I was fifteen years old when I first met my hero, Chris Ellington. It's the only time I've met him, and it was complete luck that it happened.

It was Unsent Souls' comeback tour after a nearly four-year hiatus, during which time no one ever gave up hope that they would one day return to the stage. Like seriously, none of them could even get through an interview about anything else they were working on during the hiatus without being asked "Will Unsent Souls ever get back together?"

I kind of felt bad for them but at the same time... give the people what they want, guys! They worked their way up from emo nobodies to household name, and you can't just disappear once our grandparents know you. Even they were asking where the "cool boys with that rock song" had gone. It was evident how excited they were to never have to dodge the question of their return again.

I took a bus into the city alone for the show after telling my mom that I was going with a chaperoned friend, because I knew she'd take my word for it without calling to confirm. I'd saved up enough birthday and Christmas money to pay my own way, because there was no way I could miss my favorite band's reunion tour.

Stupid decisions, however, were made in the early access lounge in my ever-failing effort to make friends. Before the show even started, I found myself searching for a member of security with my head spinning from pills that I still can't identify to this day.

The world was still spinning when I got out of the backstage bathroom, but my security chaperone was nowhere to be found. I had no idea how to get back and I didn't want to stand there while I waited for his return; I wasn't sure I'd survive on my feet much longer. I was immensely thankful for that venue being a fully seated stadium as I slid down against the wall and began my wait.

It felt like an hour that I sat there staring at the same spot on the base of the wall, trying my hardest to control my nausea. I heard lots of steps and voices throughout the hallway during that time, but they all sounded so distant that I never bothered to look up. One distant voice somehow appeared right beside me in under a second and startled me nearly to my feet. Looking back, it was probably whatever those pills were affecting my ability to hear my surroundings properly.

"Are you okay?" he asked as I struggled to get my bearings.

Our eyes locked and I felt my head spinning even faster. It was him, the man I'd admired since I was a literal child, and for whom I'd told the absolute biggest lie ever to my mother, just so I could see him sing for a couple hours from something like forty feet away; Chris Ellington. He stood there with the same dirty blonde hair hidden under his signature black beanie and the same bright blue eyes I'd stared at a million times in pictures.

He's the only man on Earth who could excite me so much, but he's also probably the most extraordinary man alive. On top of his incredible singing, songwriting, and guitar-playing talents, he spent the entirety of Unsent Souls' hiatus doing production work for other bands and artists—work that won awards—and soundtracks for multiple movies and TV shows that were immensely popular during those years. So many people don't even know he did all that! He also knows a bunch of other instruments: piano, ukulele, bass, violin, drums, trumpet, and flute. It also recently came to light during an interview in Latin America that he's secretly been fluent in Spanish for years! I—

...

Okay... this memory is bringing to light more evidence than I anticipated.

So anyway, I was backstage at the Unsent Souls show ten years ago with Chris freaking Ellington looking over my extremely high and extremely sick teenage self, asking if I was okay. I did what any reasonable person would do in that situation: I played it cool. I looked back at my spot on the baseboard to continue grounding myself and nodded mechanically, cursing myself internally for not doing it more smoothly.

"I'm good, thank you," I managed to answer believably.

He crouched down just to the right of my view, and with a quick glance our eyes locked again. "You don't look so good," he disagreed softly.

All right, so the drugs made me way more confident in myself than I had any right to be. What else could go wrong for me?

"My parents don't know I'm gay," I blurted out, suddenly bursting into tears.

Where the Hell did that come from?! This singular experience with drugs was enough to scare me away from anything but alcohol, that much was immediately certain.

I dropped my head in my arms as they rested on my knees and sobbed openly, no longer able to stop what had begun. I heard the shuffle of Chris's body sliding down on the floor next to me, but he didn't speak. Even if our entire encounter had ended there, I still would have left with an incredible amount of love and admiration for the comfort he gave me in that moment, just by sitting beside me.

"You don't have to tell them until you're ready," he told me gently once my cries had finally quieted.

I kept my eyes on the baseboard, feeling like it was all that was left tying me to Earth. "I know, but I don't think I'm ever going to be ready," I sniffled in response.

"I get it, believe me," he assured me. I did believe him, without even knowing just how similar to mine his experience was. "There were a lot of things I hid from my parents as I got older because I didn't think I could ever make them understand. The thing is, whether you want them to or not, one day they're going to find out. It would be nice to have some control over the day and the manner in which they find out, wouldn't it?"

I still couldn't bring myself to look at him. "Yeah, that would be nice," I conceded.

"It doesn't have to be any time soon, so don't panic."

I turned to meet his eyes reluctantly, feeling obligated to at least show the decency of eye contact. His expression was soft and understanding, and his blue eyes glistened as he watched me like I was the most important person in the world to him right then.

"It feels like it would be so easy if you could tell them with me," I giggled as the tension fell away.

He chuckled too, grinning easily in response to my somewhat lightened mood. "It's always easier with someone by your side. It's not a bad idea to find someone who can be there with you," he agreed.

"Yeah... but I couldn't make friends if my parents paid them to hang out with me," I laughed pitifully at myself.

"Oh, come on," he laughed too. "Anyone can make friends, you just have to find your people. Maybe I'm biased, but I'd say this is a pretty solid group of people here to make friends with."

"They're something... definitely not the kind of friends my parents would be happy to see me with," I said with a shiver.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice taking on a serious tone. "Did something happen? Is that why you're here?"

"No, no!" I answered quickly, backtracking. "No, it's not anyone's fault. Well actually, it's mine, so I don't want anyone to get in trouble."

"What happened?" he pressed. It felt for an instant like I had a concerned father. God, it was such a nice feeling.

"I just... took some pills they offered. I didn't have to do it and I knew they were drugs, so it's my fault," I explained, shaking my head slowly in disappointment with myself as my eyes wandered back to my anchor on the wall.

It was quiet for a moment as he took in what I'd told him. Maybe he was considering walking away. I mean, who would want to talk with someone so pathetic they'd take mysterious pills just to make friends, right?

"I started drinking every day because I made a new friend who I thought only liked me when we drank, and the whole time he was only drinking because he thought the same thing about me." I looked back at him and he was shaking his head as he laughed softly to himself. "We were killing our livers because we were too scared to just be ourselves with each other. It's completely normal, believe it or not. Everyone just wants to be liked."

"You?" I clarified in utter disbelief. "How could you have trouble making friends?"

He chuckled again as his gleaming eyes held mine. "I've made it this far because of the songs I write, not because of my incredible charm. I honestly don't have that many close friends."

"That's crazy," I insisted. "I'd love it if we could be friends, and forget drugs or alcohol because you're just that awesome."

"We can be friends," he countered quickly. "What's your name?"

"EARTH TO LOLA! Anyone home?!"

Kyle's voice snaps me back to the present; in the living room of my apartment, eating Chinese on the couch while Love Island plays on the TV with little attention paid to it. He's scowling hard at me with his chopsticks up in the air, paused on his next bite to ensure he has my attention. He's got it, whether I like it or not. I'd rather finish off my reverie about Chris but sure, let's get back to digging into his personal life with the intention of exposing it all for the skepticism and entertainment of the general public.

Yeah, I know. It was my idea. Can't a girl regret her decisions every now and again?

"Can we just work on other topics for tonight?" I plead with him. "Alex is right, we're not going to get to do this one anyway."

He sighs exaggeratedly, setting his rice down as he rolls his eyes. "This is not a hopeless venture, Lo. Once we've got enough evidence to know we're not chasing a non-existent story, we can definitely talk them into letting an organization of their own people tell their story. I mean," he scoffs as he looks around vaguely, "we're the best people for this job!"

"I doubt this is a job they're looking to fill," I respond unenthusiastically. "This isn't just an entertaining story for them, Ky. This is their life."

"No kidding, girl, but the fact that it's entertaining is why it can be used for good," he insists.

"Now they're sacrificial lambs for the good of all gays?"

"Lola!" he whines exasperatedly. "Why can't you see the bigger picture here?"

"I see the bigger picture, Kyle," I counter firmly. "We have no chance of doing this story and we're wasting precious time on pointless research. We can't do anything with any of this!"

"Pointless research?" he challenges me with a pause. In a quick movement, he pulls his laptop onto his legs and starts clicking around. "2006, 2007, and 2008," he calls out without looking up from his screen.

I stare at him hard for a moment before rolling my eyes. "And that means...?"

"Those were the three years that Unsent Souls and Rigo's old band, The Mezcla, were on Overcast Summer together," he announces proudly as he finally peeks above his laptop at me.

Overcast Summer?! That was the defining tour for emo acts in the early 2000's. Any band worth their salt was on that tour, and the modern-day survivors of it have all hit legendary status in the scene. Unsent Souls are the reigning kings of it all, withstanding twenty-one years of touring and hit-making without a single mainstream media spectacle to taint their story. Until now, that is...

"What else have you found?" I ask gravely as I pull my laptop onto my legs as well.

He chuckles dismissively. "Girl, you're acting like this is going to affect you somehow."

"If Unsent Souls breaks up so Chris can go into hiding, I'm holding you personally responsible for it," I fire back as I click around. I don't even know what I'm looking for, but I don't want to look at him right now.

"If I have my way, he won't have to hide a thing," Kyle answers confidently. "This is a good thing, believe it or not."

"Just get researching," I spit with annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah. It'd be easier if these guys actually used social media," he complains.

"Chris got busy when he became a dad," I say in his defense.

"Rigo took a sabbatical a few months back for an upcoming album. I guess the kid wasn't a good enough reason for him," Kyle chides jokingly.

"Is Rigo married?" I ask, ignoring Kyle's attempts at playful criticism. I just can't stomach it right now; I feel the weight of this debacle like it's my own, and I'm desperate to find some way out of this for them.

"He is I think, but allegedly to a woman named Marcela Jiménez. Nothing official that I can find though. Who's Chris married to?"

"No idea. He's never been public about that stuff."

"How many kids?"

"Just one, a girl named Mia. He talked about becoming a dad just after the hiatus, and at one point he mentioned teaching her guitar." I'm just spitting out facts from interviews now, but I've seen them all enough times that I'm sure of my answers.

"What?" He freezes and lowers his laptop screen to look at me seriously. "What was her name?"

"Um, Mia. Why?" I question hesitantly.

His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply and a smile appears on his lips. "They're. So. Gay."

My eyebrows pull together in confusion. "What? How does his daughter's name—"

"Because," he interrupts impatiently, "Rigo's only child is also a girl named Mia, and you'll never guess who she looks like."

He excitedly flips his phone around to show me the screen and I lean in close. It's opened to one of the last posts from Rigo's Instagram before his break, featuring him—with his hair buzzed and dyed blonde as opposed to the dark curls he's currently sporting, honey brown eyes, and a short, dark beard—and a little girl, maybe nine years old, with blonde hair past her shoulders and striking blue eyes. She's pulled in close with his tattooed hand on her arm and big grins on both of their faces. Kyle already hit the translate button on the Spanish caption, which reads, "Another great day with my daughter! We ate our weight in ice cream today. These memories keep me going on tour. I love you Mía!"

I've seen those blue eyes before, many times, and I suddenly feel numb with the shock of our discovery.

"That's... she looks just like—"

"Chris Ellington!" Kyle finishes the thought eagerly.

"How?" I breathe in disbelief. "How is this possible?"

More importantly, if we put this together so quickly, how many others have figured it out? Do they even know that there's evidence out there about them? Maybe for their sake, we do have to talk to them about this...

"Sweetie, gays have been hiding our lives for centuries," he reminds me condescendingly. "Just think about it. Chris and Rigo look and dress nothing alike. Their music is nothing alike. One made his personal life completely disappear from the public eye the second he started a family, while the other one has never missed a chance to talk about his kid and posted her practically every other day until his recent break. Who would ever suspect them? No one, girl! No one!"

I meet his eyes cautiously so he doesn't get too excited, but I know it's pointless. "You know I'll help you with this, but Chris is a big deal to me and I don't want to do anything less than respectful." He's already buzzing in his seat with giddiness and I repress a laugh. "Send me Rigo's Insta, by the way. I need to take a look at it."

He laughs obnoxiously loud as he reaches for his phone. "God, Lola, you're one of those fans? Are you gonna save the pictures to your phone so you can imagine her as your daughter with Chris?"

"It's not like that, Kyle!" I whine defensively. "It just makes me happy to see her, that's all! Am I really such a bad person for being happy for Chris?"

"Whatever you say, Lo," he giggles sarcastically.

"You know you'd do the same if you suddenly found out Ariana Grande had a secret family," I fire back.

"Girl, Ariana would never hide that from us," he laughs dismissively, but then his face gets serious. "But if you hear anything, send it to me immediately, girl."

Laughter bursts out of me and he joins in with light laughter of his own. "I gotchu, Kyle, because I don't judge how a person enjoys their fandom."

"Shut up and help me find proof these guys are gay," he snickers.

I grimace at his words. "This is starting to feel like a smear campaign, Kyle."

His shoulders drop and he looks at me with exhaustion. "Don't go backwards on me, girl. We were doing so good."

I roll my eyes and laugh it off. "Just tell me what we're doing next."

"Tracking these guys down, duh."

"How?"

"I'll handle that. You keep researching dates they were in the same place," he instructs decisively.

"On it," I agree.