm sorry, this probably isn't the update you wanted or the one you would've expected, but I just don't have much motivation or time for this story anymore. I feel as though it has run its course with 125 chapters. It's at a good place right now so we will finish off their story here x

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Ross was pacing around the green room after the meet and greet, his body confused with adrenaline and the nerves. "I could throw up right now. What if I disappoint them?"

I stay seated on the chair, my eyes moving back and forth as he paces aimlessly. "You won't disappoint them. They'll be singing the lyrics back to you so loud that they won't notice a slip up. You saw how excited the fans were to meet you."

He stops suddenly, placing his hands on his hips and blowing out a puff of air slowly through his lips. "I got it. I got this, it'll be great. Nothing to worry about. I just need to have fun, let loose, enjoy myself," Ross rambles, glancing up at the floor and meeting eye contact with me. "I got this."

And he was right.

He absolutely had this whole performing thing in the bag. It was a natural talent to him. The way he was able to bounce around so seamlessly and carefree, dragging the mic stand along as he shuffles his feet, dancing and bouncing to every beat that was produced. He was a natural.

I stand at the side, hidden behind a curtain as I watched the band smile and sing out the lyrics, barely able to hear them over the course of screaming and singing from the thousands of fans.

Their dad stood next to me, amazement and love written across his face.

On the other side of me, a chair was placed to have a view of the stage. Taped on a white piece of paper was Rydel's neat handwriting: Mom.

Making sure she had a front row view, the show carried on like it was their one hundredth show.

During their break halfway through the show, artists typically like to run to the bathroom or throw some water on their face, chugging down an energy drink or something to keep them going.

Not Ross.

Once the lights start to dim and the music continues to blare out from the speakers, Ross sprints to the side I'm standing on. His arms go quickly around my upper thighs, picking up and nearly sprinting down the hallway.

"Three minutes, Ross!" His dad yells as the blonde scurries away.

"What're you doing?" I'm laughing, my hands clutching to his shoulder as he dips into the private room.

He repeats nearly the same actions as he did prior that night, pushing me up against the wall and pressing his lips onto mine. For someone who was severely out of breath before even touching me, his mouth is certain to stay pressed to mine.

"How am I doing?" He asks, searching for the praise and the comfort.

I cup his cheeks. "You're doing absolutely wonderful. You're a natural, babe," I reply, kissing him once more.

Ross smiles - a huge, genuine one that could light up a room if anyone else was here to witness it. "I'm having so much fun. I'm really glad you're here. I don't know how I could do any of this without you."

I pull him into me once more, ignoring the dampness of his shirt as I squeeze him to me. "I love you. Enjoy the rest of the show. I'm so proud of you," I compliment as I detangle myself again.

"I love you, my little muse," he replies, kissing my forehead then taking my hand so we can walk back toward the stage.

The show was over forty minutes later and we had champagne and cake in the back to celebrate their first night of their sold out tour.