“Shit, that’s nice.” Flash Fiction for Siobhan Muir’s #ThursThreads


Ken stood alone until the bathroom door banged open and a young, disheveled man raced to the urinal beside him, cursing under his breath with each step.

The man unzipped as if he was fumbling to diffuse a ticking time bomb.

Ken smirked at the mirror in front of him. Been there.

“Holy shit, that’s nice,” the man exhaled as a consistent stream splashed against the porcelain.

Ken finished and zipped up.

“The band’s brilliant. So brilliant I forgot to take care of business.”

Ken turned to smile at him. “Glad you think so.”

The man’s eyes went wide. “Wait! Are you…!?”

“Ken Cross. I’d shake your hand, but…”

The young man zipped up hastily and pulled him into a big hug. “You’re my idol! I love Death Punch, but you’re my fav. You shred like a madman!”

Ken didn’t normally like to be touched by strangers, even fans, but the guy’s enthusiasm was cute. Okay, maybe this guy was cute, too. “Thanks. Hey, you want to come backstage and hang with us?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ken shook his head, amused.

“Can I grab my friends?”

“Sure. Bring them on back and tell John, the bouncer – rainbow. He’ll let you in.”

“Awesome,” the young man whispered, but furrowed his brow. “But why me?”

“Cause I was just like you a few years back. So into the music I could burst. And well, you’re hot, too.”

The man’s cheeks flushed and he bit his lip as he left.


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