Fic: With a Little Help from My Friends

title: With a Little Help from My Friends
author: writerdazs
pairing: Kris & Adam friendship, with some Kradison thrown in
rating: PG-13
summary: He thinks wryly that it’s a sign of just how bad things have gotten that his friend’s small gesture has reduced him to tears. Follow-up to Written in the Stars.

notes: Thank you to everyone who commented on Written in the Stars. You've inspired me to continue the story! This takes place the morning after.



When Kris wakes up his muddled brain registers three things: He’s lying on top of a still-made bed, he’s fully dressed except for his shoes, and bright sunlight is spilling around the edges of the draped window. For a moment he panics, unsure of where he is and certain he should be somewhere else. He bolts upright, his head giving the half-hearted throb that warns another pounder is waiting in the wings for the right opportunity to strike. As he darts his gaze around the room, memory returns and his heartbeat slows. The Idol tour. Washington D.C. His hotel room.

Then his eyes find the clock on the nightstand, and the panic returns with a vengeance. Ten-thirty? Rehearsal starts promptly at 8:30. He’s obviously overslept, and where the hell was Adam to let him do it?

“Frick, fricking, FRICK!” he hisses, rolling off the bed, tripping over his feet, and stumbling toward the bathroom.

As he passes the small table and chairs, something catches his eye and he pulls up short. A bagel with cream cheese. Fresh fruit. Coffee and juice. And a handwritten note in Adam’s distinctive scrawl: I got you the morning off. Chill. And for God’s sake, eat something.

He stares for a full minute before the note blurs and his legs fold, dropping him to the end of his mattress. Digging the heels of his hands into burning eyes, he tries to breathe deep, past the ache in his chest. He thinks wryly that it’s a sign of just how bad things have gotten that his friend’s small gesture has reduced him to tears.

He’s just so tired.

But it’s more than that. He’s been tired before, bleary-eyed after late-night gigs or marathon cramming sessions during finals week. This is different.

This weariness goes beyond the body. He’s soul tired, tapped out, dry. Everybody wants a piece of him these days—songwriters, producers, media, fans. He goes where he’s told to go, pulls out his guitar and sings on cue, answers questions. Even working on the album, which may be the only thing keeping him sane right now, happens on someone else’s timetable. He hasn’t had a moment to himself in longer than he can remember, and the thing is, he knows that’s not going to change anytime soon.

And he can’t talk about it. His friends all think his life is totally awesome and cool—they’d never get it. He refuses to become a little kid crying to his mom and dad. Katy’s sacrificed just about everything to get him here. And Adam . . . Adam could have been where he is. Maybe should have been. For Kris to act like he’s less than grateful for winning and everything that comes with it would be a slap in the face.

So he’s done his best to shrug it off, push it down, pretend everything’s fine and he’s the same old chilling, laid back Kris he’s always been.

Which makes him even more tired, if that’s possible

And so he’s reduced to sniveling over a bagel, fresh fruit, and a little unexpected kindness.

Forcing himself to his feet, Kris grabs half the bagel and heads into the bathroom to shower. He turns the water as hot as he can stand--Adam’s massages are killer, but his muscles have already started to tense up in anticipation of another hectic day. Once he’s dried off and dressed, he searches for his cell, surprised to find it on Adam’s side of the nightstand. Pocketing it, he shakes his head: must have been more out of it last night than he thought.

He’s picked at a few grapes and is working on a cup of coffee when the door opens and Adam breezes in, smiling, bright-eyed, practically sparking with energy—everything Kris isn’t.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

“Hey.” Kris forces his own smile. “Rehearsal’s over, yeah?”

Adam waves dismissively as he crosses the room. “You didn’t miss much. Ricky said he’ll catch you up this afternoon.” He opens the drapes, letting sunshine flood the room, then turns, leaning against the window ledge. “How are you feeling?”

It’s a little disconcerting because Kris knows he’s being studied, but all his can see is Adam’s outline against the glare. He nods, smiles. “I’m good. The extra sleep helped.”

A snort and Adam moves to sit beside him. “Any sleep would help. It’s not like you’ve been doing much of that the past week or so.” He looks over at the table and frowns. “Half a bagel, Kristopher? Seriously? I know you can do better than that.”

With a chuckle that’s genuine, Kris shakes his head fondly. “If only Adam fans knew that inside their fierce rock god lurks a Jewish mother.”

Adam slips an arm around his shoulder. “What can I say, honey, you bring out my nurturing side.”

“Thanks. For last night. For breakfast. For working things out so I could play hooky.” To his horror his voice cracks and he’s suddenly near tears again.

The arm around him tightens. “You’re my best friend, and I love you. Not to mention you’ve been there for me in ways I don’t think you even realize.” Adam moves his hand to the back of Kris’s neck and clucks disapproval. “How can you be this tense already? Are you trying to undo all my hard work?”

Kris drops his head with a soft moan of approval—Adam really does have great hands. “Sorry.”

“I’m just saying, if you really want my hands on you there are better ways to make it happen.”

Kris’s lips curve. “And a million fangirl fantasies are born.”

“Baby, I’ve got way better fantasy material than that.” Adam’s fingers still and he leans forward, his expression serious now, to look Kris in the eye. “You’re bottling things up inside, and it’s catching up with you.”

Kris swallows. “I don’t know. I’m a pretty fast runner.” Though he intends to sound joking, it comes out wobbly and pathetic.

A smack to the back of his head and Adam’s fingers resume their magic. “Smartass. The point I’m trying to make is that you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

“Sure,” he says aloud, but his brain is muttering, Yeah. Ain’t gonna happen.

And Adam must have a freakish sixth sense because somehow he knows. He narrows his eyes. “You’ve got a terrible poker face, kiddo. Your lips may say yes but your eyes are telling me hell no.”

Kris shrugs—what can he say? Adam’s right.

“Why?” Adam persists. “We’ve always talked about pretty much everything. Even my love life, and believe me, you’re the first straight boy I’ve ever discussed that with.”

The touch of hurt to the question weakens his resolve. “Look, I already know I’m being an ungrateful bitch,” he says. “So you’re the last person I’m going to complain to.”

“Because I’m the poor bastard who took second place?” Adam chuckles and shakes his head. “Please. We both know I’m going to have a fabulous career. In fact, if anyone should feel guilty it’s me.” At Kris’s raised eyebrow, he smirks. “I’m not the one stuck singing about mountains and hurricanes night after night.”

The laugh bubbles out of him, unrestrained. “You’ve got a point.”

Adam bumps shoulders. “It’s been way too long since I’ve heard that. So we have a deal?”

Kris raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Talk more, repress less.”

“And eat,” Adam adds firmly, standing and tugging Kris to his feet. “You need—”

“Lunchtime, bitches!” Allison crows, bursting through the door that Adam evidently left unlocked. She bounces over to fling her arms around Kris. “Missed you, Krissy. Rehearsal’s not the same without you.”

He squeezes her back, then ruffles her hair because he knows she hates it just as much as he hates being called Krissy. “Thanks, Allie Cat.”

“So what’s this about lunch?” Adam asks.

“Only another of my brilliant plans,” Allison replied with a tilt of her chin. “There’s a little deli around the corner from the hotel. I say we get some sandwiches, take 'em to that grassy place over by the Washington monument, and have a picnic. Just the three of us.”

“It’s called the Mall, sweetie,” Adam says, amusement curving his lips.

For a split-second it sounds like heaven. To be outdoors, soaking up some sun, with the two people he loves best on tour . . . Then all the reasons why it would be a bad idea come crashing in, and Kris sighs.

“Security’s not going to go for it,” he points out.

“So they don’t have to know about it,” Allison says, her eyes glinting wickedly. “I’m sure not telling.”

“Me either,” Adam chimes in.

Kris glares at him—how come he’s got to be the grown-up? “You know how much hell we’d catch for sneaking out without letting anyone know where we’re going?”

“So let security bitch and moan,” Allison says. “What are they gonna do, ground us?”

When he looks at Adam for support, his friend just shrugs.

“Okay, what happens when people recognize us and mob us for autographs?” Kris asks.

Allison rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you ever heard of baseball caps and sunglasses?”

Kris jerks his thumb at Adam. “You really think he’s got a baseball cap?”

“He can borrow one of yours,” Allison fires back, not to be deterred.

The image that flashes through Kris’s brain—Adam decked out in a UCA ball cap—makes him snicker.

Adam responds by poking him mercilessly in the side where he’s most ticklish. “You think I can’t pull that off? Honey, I make whatever I wear stylin’.”

It’s almost scary how much he wants to give in, but Kris throws out one more token protest. “Weren’t we supposed to be available to the press during lunch? And I’ve got to find Ricky, get caught up on the blocking for tonight . . .”

“The press will probably be around all afternoon. And you know Ricky won’t mind waiting.” Allison leans into his side, her eyes wide and pleading. “C’mon, Krissy. I need a little fun in the sun.”

Which breaks him, of course. He’s never been able to resist those big brown eyes, and Kris thinks it’s probably a good thing he never had a little sister. She’d have him whipped.

“Okay, okay. Let’s do it,” he says, letting out an oof followed by laughter when she practically tackles him. He glares halfheartedly at Adam over her shoulder. “You are no help.”

Adam’s lips curve and he ruffles Kris’s hair. “Depends what you mean by help. Personally I think we all could use a little time to ourselves.”

That lump is back in Kris’s throat so he wriggles out of Allison’s hold and turns toward his suitcase. “Guess I’d better dig up a couple of hats.”

As he sorts through clothing he realizes the threatening headache has all but disappeared and most of the tension has melted from his neck and shoulders.

He doesn’t see Allison wink at Adam, or Adam’s returning thumbs up. But for the first time in more than a week he feels like maybe he’s going to make it through all this just fine.


End