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.