Don't.
You know you can't.
Know you can't stare at him like you know you will later, in the private confines of your tour bus. The one that you share together.
Maybe, maybe you can spare one glance away from the fans. You know you have to make this night worthwhile, make their dreams come true. A wink here or there, 4 seconds of eye contact with two or three of them, making them think their special, when the only special one in the room is him.
It will always be him.
You're at a radio concert for Kiss, a couple dozen of fans let in, and you're all singing Invisible. Your song. The song he sang to you the day you were feeling unappreciated and he noticed. The song he sang to you as you backed away, trying to conceal your tears.
You end up being pressed against a hotel room closet, him coming increasing closer to your trembling body.
Oh, you know, you're not gonna be invisible to me...
He leans in to press a sweet kiss to the edge of your mouth. You rake fingers in his hair though to pull him in again in a more lustful way.
That night you end up in bed together, tangled in sweaty limbs and you're not sure when you end and he begins. Maybe it doesn't matter anymore.
But still. No matter how much you love those moments, those moments when it's just you and him, it's always going to be in the safety of the shadows. You were always more of a sunshine person anyways, no matter how busy you were, how many things you had to do, you always managed to find time for the sun.
Apparently the sun doesn't exist in the entertaining world. The world of pristine perfect girlfriends and best friends who didn't seem to mind them. The world of money. You kind of hate that world. In that world, you have to hide your love, the only thing you truly, truly care about.
You understand though, you have to give the fans hope. Hope that one day you might be their happily ever after. Even though you know the fans want you two together, there is a stupid thing called management. The thing keeping you away from your love. Maybe another thing called 'bad publicity', and 'image' but you don't care.
There is nothing in this world you want more than to walk down the street holding hands with him and there not being a big commotion. But you know there will be.
So you settle. You settle for the opportunity to put your arm around in for a picture. The "We're-All-Super-Good-Best-Friends" pose, as you like to call it. You know there is more meaning in those touches and god, you live for those touches. It's not enough, but you know not to ask for more.
He's now singing the part that gets to you the most-
But I won't let you fall
I'll see you through them all
And I just wanna let you know...
-and you can't help but look at him. You lick your lips to hide the moan that wants to let loose as his honey flowed voice washes over you. Glancing back at the camera that's focusing on the two of you makes you worry, but you don't care. He looks so perfect and you can't stop the emotion speaking through your eyes that say you just want to hold him in your arms forever and kiss him till you both can't breathe.
But then your bubble has to break and you remember where you are. Fans, radio DJ's, hell, the whole world is watching you right now and you have to keep your facade. You're not gay. You're not in love with your best friend, no.
You bring your shields up and you move your head to the beat, smiling at some fans that happen to giggle your way. Making yourself look like you're having the time of your life when all you want to do is lay in bed with him and play with his fingers (you're very fascinated by them, he thinks you're strange), is seemingly getting harder, but you manage.
Oh, how you hate this. Hiding, it never really was your thing. You were always an open little boy, your parents told you. But, you guess hiding is a part of your life now, you do it every day.
It doesn't work for you, but you live with it. You kind of have to-if you want to keep him.
You definitely want to keep him. He's your whole world.
So you don't spare him any more glances in the eye of the camera.