"Strings Between Us"

Ch.4-"In The Shadows"

The next few shows blurred together in a storm of lights, sweat, and screaming fans. Y/N played like her life depended on it—because sometimes, it felt like it did. The stage was the only place she didn’t have to think about him.

But Tom was always there.

They shared hotel floors, buses, dressing rooms, and sometimes glances that burned hotter than the spotlight. Some nights he was soft-spoken, watching her with unreadable eyes. Other nights, he flirted with groupies like it meant nothing—like she wasn’t even in the room.

Y/N hated that it got to her.

She told herself it wasn’t her business. They weren’t anything. He hadn’t kissed her. He hadn’t touched her in any way that meant something.

And yet… she’d never wanted someone to touch her so badly.

---

Backstage in Berlin, everything cracked.

The dressing room was buzzing post-show, with press scheduled to come in for interviews. Y/N was reapplying her lip gloss in the mirror when she heard giggles from the hallway. Then the door creaked open.

It was Tom—with her.

Some random girl, tall and lean, clinging to his arm in a too-tight dress. Her laugh was like glass—sharp and shallow. Tom didn’t even look at Y/N. He walked her straight to the couch, sat down, and let the girl slide onto his lap.

Y/N froze.

She turned her back, pretending to search her bag for something she didn’t need. Her hands shook. She hated herself for it.

Bill appeared beside her, whispering, “You okay?”

She nodded without looking up. “Fine.”

But when she glanced back in the mirror, she caught Tom’s eyes on her—not the girl. Just her. Watching.

Always watching.

---

Later that night, she slipped out of the hotel. She needed air. She walked aimlessly through the city streets, past neon bars and sleepy storefronts, trying to shake the feeling of being replaceable.

She stopped at a corner, leaning against a railing, letting the cool air bite her skin.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

She jumped.

Tom.

He stepped out of the shadows, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, expression unreadable. “You could get followed.”

“You do it enough,” she muttered.

He ignored the jab. “Are you okay?”

“You really like asking me that,” she said, eyes hard. “Maybe you should stop doing things that make me not okay.”

Tom blinked, caught off guard. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That girl. In the dressing room.”

“She’s no one.”

“You made sure I saw.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “What do you want me to say, Y/N?”

She looked at him, jaw tight. “Nothing. You’ve said enough with your actions.”

He looked at her for a long time—his stare intense, burning, confused. Then he took another step forward.

“I didn’t touch her,” he said, voice barely audible. “Not really.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I was trying to forget you.”

The words hit her like a chord struck too hard.

She swallowed, voice trembling. “And did it work?”

“No.”

Silence.

Then she said, almost whispering, “I don’t know what this is.”

He moved even closer, barely a breath away. “Neither do I.”

His hand hovered near hers, not touching, but so close. The air was thick, heavy, sweetened by tension they couldn’t name.

Then he stepped back.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted. “I don’t do… feelings.”

Y/N looked away. “Maybe that’s why you hide behind everything else.”

He didn’t respond.

And when he finally walked away, she didn’t follow.

---

That night, she didn’t sleep.

Her body ached from the show, but her heart ached more. She told herself this had to stop. That the pull between them was temporary. Built on heat, not depth.

But she was already slipping.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to stop..?