Outside the venue, behind the gear truck, well past midnight

The energy from the crowd had finally faded into the distance, replaced by the low rumble of road cases and the clack of boot soles across the pavement. The crisp night air carried a mix of ozone, diesel exhaust, and faint traces of sweat and fried food from the nearby concessions that hadn’t been cleaned up yet.

Thane stood at the open tail of the Feral Eclipse gear truck, clipboard in one clawed hand, grease pencil in the other. The rigging box sat open beside him, tools neatly arranged despite the chaos earlier. A pair of damaged cable runs lay across the loading ramp like limp snakes, and one of the rear par cans was hanging crooked in its cradle, waiting to be logged.

His fur was still slightly damp along his shoulders, light gray strands catching the moonlight. He jotted a note with practiced efficiency:

– Replace left-side lift chain (sticking again)
– Re-wire rig 4 junction, possible short in DIN plug
– Gabriel’s main vocal input channel: intermittent dropout under heat

A familiar set of footfalls crunched lightly on the gravel behind him.

“Hey,” Gabriel said quietly.

Thane didn’t turn, but the twitch of his ears said he heard him.

“You hiding out?” Gabriel added, stepping closer. He had changed into a dry black tee and was barefoot now—large clawed feet quiet as they padded across the asphalt. His bass was nowhere in sight, finally tucked away in its case.

“Not hiding,” Thane replied, still scribbling. “Just trying to stay ahead of next week’s meltdown.”

Gabriel gave a soft chuckle and leaned his shoulder against the side of the truck. “You really don’t slow down, do you?”

“Only when things aren’t on fire.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Then Gabriel said, “I saw you shield me back there. With the fans.”

Thane finally paused, pencil hovering in midair. “Yeah, well… I didn’t do it for applause.”

“I know. That’s why it means more.”

Thane glanced over at him now, eyes softening.

“You were amazing tonight,” he said. “Even with the mic going out, even with half the rig misbehaving—you held it together.”

Gabriel looked down briefly, then back up with a small grin. “Because I knew you and Mark had me. Like always.”

A low hum rumbled in Thane’s chest—a sound not quite a purr, but something close. He stepped down from the loading ramp and came to stand beside Gabriel, clipboard tucked under one arm.

Without a word, he reached out and nudged Gabriel’s nose with his own—just a slow, warm press, fur to fur. Gabriel closed his eyes and leaned into it, their foreheads touching for a brief moment in the hush of the night.

“I don’t say it enough,” Thane murmured, “but I’m proud of you. Every damn night.”

Gabriel smiled, one arm slipping briefly around Thane’s back. “And I’m proud to have my wolf out here with me. Even if you do snarl at everyone.”

Thane chuckled, then tapped the clipboard against Gabriel’s chest. “Help me finish logging this gear and I’ll consider not snarling at you for the rest of the night.”

Gabriel laughed. “No promises. But I’ll carry the rigging box if you buy me a pizza.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

They turned back to the truck, claws clicking softly on the metal ramp, working side by side under the soft yellow glow of the loading dock light—tired, a little sore, but grounded in the quiet kind of love that didn’t need an audience.