hey bestiesss <3

this was originally a longer chapter, but I split it into two parts, so it's a bit shorter than usual.

have fun!
great stuff happening soon...

***

I'm barely hanging in there.

I'm almost done with my shift, but my hangover is still pounding on my temples, so I'm drinking carbonated water in between orders to feel somewhat better.

I feel like a dry fucking vegetable.

As I'm leaning on the counter, and rubbing my under-eyes to get rid of the pulling feeling, I get startled when I feel a presence behind me.

"Jesus, you scared me," I jump when I see Landon in front of me now taking off his jacket.

"I can see you're having a rough day," he says in an amused tone, getting ready for his shift.

"Yeah, I-" I start to try to come up with a lie because I promised I'd bring him with me every single time I went out partying.

"You've been out drinking again," he disappointedly declares, making my shoulders slump, "You promised me tha-"

"I know I did, but just didn't think the night would end up like that," I justify, earning a sigh from him.

He pulls me in a tight hug, murmuring, "I'm just worried about you. I don't want a replay of that one night's events..."

"I know, I know. I promise you, I don't feel like that anymore. As much as I appreciate you keeping an eye on me, I'm not gonna try that ever again," I mumble in his shirt before pulling back from the hug, getting uncomfortable talking about that night.

"You know you can call me whenever, right?" he tugs his thin lips into a flat line, "Especially now that you won't be working at the cafe anymore."

"The same applies to you, sir," I offer him a pinkie, as he interlaces our pinkie fingers, making a promise to call each other whenever we're not doing well.

"You know, I'm gonna miss you," he sighs, as I take off my apron, ready to end my shift.

"It's not like we won't see each other anymore," I shrug, pulling on my backpack.

"Well it's gonna be different without you here," he sighs, and the realization there are only three days left for me to work, creates a fairly sour feeling in my bones.

"I still will come by, I promise," I reassure before walking out the front doors, feeling much lighter now that I've talked everything out with him.

The slight breeze plays with my hair on my walk to my apartment. The phone in my pocket rings, so I pull it out, only to be surprised when I see Harry's name flash on the screen.

As I'm about to pick up his call, Chloe's words ring through my head, making me contemplate on answering.

'I mean, think about the articles if he's supposedly dating someone known as a cheater. It's bad publicity. Especially if he's releasing new music, as you said. And if the articles continue, it could be the downfall of his career.'

I know for a fact our rehearsals start in two days, so he must be calling about something else. A bitter feeling starts accumulating in the bottom of my throat when the phone stops ringing.

I don't want to be seen with him as the whore everyone thinks they know everything about.

Shortly after I reach my apartment, a ding erupts from my phone once again, but this time it's a text message.

Harry:
9:47 pm
Hey! Congratulations on your song!
I loved it!
Would you like to go out and celebrate the success?
The champagne's on me :)

I smile at his supportive message, but my expression gets wiped off once I'm unsure of what to reply.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I don't answer his message yet, seeing as I've got other stuff to worry about, so I stuff the phone back in my pocket, making a mental note to reply later.

I talked to Finneas, and he said we should make a studio version of Lovely instantly. So I'm currently waiting for him to arrive at my home soon and we can start producing the song in my apartment.

We're going to have to work at night since I still have to be at the cafe for a few days. We couldn't postpone the production because it's smarter we release the studio version while the song is still 'fresh', so we should be finished by April 15th when I leave to perform 'Sign of the Times' and 'Ever Since New York' on SNL for Harry.

I'm still trying to figure out whether it's for or with him.

When my doorbell rings, I open the door to see Finneas carrying a huge bag in his hands containing computers, microphones, and other studio stuff I have no idea the use for.

I help him carry some instruments inside from his bus, and I'm taken aback by how many things he brought with him — a bunch of keyboards, guitars, violins, even a flute, and other percussion instruments I didn't catch the name of.

"Wow, we're really going all out, yeah?" I ask, carefully carrying the flutes inside, making sure they're handled delicately.

"Yeah, it's going to take a long time to get everything done," he states, as a crease becomes more prominent between his eyebrows, now that worry starts filling him.

We decided to make a collab version, where Finneas is also included, so we spend at least an hour going over the lyrics once again, and deciding which parts each of us should sing, but my mind keeps worrying about what to answer Harry.

I decide to get it over with and snap a picture of our studio set-up in my kitchen, sending it to him.

Me:
to Harry
1:32 am
*one picture attachment*
Thank you!
The journal came in handy, after all.
Sorry, I can't this time!
Gonna be spending the next few nights producing the song :/

Sure, I could squeeze some time in to hang out with him, but I don't wanna risk it. Plus, I probably should be focusing on my career more than ruining his.

We spent the next few hours recording our voices and making harmonies, then deciding to record the arrangements for each instrument tomorrow, seeing as me and Finneas both fell asleep at least twice in the middle of going over the melodies.

Out of curiosity, I check the cover version I posted yesterday, to see 10.36M views flashing on the screen, as the other songs I posted months ago are slowly gaining views too.

Fucking crazy.

~~~

I spent the next few days trying to balance out working at the cafe in the mornings, going to the rehearsals in the evenings, and producing 'Lovely' at nights, only sleeping a few hours a day.

I've been keeping my distance from Harry in the rehearsals, and keeping communication to the minimum. I'm pretty sure the whole band blames my avoidance from talking on the fact I'm super nervous for the live show, which I am, but not entirely.

In the rehearsals, I've noticed Harry pushing through the songs with his entire voice, which is slightly worrying me. I really hope his voice doesn't give out when it's time to go all out.

If I'm honest, I'm not as nervous to perform as I was for the documentary. Maybe it's because I don't have to play the whole album and can only concentrate on two songs. I genuinely feel like if you'd wake me up in the middle of the night asking me to play Sign of the times and Ever Since New York, I'd play it flawlessly half-asleep, but my thoughts could change once we get closer to performing.

I'm currently on the plane to New York with the rest of the band, as I'm once again avoiding Harry by sitting next to Sarah. It's quite pathetic, really, but I just know if I'm gonna be talking with him, it'll turn out in making plans.

I won't be out in New York for long, seeing as we're performing for SNL today, and flying back right after the show.

I look to my left side to see Sarah reading a book, so I take out two notebooks from my backpack, grabbing the pink manifestation journal, and gently tracing my index finger over the first written sentence all over the beginning page.

'I don't fuck it up.
I don't fuck it up.
I don't fuck it up.'

Huh, I guess it worked.

I attach the black-inked pen to the yellow tainted paper, slowly scribbling another sentence over and over again, manifesting for the next performance.

'I have control over my voice and motions.
I have control over my voice and motions.
I have control over my voice and motions.
I have control over my voice and motions.
I have control over my voice and motions.
I have control over my voice and motions.'

This time I'm manifesting for the strength to be able to successfully perform.

Honestly, I'm scared of my performance less than the public's reviews. Everyone's going to have an opinion on whether or not I should be on the band, or if my playing is good enough for their standards.

Even though 'Lovely' received a good response, the number of hate comments was as many as the praise ones.

Everyone's constantly comparing me to models and other singers, slowly making me feel more and more self-conscious. I know, it's stupid, but I can't help it.

I guess curiosity killed the cat.

Everyone's constantly waiting for me to slip up. I don't think I'll ever be good enough.

I close the manifestation notebook, moving on to the gifted black and white lyric journal, which I've decorated with a lot of stickers — like Harry suggested— looking over the jumping ponies, the strawberries being surrounded by bunnies, the diversity of hearts, stars, flowers and other cute charms playing on the cover of the book.

I open the next lined page, thinking about the overwhelming emotions I'm feeling right now. I probably should feel sad and insecure about the comments sent my way, but overall I'm just mad.

Mad and jealous.

I decide to just put everything on my mind on the frail paper with the help of my black ink, trying to be as raw and straightforward as possible.

I kinda wanna throw my phone across the room
'Cause all I see are girls too good to be true
With paper-white teeth and perfect bodies
Wish I didn't care

It's not hard to think of the words flowing on the page, as I haven't stopped once to come up with a new line, my pen incessantly creating a pleasant noise every time I attach it to the notepaper.

I know their beauty's not my lack
But it feels like that weight is on my back
And I can't let it go

A few letters get smudged from the pace I'm scribbling, but I don't think I've written truer lyrics than the ones I've written so far. I swear social media is so manipulative.

The other day I spent a long time looking at other models and wishing I had something that they had, but once I realized I could never have it, I almost started wishing they wouldn't have that trait at all. Call me absurd, but I couldn't help it. So I made a pact with myself to stop looking at others on social media, and only focus on my well-being.

Co-comparison is killin' me slowly
I think I think too much
'Bout kids who don't know me
I'm so sick of myself
I'd rather be, rather be
Anyone, anyone else
My jealousy, jealousy started followin' me

I think again about that time I spent on the internet despising myself, and project all the anger and jealousy down on the paper. Now that I look back on it, I realize how stupid I am for letting the articles get to me.

All your friends are so cool, you go out every night
In your daddy's nice car, yeah, you're livin' the life
Got a pretty face, a pretty boyfriend, too
I wanna be you so bad and I don't even know you

I connect the words at an incredibly fast rate, but suddenly stop at the line 'In your daddy's nice car," as the realization I'll never be able to experience even a fraction of that sentence hits me, but I'm quick to bury it down and continue writing, almost creating a hole in the page from the unnecessary force I'm adding with each letter.

All I see is what I should be
Happier, prettier, jealousy, jealousy
All I see is what I should be
I'm losin' it, all I get's jealousy, jealousy

I let out my last self-pity words, about to continue, but get interrupted when Sarah shuts her book, turning to me.

"What are you writing in there?" she excitedly asks, as I let out a relaxed breath, feeling so much more at ease now that I've let out my spiraling on the piece of paper.

"Nothing special," I shrug it off, tucking both journals with the pen into my small bag. Usually, I'd show her what I'm working on, but this one feels too raw to show anybody. Maybe one day.

When the ding above us indicates the plane is about to land, Sarah rests her head on the side of the window, watching the the beautiful scenery float through the window, but I scrunch up my eyebrows when I notice something her hoodie couldn't cover.

"Sarah fucking Jones!" I whisper-shout, making her eyes widen, "Is that a hickey?" I point to the spot on her neck she failed to cover up.

"Shhh..." she hushes me, deliberately pulling the hoodie back up.

"No way!" I smile at the way she seems so happy, but start silently praying it's Mitch, and raise my eyebrows in wait for her to continue.

"Yeah, Mitch and I are figuring it out..." she shyly explains, as the corners of her lips slowly turn up in thought.

"I knew it!" I could run a lap around the plane in excitement if I weren't buckled in the seat."You fit so well together!"

"You can't tell anyone. I mean it!" She strictly points at me, pulling out concealer from her bag, as I pretend to seal my lips shut by dragging two of my fingers over the line in between my lips.

"Meh, just call me when you need help babysitting your future kids," I joke, taking the make-up product from her hands and concealing the multiple hickeys she missed. Someone certainly had a wild night.

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself, love. We're still figuring it out," She pulls her hoodie higher, unbuckling her seatbelt after the plane hits the ground and some claps in front of us congratulate our arrival at New York, as I let out a hum of disbelief at her statement.

~~~

Silence.

A torturing silence is what surrounds us right now.

We have three minutes until the live performance, and everybody's mentally preparing themselves for it. This is the first time everyone's gonna hear Sign of the times unedited, after all. We have to do the best we can to keep up Harry's reputation.

The pressure's pretty high if you ask me.

The sound of me unwrapping the strawberry-flavored hard candy fills the air between all of the bandmates standing in a circle, but no one seems to be bothered by it.

'2 minutes. Please wait for further instructions backstage.' I hear a voice erupt from my earpiece, as everyone in the band makes worried eye contact. Well shit, we're really doing this.

Harry senses our anxiousness and tries to relieve it by talking with us, "Do you guys want to hear a joke?" his British accent rings through the air, as everybody can hear the anxious waver his voice contains. He's probably really terrified as well.

He continues when he has all of our attention, "Why are elevator jokes so classic and good?"

Silence.

"It's because they work on so many levels," he explains, being the only one chuckling. Who laughs at their jokes?

"Please, that's such a dad joke," I remark, almost lighting up Harry's eyes, as this might be the first time he's heard me talking with him about something other than work ever since my conversation with Chloe.

"I'd prefer daddy joke, thank you very much. But sure, whatever floats your boat," he scoffs, leaning against the backstage door right opposite of me, as our eyes meet for a second, but I look away, acknowledging the awkward tension between us.

'One minute. Please get into places.'

"Oooh! I have another one!" Harry jumps up from the door, pointing a finger in the air, his black nail polish chipped a bit, as I notice he hasn't retouched, changed, or removed it ever since I painted them for him.

"What's brown and sticky?" he starts the joke, as we all slowly slip into a concentrated mental state, ignoring his ramble of words.

"A stick," he laughs at his own joke once again. "I made that one up myself!" He proudly grins, trying to get a reaction out of us.

'40 seconds. A crewmate will escort you to the stage shortly.'

I start shaking my hands to relieve tension from them to be able to easily play on the piano, as a man with a huge folder in his hands opens the doors to the stage, leading us further into the barely lit elevation, and I hear some faint ruffling in the crowd.

Everyone gets into their places, checking the already tuned instruments from the previous one-minute rehearsal we had half an hour ago. Harry really was pushing it with his voice, making me worry once again, but I guess he knows what to do best.

'20 seconds.' The earpiece echoes the sound of a ticking metronome, as an anxious feeling overtakes my body with each beat, making my hands sweat again.

I wipe my hands against my black flared pants, which are paired with the same pitch-black off-shoulder top, before I tuck a curl behind my ear, my legs shaking from all the nerves.

I inhale a large breath through my nose, thinking about what I wrote in my manifestation journal.

'I have control over my voice and motions.'

I exhale the trace of air through my mouth, the trepidation filling my veins. Everyone's going to have their own opinion about me being in the band. If I slip up and fail, my career is over before it even has begun.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Harry Styles!!!" I hear the words slip past Jimmy Fallon's lips, as the small crowd starts cheering. There are way too many people for my liking, so I make a pact with myself to never look around the crowd, otherwise, I'll start panicking.

'5 seconds'

Showtime baby.

***

As you can see, Amber's really struggling with understanding where she stands in the music industry, which is why she constantly overthinks and seems insecure or uncertain of everything!

BUUUT there is such a thing called character development, which will happen!!!

so please don't give up on this story just because the overthinking is annoying you <3

aaanyway, I hope ur doing ok!

how do you think the performance is going to go?

i love yall