Page 57 of Saving the Rockstar

"Your guitar pick?" I repeated, my voice flat and disbelieving. "That's what this is about? A fucking guitar pick?"

"It's not just any guitar pick, Asher," he said. "It's my lucky pick, the one I've used for every show, every recording session. Without it, I'm nothing. I'm a failure, a fraud, a..."

He broke off, his shoulders shaking with fake sobs.

I stared at him in disbelief. I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but before I could say anything, Dylan glanced at his watch and let out a dramatic gasp.

"Oh no, is that the time?" he exclaimed, grabbing Mason by the arm. "We have to go, Mason. I have a very important meeting with my astrologer in ten minutes. She's going to help me align my chakras for the MTV awards show."

Mason looked like he'd rather have his teeth pulled than go anywhere with Dylan, but he allowed himself to be dragged towards the door nonetheless.

"Dylan, wait," I said, my voice rising in frustration. "You can't just leave like this."

But Dylan just waved a dismissive hand in my direction. "Later, Asher. Right now, I have more important things to worry about. Like whether Mercury is in retrograde and how that will affect my red-carpet look."

I could feel my temper reaching a boiling point. "Dylan, I swear to god, if you walk out that door, I will tell everyone about the time you got drunk and tried to make out with a houseplant."

Dylan froze, his hand on the doorknob. For a moment, I thought I had him. But then he turned back to me with a smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Go ahead. I'll just tell everyone that it was a very attractive houseplant. And besides, I have way more dirt on you than you have on me. Remember the incident with the inflatable man and the whipped cream?"

My face flushed with embarrassment at the memory. Damn him, he was right. Dylan had enough blackmail material on me to last a lifetime.

Dylan just grinned, blowing me a kiss as he and Mason disappeared out the door. "Love you too, Ash. And don't worry, I'll make sure to pick out a killer outfit for you too. Something that says 'I'm a brooding rock star with a secret gay lover.'"

Chapter 18: Asher

I watched as the door closed behind Dylan and Mason, their retreating footsteps echoing down the hallway. For a moment, I just stood there, my mind reeling with confusion and exasperation at Dylan's ridiculous antics.

But then, as the silence settled around us, I felt a sudden flicker of realization, a dawning understanding of what had just transpired.

"Dylan did this on purpose, didn't he?" I said, my voice soft and wondering. "This whole thing, the fake emergency, the sudden disappearance... it was all just an elaborate plan to leave us alone together."

Jared nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I think so," he said, his eyes meeting mine with a look of gentle understanding. "He's not exactly subtle, your friend."

I laughed, shaking my head in rueful amusement.

"No, he's not," I agreed, my mind drifting back to a memory from our college days, a time when Dylan's meddling had been just as well-intentioned, if not quite as dramatic.

It had been during our sophomore year, a particularly rough patch when my anxiety had been at an all-time high. I had been struggling to keep up with my coursework, my mind constantly spinning with worries and doubts, my body exhausted from too many sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet the relentless chatter of my own thoughts.

Dylan had noticed, of course. He had always been attuned to my moods, always seeming to know when I was drowning, even when I tried my best to hide it.

And so, one day, he came up to me with a stack of books in his arms and a determined gleam in his eye.

"Alright, Ash," he had said, his voice brooking no argument. "We're going to study together, and we're not leaving this room until you're caught up on all your assignments."

I had protested, of course. Had insisted that I was fine, that I didn't need his help, that I could handle things on my own. But Dylan had simply shaken his head, a small, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I know you can handle it," he had said, his voice soft and gentle. "But the thing is, you don't have to. I've got you. That's what friends are for, right?"

And so, with a sigh of resignation, I had let him in, had allowed him to guide me through the tangled web of my own thoughts. It had been a turning point for me, a moment of realization that I didn't have to face my demons alone.

And now, as I stood in the hotel room, facing the man who had somehow become the center of my universe, I felt that same sense of clarity wash over me, that same understanding that sometimes, the greatest strength came from allowing yourself to lean on the people who cared for you most.

"Jared," I said, my voice soft and hesitant. "I think we need to talk."

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