Chapter Text
One of the moments on tour that Carlos could never forget was the very first show. Carlos could hear the crowd roaring from where he stood backstage, and he pitied the poor souls in the crowd who hadn’t thought to bring earplugs to the concert. He’d been to a lot of concerts in his teenage years and early twenties, so he was familiar with the exuberance that could fill a crowd of people coming together over beloved songs, but he’d never heard a crowd as rowdy as the one at T.K.’s concert. While he had never seen T.K. perform live before, he’d been T.K.’s bodyguard long enough that he knew the Strand Stans vied to show their support for T.K. to alarming concerns at times.
The other day, T.K. had gone out to a restaurant, bring Carlos as his company, and after a fellow patron of the restaurant had posted a sneaky picture of T.K., a group of around fifty fans mobbed the restaurant, all wanting a moment with T.K. Carlos had felt panic bubble when the owner of the restaurant had told him that they didn’t have a back entrance. “They’re not dangerous,” T.K. had told Carlos when they stepped out to flashing lights and The fans didn’t mean harm, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t a threat. Carlos took his job seriously, and that was partly because for all the partying and reckless behavior, T.K. took his job seriously too, which meant that he liked to go right out into the mob, sign autographs and take pictures even if it was dangerous to do so. T.K. didn’t want to let fans down and Carlos didn’t want to let T.K. down. Even when there was a back entrance, T.K. didn’t like to use it.
Before the show, Carlos hadn’t been sure that there would be a show at all with the way the day had gone. T.K. had been in a bad mood all day, probably because he was hungover. He looked sick, and no matter what anyone tried, a miserable expression remained on T.K.’s face. When Carlos found T.K. throwing up in a trashcan just thirty-minutes before the show, swaying on his feet, the chances of the show going on seemed slim. It was only the first day of the tour, and things were already tumbling off course.
“Are you okay?” Carlos had asked.
T.K. had forced a smile, and said, “Pre-show jitters. I’m fine.”
“Does this always happen before your shows?”
“I’ll take one of those magical anti-nausea pills and I’ll be fine,” and sure enough, he’d gone on stage forty minutes later with a grin and a greeting to the crowd that was full of bravado and not a hint of sickness.
T.K. was a different person when he was on stage, Carlos noticed. Carlos couldn’t help but smile as T.K. joked with the crowd between songs. If Carlos was put in front of a crowd of thousands of people, he’d be awkward and uncomfortable, but T.K. had no problem entertaining them. It was no wonder his fans were so dedicated. Carlos was becoming a convert himself, becoming enchanted by the mystery and the charmer that was T.K. Strand.
After the show, T.K. wanted to go to a party, and Carlos noticed that T.K.’s confidence wavered when he was off stage. His smile darkened, and the voice of an angel was swapped for a black hole of self-destruction. “Are you sure you don’t want to take it easy?” Carlos said.
“What? Why?” Judd had warned Carlos about tour T.K. and how much wilder T.K. got after shows, and Carlos wanted to combat T.K.’s self-destructive tendencies as well as he could. T.K. had been sick all day, and he was in no state to do god knows what with god knows who.
“You were sick,” Carlos argued.
“Yeah, before the show. I’m better now,” T.K. assured Carlos, the weariness he’d had before nowhere in sight. “Shows are the best medicine.”
“Yeah, but you still need sleep or you’ll wake up feeling like shit. You have a full agenda tomorrow.”
“Don’t be the fun police.”
“You’ll have to wake up early tomorrow.”
Even the threat of waking up early didn’t get to T.K. “That’s why I’m going to have fun now.” T.K. was starting to look annoyed, so Carlos knew that pushing him any further.
“I can’t force you to do anything,” Carlos conceded. He felt like an enabler, watching T.K. spiral and even taking part in it, but he was doing a job, and if T.K. had no interest in keeping himself safe, Carlos would stand by his side, ready to step in if things got dire. “I’m just trying to be…” he wanted to say friend, but he also didn’t want to cross too many boundaries. “A good bodyguard.”
“Then, act like the good bodyguard and hang over my shoulder all you want but don’t tell me what to do.”
“I can’t stop you from going out, but don’t try to slip away from me like you did last time.” T.K. was alarmingly good at sneaking away from Carlos even after Carlos warned him how dangerous that behavior was.
“I can take care of myself.”
“I’m paid to make sure you don’t have to.”
“I think your shift is over.”
“I get paid extra during overtime.”
“You seem like the kind of guy who would rather spend his time with friends and family than make more money.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not exactly home right now,” and Carlos knew that he would be up all night worrying about T.K. anyway. T.K. could get out of a lot of situations on his own, but he was still a celebrity and there was a reason Judd had hired Carlos in the first place.
T.K. shook his head. “Why do you care so much anyway?” his voice is acerbic.
“Because Judd would kill me if something happened to you,” and I’d never forgive myself.