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🕑 Added 2025-06-03 16:17:07 +0000 UTCChapter 144: Good News
In his past life, Ronan had tasted countless bumps and bruises. He’d learned a lot, seen through plenty, but still carried a heap of unanswered questions and uncharted unknowns. His missing sight had tied his feet, limiting the world he knew to a narrow slice.
Now, watching Bruno, a faint melancholy flickering in his expression, Ronan couldn’t fully grasp what the guy was facing. But one thing he did get: never judge someone else’s struggles by your own lens. You don’t know what they’re up against.
Ronan didn’t say anything, just sat there quietly, watching Bruno. He couldn’t understand or fix it, but he could listen, be there—let Bruno know he wasn’t totally alone.
After spilling his thoughts, Bruno drifted into his own head, zoning out. When he snapped back, he realized he’d overstepped. This guy was a stranger—he didn’t even know his name—yet here he was, unloading like they were old pals.
Awkward.
“Cough, cough,” Bruno cleared his throat, tossing out a quick “Sorry,” then acted like nothing happened. He looked up, switching gears. “We forgot intros. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
Was the “sorry” for oversharing or skipping introductions? The vague mumble blurred the lines, but Ronan didn’t call it out. He just rolled with it. “Ronan Cooper, lead singer of One Day Kings.”
“Bruno Mars.” Bruno nodded back, friendly, then froze for a beat. Something shifted in his face—shock? Confusion? Hard to pin down. “One Day Kings? Ronan?”
Clearly, Bruno finally connected the dots.
Ronan’s grin broke wide, his tone turning a touch formal. “Ronan Cooper. Our band came to Washington just for this—to audition, hoping to open for your concert.”
“Ah…” Bruno blinked, letting out a soft exclamation, still processing.
Looking at Ronan, a half-step behind, Bruno shook his head with a laugh. “Guess we both messed up tonight.”
Ronan hadn’t clocked Bruno, and Bruno hadn’t clocked Ronan. Bruno had seen the band’s performance videos, but his focus was on the music, not faces. Even now, he couldn’t quite match this guy to the figure on screen.
Now it was Ronan’s turn to feel sheepish. Bruno not recognizing him? Fair. But him not recognizing Bruno? Less excusable. He couldn’t exactly say, “Hey, last life I was all about your tunes, not your face, and since you’re a dude, I forgot what you look like.” Familiar with the music, clueless on the visuals—that was his excuse.
“Maybe the moonlight’s too romantic tonight,” Ronan quipped, dodging an apology. Things were chill, no need to get stiff and serious. “We clearly didn’t care who was sitting across from us.”
A failed blind date vibe?
“Haha!” Bruno cracked up, the air loosening up, the awkwardness melting away. They even felt a bit closer. “I’ve seen your performance clips. Didn’t spot tonight’s song, though. New one?”
“Yeah, we’re still figuring it out,” Ronan said honestly. “After getting shot down before, we hit a rough patch—lost, confused. Starting fresh, we’re still finding our style, our path.”
No pity party, no sob story. He breezed past the Scooter mess lightly but owned its impact.
Bruno nodded, getting it. “I totally get that. When your hard work gets trashed, you start doubting yourself. It can knock you flat. But, Ronan, music’s so wild, so varied—that’s what makes it magic. Different styles, different vibes. Don’t let a couple of ‘no’s make you quit…”
He trailed off. Chicken soup for the soul was easy to dish out, but he’d lived it. He knew how brutal it was to pull off. Those empty platitudes? Useless noise. If he could, he’d never relive those dark days—lost, doubting, blaming the world, drowning in slow self-destruction. Like… a slow suicide.
Slow suicide.
In Ronan, Bruno saw a flicker of his old self. But he also knew those bleak, aimless times were what forged him. That grind clarified his love for music.
So he hit the brakes, his gaze softening with a smile as he shifted tone. “Keep at it. Even if it’s a slow death, pick the road that makes you happy. Life’s too short and too long—finding something you love? That’s rare.”
Ronan’s eyes crinkled, his smile spilling over.
Then Bruno tacked on, “For me, I really dig your music. ‘Born This Way’ isn’t my thing, but ‘Chasing the Light’ and that ‘Slow Death’ just now? Straight to my core. Having you guys open for me—it’s my honor. I’ve got a feeling you’ll tear up the Verizon Center.”
Wait, what?
Ronan’s eyes widened, his voice trembling slightly. “You mean… we’re your opening act? I thought…” Tomorrow was the big audition.
“Yep, I’m sure,” Bruno cut in, sealing it. “No need to wait. It’s my show—I know who belongs on that stage, shining. Honestly, I can’t wait to see you guys live.”
Done Deal.
One Day Kings was officially the opening act for Bruno Mars’ world tour stop in Washington.
The joy hit like a freight train, slamming into his chest. Ronan leapt up, fists pumping, letting out a wild—
“Yeah!”
His arms swung high, pure, unfiltered excitement pouring out. That raw, crazy passion was so real, so bright, that Bruno’s grin widened too, caught up in the genuine rush.
But then—
“Ah!”
Oops.
Chapter 145: False Alarm
“Ah!”
A terrified scream rips free, hoarse and sharp, slicing through the night like a nightmare jolt. Ronan, mid-leap in carefree celebration, freezes, startled. He scans for danger, fists clenched in a fighting stance, eyes darting around warily.
“What’s wrong? What’s happening!”
But there’s no one—no threat, no movement. Then he spots Bruno, curled up tight against the beach chair’s backrest, face still etched with fading panic. That scream? Definitely his.
Bruno, still rattled, sizes up the scene, his expression shifting—hard to read what’s going on.
Ronan steps forward. “Bruno, you okay?”
His sharp eyes catch Bruno’s tense muscles and frozen look. He doesn’t get it at first, but a second later, it clicks. Still, he holds back, staying put—no advance, no retreat—just reining in his instincts.
“Bruno?” Ronan softens his voice, checking in with concern but keeping it brief, just gauging Bruno’s state.
He says nothing more, but his stance and vibe say plenty. Bruno catches on fast—he’s been found out.
“Ah…”
This time it’s a groan of frustration, laced with pained struggle. Bruno yanks off his hat, burying his face in it. He leans back hard, a gurgling mess of sounds bubbling from his throat as he vents his exasperation with everything he’s got.
Turns out… it’s a total misunderstanding.
Bruno knows it too, but his flustered reaction? Beyond words. “Just now…” He starts, then groans again, smacking his forehead with a crisp thwack, laughing at the absurdity.
Moments ago, Ronan’s big leap cast a tall, lanky shadow—like a clawed giant lunging. Bruno jumped, legit spooked, thinking it was some shadow ninja. Mostly, he’d misjudged Ronan’s height big-time.
From Ronan’s clean-cut face, Bruno pegged him at average—maybe 5’10” or so.
Bruno’s always been touchy about his own height. Back at Motown, the label and marketing folks flat-out said his 5’5” frame—shorter than the average woman—couldn’t cut it as a pop star, let alone front-stage material.
So, yeah, height’s a sore spot.
Then Ronan stands up like a mini-titan, his shadow swallowing Bruno whole.
If that was it, Bruno might’ve just been surprised—not a full-on freakout. He’s met plenty of giants, NBA players included. But Ronan’s height—easily 6’1” or more—shatters his guess. In the dim light, that shadow blurs and stretches, a 6’6” monster no stretch of the imagination. The shock, amped by Ronan’s sudden celebratory jump, just… hits.
“God! Where’d you come from, you giant?”
Bruno clears his throat, poking fun to play off his embarrassment, then sits up casually. After a beat, he stands.
He edges closer to Ronan, realizing his head barely reaches Ronan’s chest. He shakes his head, waving it off. “Jesus Christ, you’re like Gandalf crammed into Frodo’s house, limbs all tangled. What’s the deal?”
“Huh?” Ronan doesn’t catch the reference.
Bruno’s eyes widen. “‘Lord of the Rings’? Hobbits? Grey wizard?” He rattles off clues. “When Gandalf first visits the Shire…” But Ronan’s confusion lingers, so Bruno drops it. “Forget it. What planet are you from?”
“There’s only one Mars in the galaxy, right?” Ronan deadpans.
Bruno chokes, stunned, then claps and cracks up. “You’re messing with me, huh? For real, I’m hyped for your show now.”
“So you mean ‘earlier hype wasn’t real, but now it is’?” Ronan’s nitpicky jab freezes Bruno’s face mid-laugh. Just as Bruno braces for a dig, Ronan flips it. “Good to know. At least now it’s legit.”
This…
Ronan studies Bruno’s expression a moment longer, then throws up his hands, fists pumping in a mock cheer. “Oh yeah!”
“Hahaha!” Bruno can’t hold it in, tipping his head back to laugh. Two chuckles in, a thick wad of phlegm surges up. He glances around, dashes to the poolside trash can, and spits it out.
Gross sight.
But Bruno’s thrilled. That chest-clogging gunk’s finally gone, his breathing clear. He’s got a hunch—Washington’s gig is gonna rock.
“Come on! Let’s head back and crack a Jack Daniel’s to celebrate.” Bruno waves Ronan over.
Ronan’s clueless about “Jack Daniel’s”—probably booze, though. Americans love brand-dropping. To protect his voice, alcohol’s the last thing he needs. Plus, even if it’s not, he’s got big stuff to wrap up.
“Sorry, uh, Bruno… I wanna head back and tell my bandmates we nabbed this gig…” Ronan’s tone carries a twinge of regret. If Bruno Mars hollered at the hotel entrance, half the world would jump to drink with him.
Truth is, Ronan’s super tempted. But with his voice and the upcoming show on the line, he can’t risk screwing it up.
Bruno doesn’t overthink it. He slaps his forehead, light dawning. “Right, of course! They’re dying to hear good news—probably won’t sleep a wink tonight.”
He’s been there—real-deal jitters. Can’t eat, can’t sleep, heart yo-yoing between hope and dread, no calm in sight.
How could he fault Ronan’s urgency?
Plus, Bruno digs Ronan’s honesty, his realness.
Chapter 146: A Sudden Clarity
It’s hard for outsiders to imagine, but when life is constantly under the spotlight of cameras and lights, being honest and genuine becomes more and more difficult.
Bruno believes that with just one post on social media or a few quick phone calls, he could instantly be surrounded by a buzzing crowd. Even in the early hours of the morning, there’d be countless people eager to party with him.
But among them, how many are there to truly keep him company? How many are drawn by his fame? And how many are just looking to use him as a stepping stone to success?
And of those people, how many can understand his loneliness and pain? How many show up reluctantly because they can’t say no to his name? How many genuinely see him as a friend?
Authenticity slowly fades under the glare of the spotlight until it’s lost entirely.
That’s why Bruno appreciates Ronan’s sincerity and straightforwardness.
If it were him, his first instinct would also be to share his joy with his teammates, family, friends—those who truly care about his dreams.
“You guys should get ready. I’m looking forward to seeing your live performance in person,” Bruno says with a bright, easygoing smile directed at Ronan.
“Thanks, Bruno.”
Ronan’s gratitude is heartfelt—not just because Bruno’s giving them a chance to perform, but because tonight, he and Bruno have talked as equals, like friends. There’s no trace of that celebrity aura around Bruno, and the whole conversation feels comfortable and natural.
“I told you, having a band like yours as my opening act is an honor for me. No need to thank me,” Bruno replies, his mood lifting along with Ronan’s. He can genuinely feel Ronan’s excitement and joy. Then he notices Ronan taking a step forward.
Bruno stays where he is, hesitating slightly. The conversation’s over—so what now?
Tonight, he didn’t have any plans to begin with. After a lighthearted and pleasant chat, a wave of loneliness creeps in with the chilly night air. Goosebumps prickle his skin, and his thin bomber jacket does little to shield him from the late-night cold.
Then Bruno realizes Ronan has stopped right in front of him. “Hm?”
Following the shadow, Bruno looks up quickly, his gaze puzzled. What’s going on?
“Aren’t you heading back to your room?” Ronan asks, pointing ahead.
It takes Bruno half a beat to catch on—they’re staying in the same hotel. Ronan isn’t “going home”; they can still walk together. Bruno rolls his eyes at his own momentary awkwardness. “Sorry, my brain’s a little slow tonight.”
“Ha! It seemed to work just fine when we were talking about music earlier,” Ronan teases.
Bruno’s lips curve into another smile. He takes half a step back, gesturing invitingly. “Music’s one brain, everything else is another—they’re separate. But you go ahead. I’m not walking side by side with a giant like you. It’d make me look like a hobbit.”
“Haha, in that case, your bodyguard must have a tough job,” Ronan quips back, and Bruno bursts into laughter.
They chat and laugh the whole way until Ronan reaches his floor first—Bruno’s staying in the penthouse suite up top.
In that short walk together, Bruno’s restless thoughts settle. Ronan’s like a little sun, radiating a gentle warmth.
“Good night! Hope you sleep well tonight,” Ronan says as he steps out of the elevator, turning to flash Bruno a big grin. His steps are practically bouncing. “Honestly, I’m so, so excited to see your live show. The vibe of a concert is totally different from an album. I can’t wait to be part of it!”
Watching Ronan, who’s brimming with excitement from head to toe, Bruno feels his own mood brighten. Heading back to his huge, empty room to face the long night alone doesn’t seem so bad anymore.
“Of course, compared to our own stage, the expectations might be a bit lower, but I’ll enjoy the concert anyway,” Ronan adds, giving Bruno a thumbs-up. The elevator doors slide shut before Bruno can respond with thanks.
But it doesn’t matter.
Ronan turns around, clenching his fist triumphantly. Unable to hold it in, he jumps high and lets out a “Yahoo!” His joy and adrenaline are unstoppable.
Bruno Mars!
That was really Bruno Mars—life-sized, in the flesh. After a long conversation, all the emotions he’d been holding back finally burst free. The excitement and thrill explode like a volcano, doubling and redoubling, impossible to contain.
And—get this—they’re about to be the opening act for Bruno’s concert! Sure, it’s just the warm-up slot, but it’s an arena with tens of thousands of seats. It’ll be the band’s first time performing in a venue that big. What’s that going to feel like? What’s it going to be like?
Just thinking about it makes his head buzz with anticipation, blood rushing so fast it’s all he can hear.
“Ollie!”
Ronan bursts into the hotel room, his voice echoing through the space. The only reply is a rumbling snore.
“Ollie! Ollie, Ollie, Ollie!” Ronan charges in, yanking Ollie up without a shred of mercy. Still half-asleep, Ollie feels the world shake beneath him. He jolts upright in a panic, shouting, “Tsunami! Tsunami! It’s coming!” His eyes are wide but unfocused.
Ronan grabs Ollie’s arm, laughing so hard he can barely speak. “Ollie! Wake up, it’s me! Ollie! I just met Bruno Mars, and we’re officially the opening act for his concert! No audition tomorrow—it’s set. We’re going on stage at the Verizon Center!”
Groggy and dazed, Ollie finally focuses on Ronan’s face. He glances around blankly, nodding slowly. “Uh, uh, got it.” After a beat, he adds, “So… no hurricane?”
Ronan’s caught off guard by the question but answers reflexively, “No.”
“Oh.” Ollie nods again, patting Ronan’s shoulder—maybe to comfort him, maybe just to acknowledge it—then flops back onto the bed. He crashes into the soft sheets like dead weight.
In seconds, his heavy breathing evens out, and he’s fast asleep again.
(End of Chapter)
