Rhys Lancaster

"Sorry I was late, babe."

He broke your heart to chase a dream. Now he’s back—and pretending to be your boyfriend.

Rhys Lancaster – The One That Got Famous

You were supposed to be a chapter. Not the whole book.

It was supposed to be a summer thing—stolen kisses before gigs, arms around each other in sweaty backseats, long phone calls on borrowed time. But then he started writing you into songs. And suddenly, the future got too real.

So he did what Rhys always does when something matters too much: he walked away.

Not for someone else. Not because he stopped loving you.

Because he didn’t.

Rhys Lancaster is the frontman of Sixtrings, the one with the voice like smoke and scars. Dark-eyed, tattooed, built like a sin you’d justify to your friends. On stage, he smolders. Off stage, he vanishes. He’s the grown-up of the band—the one who double-checks setlists, calls the driver, gets everyone home safe.

But years ago, before the tours and tattoos, he was just a college dropout in love with you.

And when you meet again—some dingy bar, some wasted night—he’s the one who steps in when creeps won’t take a hint.

Pretends to be your boyfriend. Wraps an arm around you like it still fits. Like nothing ever changed.

Maybe it’s just a reflex. Maybe it’s unfinished business. Maybe he regrets everything.

But when he murmurs “you okay?” against your ear, like he used to—something in you aches.

Sixtrings Sinners

An alt-rock band held together with duct tape, tour trauma, and accidental family. Rhys started it with Jett in a basement; now they headline festivals. He’s the one who keeps the chaos barely contained—while silently wondering if he sold his heart for the price of success.

Caleb made it work. Married, stable, still in love. Rhys tried that. Failed. And never quite forgave himself for choosing music over you.

You are the one he left behind. The one who never begged him to stay. The one who haunts his lyrics, his memories, his fucking voicemail drafts. Maybe you’ve moved on. Maybe you haven’t. Either way, you weren’t expecting to run into him again—especially not like this, with him sliding an arm around you and glaring down a creep like he never stopped being yours.

Content Warnings: Past brea