Page 30 of Discover Me
This is what I want. This feeling, this connection, this simplicity. Not the staged restaurant dates Tom will demand, not the carefully curated social media posts. Just this. Just us, existing together in a space where the outside world can't reach.
And I'm already dreading the moment it ends.
Micah
Back home, we settle
into a lazy rest of the day on the couch. Kellan finds some movie on one of his
streaming services, something action-packed with explosions and car chases that
neither of us really pay attention to. Instead, we talk. Kellan shares older
band stories, tales from before Tom completely took over their image and
direction.
"We used to just jam for hours," Kellan says, his body angled toward mine on the couch. "No structure, no plan. Just four guys who loved making music together. Rex would start a bass line, Liam would build on it with guitar, Jordan would add these incredible vocal runs, and I'd find the rhythm that tied it all together."
His face lights up as he talks about music theory, the technical aspects of composition that go over my head but fascinate me anyway. The passion in his voice transforms him, makes him look younger and less burdened. This is the Kellan who fell in love with music, before the contracts and the image management and the pressure to be something marketable.
"I wanted us to experiment more," Kellan continues, gesturing with his hands. "Incorporate different genres, try unconventional time signatures, bring in instruments that don't typically show up in rock music. But Tom said the label wanted something safer, something that would appeal to the broadest audience. So we got more generic with each album."
I love watching his face as he talks, the way his eyes brighten and his whole body becomes more animated. The grumpy, brooding drummer persona melts away, replaced by someone genuinely excited about creation and art. This is the real Kellan, the one hidden beneath layers of carefully constructed image.
"What would your dream album sound like?" I ask, genuinely curious.
Kellan leans back, thinking. "A fusion of rock and jazz with electronic elements. Complex rhythms that challenge both the musicians and the listeners. Lyrics that actually mean something instead of following predictable patterns. Collaborations with artists from completely different genres. Something that makes people think rather than just consuming content."
"That sounds incredible." And it does. Even though I don't fully understand music the way he does, I can hear the vision in his voice.
"Tom would hate it." Kellan laughs, but there's bitterness underneath. "Says it's too intellectual, too niche. That our fans want simple, catchy hooks they can sing along to. And he's probably right from a business perspective. But sometimes I wish I'd stuck with the solo thing, kept creative control even if it meant smaller success."
My stomach grumbles loudly, interrupting the moment. We both laugh and Kellan pops up from the couch with sudden energy. "I'm making dinner. What should I do?"
"You really want to cook?" I raise an eyebrow. When he nods, I follow him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "Okay. Let's do salmon teriyaki with rice and sautéed broccoli."
Kellan's eyes widen. "That sounds way more complicated than just like… a sandwich."
"It's not that bad. I'll walk you through it." I grin at his nervous expression. "Just follow my instructions exactly and you'll be fine."
What follows is hilarious kitchen shenanigans that make my ribs ache from laughing. Kellan starts the rice first, measuring the water wrong three times before I correct him. Then he tries to cut the salmon and nearly takes off a finger because he's holding the knife wrong.
"Like this," I demonstrate with my good hand, showing him the proper grip. "Curl your fingers in so you don't lose any."
"Why is cooking so dangerous?" Kellan complains, but he adjusts his grip and tries again. This time the cuts are cleaner, more even.
The teriyaki sauce is next, and watching Kellan try to measure ingredients is entertainment in itself. He dumps in way too much soy sauce, then tries to compensate by adding more honey,which makes it too sweet. We end up starting over, with me measuring everything while he mixes.
"I thought drumming required precision," I tease as he finally gets the proportions right.
"Drumming doesn't involve liquids and measurements." Kellan stirs the sauce carefully. "Completely different skill set."
He gets flustered when the broccoli starts to burn, panicking and turning the heat down too low. I talk him through adjusting the temperature, adding a little water to steam it properly. His concentration face is adorable, brow furrowed and tongue poking out slightly as he focuses on not ruining dinner.
"You're doing great," I encourage as he plates everything up. The presentation is messy, nothing like a restaurant would serve, but it smells delicious.
Kellan carries both plates to the table, setting them down with obvious pride. Then he comes back for me, pulling me close for a sweet kiss. His lips are soft and warm, tasting faintly of the teriyaki sauce he "tested" while cooking.
