Preacher Man // ross lynch + driver era

97

Ross smiles at me as he takes his sweet time coming into the shower. I already have my shampoo all rinsed out so as soon as he's in, I swap spots so he can get under the water.

"Thank you for tonight," I tell him again, rubbing the conditioner through the ends of my hair.

He glances over his shoulder at me. "Of course, baby."

I watch as he grabs the bottle and squeezes a small amount onto his hair. His hands go up into his scalp as he massages the shampoo through his mess of a hair.

He turns around to face me, his eyes linking with mine. "How was your flight?" I ask since we were a bit preoccupied before and I didn't have a chance to ask.

Ross shrugs, titling his head back into the water. The soapy mixture runs down his toned back and continues its trail down the drain.

"It wasn't too bad. I mostly listened to music. I wrote a bit. Nothing exciting," he tells me. "I was recognized three times in the airport in LA."

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to untangle any bits and pieces while the conditioner soaked. "Really? How'd that make you feel?"

"Wow, you're beginning to talk too much like a therapist," he tells me, a smile present on his face. "It's nice to know that my music is reaching so many individuals to the fact that they can spot me out in a crowd. Everyone I met was super respectful. I don't know how I'll start handling things if it becomes too rough like I can't walk without nearly being trampled while hands are reaching out to grab me."

I nod. "I feel like my anxiety would be through the roof. I give credit to anyone who can do that while keeping their composure. Like I get concerts are one thing but I don't know, respect plays a big part."

"Exactly. I don't know. It'll be interesting to see how it all pans out," he mumbles.

Ross moves to the side so I slide through to get the conditioner out of my hair. He's running some now through his hair.

It's crazy how long it's gotten and I feel like my small comment earlier may make him cut his hair.

He glances at me, his eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you staring at my hair?" He questions immediately.

I smile a bit. "Nothing. Just impressed how long it's grown," I tell him. "Don't be so defensive."

I stick my finger out, poking his stomach before arching my back to continue allowing the water pour down my scalp.

"Not defensive," he tells me now. "I know. I don't know how much I'll grow it out. Will probably cut it soon."

I nod. "I support whatever you want, babe. I love it either way."

Ross smiles at me and begins to wash his body. As I'm glancing down at the floor to make sure all of the soap is out of my hair so I can move onto my next step, he speaks softly.

"Are you ready for everything if shit starts going crazy? Like with my career?"

My eyes spend a bit of time on the floor as I allow myself to really think of his question. I've thought about it in passing before, but have never actually thought long and hard. I don't know if I could handle the crowds. I don't know if I could handle our privacy stripped away from us even more and being exposed to the world without a care in the world. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't just go to the grocery store with Ross.

Could I handle the jealous comments? Could I handle the journalists ripping me to shreds because god forbid I wore the wrong outfit?

I mean, it's all hypothetical in a sense. Ross's career right now is at a nice place where they could easily sell out a small venue. But what if it becomes bigger?