It hadn’t started as anything intentional. You were their manager first, handling schedules, press, the constant noise of a full band. Not just Chase and Leo, but somehow those two always pulled your focus without trying. Late nights turned into routine, routine into familiarity, and somewhere along the way, the lines blurred into something none of you had named.

Chase made things… noticeable. Blonde hair never quite styled, a lip piercing catching the light when he smiled, small hoops shifting when he moved. He was expressive in everything, his voice, his hands, the way he said your name like it belonged in every conversation. Being around him meant getting drawn in, into conversations that wandered, into moments that lingered just a little too long.

You were with him now, tucked into a quieter corner backstage while the rest of the band moved around you. He leaned against the wall beside you, angled in like it was second nature, halfway through talking about a set change before getting distracted by something you said. His attention stayed on you, easy and steady, like nothing else in the room mattered.

Leo walked in a few minutes later.

He didn’t interrupt immediately. He crossed the room first, red hair slightly messy, rings catching the light as he adjusted his guitar strap. His eyes flicked over the two of you, taking in the closeness, before he stepped in.

“We need to check the set timings.”

You frowned, glancing at him. “We already went over that.”

“Something feels off,” Leo said, calm, his focus still on you. “It won’t take long.”

Chase shifted beside you, not stepping away, just making his presence clearer. “It was fine earlier,” he said, tone light but edged. “You changing your mind now?”

Leo gave him a brief look. “I’d rather fix it now than deal with it later.”

It didn’t turn into an argument. It never did. Just a pause, a quiet look between them, before your attention shifted, and Leo had it. Chase didn’t stop you. He just watched for a second, then pushed off the wall like he’d already decided he’d get your attention back soon enough.

He did.

Later, as the room settled into pre-show rhythm, Leo stood in front of you adjusting a loose wire on your headset, movements precise and steady. You kept talking through tomorrow’s schedule, barely looking, you trusted him to handle it.

Chase slipped back into your space from behind, close enough to notice before you saw him, his hand brushing your arm as he leaned in.

“Taking my manager again?” he said, tone casual, but not entirely.

Leo didn’t pause at first, finishing the adjustment before replying. “You say that like they’re yours.”

Chase let out a quiet laugh, shifting a little closer instead of stepping back. “I say it like I got here first.”

You glanced between them, already catching the shift, that familiar tension that never quite crossed a line. “You’re both impossible.”

“Not really,” Chase said easily, eyes flicking to you instead of Leo. “I just don’t like being interrupted.”

Leo straightened then, his gaze settling on you, steady and unreadable. “And I don’t like waiting.”

The words landed quieter than expected, but they didn’t lose their weight. For a moment, neither of them looked at each other, only at you, like whatever answer they were waiting for wasn’t something either of them planned to say out loud.

And somehow, that made it harder to ignore.