Riley Green Imagines

Tour Bus Shoulder

The low rumble of the tour bus was the kind of sound that could drive a person mad after enough hours. I'd been telling myself for the past three stops that I was fine, that I wasn't tired, that I could push through just like Riley did, but the lie was wearing thin.

I stretched out my legs in front of me, my sneakers nudging the edge of the seat across the aisle. The whole bus smelled faintly of coffee, leather, and the kind of take-out food you only eat because you're too exhausted to look for anything better. Outside, the highway stretched like a dark ribbon, broken only by the blur of headlights flashing past us in the opposite lane.

Riley sat beside me, one long arm draped casually across the back of the seat. He looked completely at ease, baseball cap tilted low over his forehead, flannel shirt half unbuttoned, jeans comfortably worn in. To anyone else, he might've seemed relaxed, but I knew the little signs that gave him away—the way his knee bounced subtly, the faint tapping of his thumb against his thigh. That restless energy was always there when the stage was behind him but the adrenaline hadn't fully worn off.

"You holding up okay, sweetheart?" His voice cut through the quiet hum of the bus, low and warm, carrying that easy drawl that made people lean in to listen.

I turned my head toward him, trying to hide the yawn that was clawing its way up my throat. "Mm, yeah. Just tired."

"Tired, huh?" His mouth tugged up into a smile, the corner of his lips curving like he knew exactly how I was feeling and was just waiting for me to admit it. "Didn't I tell you tour life ain't all it's cracked up to be?"

I shot him a sleepy look. "You didn't warn me it would feel like... like living in a rolling tin can."

That made him laugh, a deep, rich sound that made my chest feel warm no matter how many times I heard it. "Guess I left that part out."

The bus rocked gently as we hit a bump, and without thinking, I let my head tip against his shoulder. The fabric of his flannel was soft against my cheek, the heat of his body seeping into me. His arm shifted, curling around me until I was tucked against his side.

"Better?" he murmured, voice close to my ear.

I hummed, already halfway to sleep. "Much better."

His scent surrounded me—clean soap, faint cologne, leather, and something uniquely him, like the earth after rain. My body began to relax, my mind letting go of the noise of the day: the rush of the venue, the chaos of backstage, the endless blur of fans and cameras and interviews. With Riley's shoulder beneath me and his arm around me, none of that mattered.

We didn't talk for a long while. The bus hummed on, wheels carrying us farther down the endless stretch of night. Every so often, I felt Riley's hand shift against my arm, his fingers tracing absent little patterns through the fabric of my sweatshirt. It was such a small thing, but it rooted me, anchored me to him.

I thought I was slipping fully into sleep when I heard his voice again, so quiet I almost thought I'd imagined it.

"Don't know how I'd get through all this without you."

My heart ached at the sincerity laced in those words. I wanted to answer, to tell him he didn't have to, that I'd always be here. But the weight of sleep pulled me under before I could form the words, leaving me wrapped in the warmth of him and the steady rhythm of the road.

⸻

I woke to the dim glow of dawn creeping through the curtains. For a moment, I didn't move, unsure of where I was. Then I felt the steady rise and fall of Riley's chest beneath my cheek, the weight of his arm still curled around me, protective even in sleep.

I blinked, tilting my head slightly to look at him. His cap was gone, tossed onto the table, and his dark hair was mussed in every direction. His mouth was parted slightly, his jaw slack, a faint shadow of stubble darkening his skin. I smiled, my chest filling with a quiet kind of love that made me feel weightless.

I shifted, trying to sit up without waking him, but his arm tightened instantly, holding me against him.

"Mm. Don't you dare move," he muttered, voice rough with sleep.

I laughed softly. "You're awake."

"Wasn't asleep," he said, though the gravel in his tone betrayed him.

"Liar."

He cracked one eye open, green flashing in the pale light. "Maybe a little asleep. But don't go anywhere. This is the best rest I've had all week."

Something in me melted. Tour life was chaotic, exhausting, relentless—but right here, in this little bubble of quiet, it felt like we'd carved out a world just for us.

I rested my head back on his shoulder, listening to the bus rumble on. "Fine. But only because it's comfortable."

His chest shook with a soft laugh, and he pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head. "Comfortable, huh? I'll take it."

And just like that, the chaos of tour life felt a little less heavy, because as long as Riley was here, I knew I could handle anything.