My fingers throb, vibrantly red, from the thin strings of my guitar. I've been trying to get into the rhythm of my next song, humming the tune, strumming and letting soft notes leave my mouth. But it isn't good enough. 

My finger slips. I start too late. I forget the words. I can't focus.

I let out a deep groan, allowing the strap of my guitar to tighten around my back, my arms falling to my sides and my eyes closing tightly shut. I went from worried sick to frustrated sick. Either way I feel dizzy.

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay you can take it easy.” My manager’s voice is soft, soothing. I let a slit of light through my heavy eyelids, his tall figure blocking some of the white-blue ceiling lights.

“But we still have so much to do and I- I can do it. I just have to concentrate-” 

“You’ll come across as stiff and anxious. We can hear it in your voice. Please, take a break. I talked to Casey and she agreed.” His face is sympathetic, true concern swirling in his rich eyes. He does always know best.

I sigh and prop my guitar against the wall, taking a few extra seconds to stretch my arms above my head.

We make our way to the lounge, it’s nothing fancy. A few stiff yellow and white sofas gathered around low coffee tables, two small plants sitting on the windowsills and some countertops between the archways.

I sit down, sloped and tired, joined at my left by Fahim who sits much straighter. He’s always so calm and collected, well put together and quick at thinking. I envy his coolness, though he is still human. He probably has his own freakout days, ones where he has no idea what to do - not that I can’t imagine it.

“Have you told him yet?” He breaks the uncomfortable silence we somehow slipped into. Though that question doesn’t make me any more comfortable.

“No,” I exhale the guilt that comes with that word, “I know I should but I. I just don’t know how. I’m scared he’s gonna leave- block me or something.” I stuff my hands in my hoodie pockets, covering as much of myself as I can.

I catch Fahim’s eyes; he’s been looking at me for a while but I couldn’t tear my gaze from the wall. He smiles gently, trying to reassure me with looks. “I can’t say I wouldn’t be shocked if someone I’d known for that long turned out to be a rising musician. And I’d definitely be terrified to be dragged into it all,”

I hide my face in my sleeve-covered hands, “you’re not helping. Making it considerably worse, actually.”

He laughs quietly, a subtle attempt to break through the tense atmosphere radiating from me. His calmness alone helps. “Despite all of that I’d still find it somewhat cool.”

My hands move just enough to free my sight in one eye, looking at him with a quirked brow. “What?”

“My best friend is famous? That’s some Hannah Montannah shit, how would I not think that’s cool?” His excited tone makes me laugh and he falls into the low rumbles of our mixed joy. “Though maybe that’s just me. Still, it’d be terrifying but he needs to know. He might be scared off, but he might not be.”

“50-50 chances don’t make me feel any better.”

“Well- shut up! Just pretend I said something really helpful and heartwarming that helped you more than words can describe.” He crosses his arms.

“You did. Well, maybe it wasn’t too helpful but the thought is there. Thank you for even trying, I feel better. Lil bit.” I smile at him. He smiles back, a hint of pride sparkling across him.

“We have a meeting to attend soon. We’re going over what happened and how to handle it. I’m gonna let you have a breather and I’ll be back in a bit to get you.” He messes my hair up as he stands, I scowl at him but he only laughs.

I wait until I can’t see him anymore before turning to face the large windows. The sky is an icy blue - a perfect sign of winter arriving. A few stretched clouds slowly make their way across, a brilliant white airbrushed with cool greys. The city is as busy as ever, people walking every direction, crossing the old cobbled roads and swerving between buses.

Watching the world go by as I sit in patient silence is oddly calming. I occupy my mind with the wonders of what could be going on in everyone else’s lives. Are they worried? Stressed? Like I am. Or are they happy and excited for something new in their lives?

Something new… I pull my phone from my jeans, unlocking it slowly and pulling Isaac’s contact up. I skim through the last conversation we had: last night. He was complaining about some people he has to work with; the antisocial brick he is would probably hate anyone he was forced to work with.

And then he asked me if I was okay. He found it weird that I wasn’t talking much. Even through text he could sense something was off, or am I just that bad at acting?

I click the message bar, thinking through the jungle of words in my head. My body turns cold as my nerves pick up, sweating despite the ice overcoming me. Keep your thoughts clear, I tell myself, you can do it. He needs to know. It isn’t fair to keep it a secret.

I begin typing it out, everything that’s in my head.

Hey Isaac, I have something to tell you. Something big. I should’ve told you sooner but now you’re involved too. And I’m really, so sorry. I don’t want to scare you, I have no idea how you’ll react. Please don’t stop talking to me I need…

Hey Isaac, I have something to tell you. Something big. I shou|

Hey|

Write your message here...

I can’t do it.

~~~

“Engagement on your socials has never been higher. Curious people looking for drama and many of them stay for your music. I know this isn’t ideal,” I tense up in my chair, my arms straight by my sides and my legs held firmly together. I do not like we’re this is going. “But,” there it is, “we want you to take advantage of the situation.”

My forehead starts to ache from holding my eyebrows down for so long, but I can’t relax. I’m sure part of how terrible I feel comes from being so close to coming clean to Isaac and backing out almost immediately. 

I can’t lose him. He’s the best friend I could possibly ask for. I can’t.

“How do you suggest we take advantage?” My manager inquires since I didn’t respond. I mentally kick myself. I can’t look like an idiot right now, not more so than I already do.

I need to calm down enough to think properly. I rest my eyes over the simple navy blue and white walls of the meeting room. It’s plain, only a few framed photos of singers and the production teams fill up the empty space. There’s another plant here, a rich green and red rubber plant growing slowly in the corner. 

We’re sitting around a lightwood table: myself, Fahim, a shy woman who oversees my socials and a head advisor at the company.

“Casey told me the next song you’re working on is a love song. So I’ve asked Sydney here to help you create a video at practice, like a sneak peak.” He gestures to the woman who quickly flashes a small smile. I’ve met her before, though she mostly emails me if she needs to discuss anything. Despite that, she seems just as tense as I am. 

“Okay,” I wait for him to continue but Fahim steps in to finish it off.

“So you want people to think the two things are linked? That the guy Jem is texting is in a relationship with him?”

My heart sinks. We can’t do that! This will only bring more attention to him. And he still doesn’t even know. 

I think Fahim senses my sudden downpour of anxiety because he shoots me a worried look and straightens himself up, the spark of protest resting just beneath his eyes.

“Exactly. Jem you can just write it off as a coincidence if anyone asks you about it. This way more people will find you and hear your music right away. Fans love seeing rehearsals and behind the scene content too so they’ll feel as if their bond with you was strengthened. I mean, you already saw that for yourself from posting the dance rehearsals, right?”

“Hold on,” Fahim steps in, “This could go very wrong. They already took Jem’s phone to find something on him. And this isn’t just about Jem anymore, the privacy of the other boy is hidden by tinted glass right now.”

The advisor’s face grows stern, cold. He leans forward, putting pressure on his arms where they rest on the table-top. “We’re on the right track to figuring out who took Jem’s phone, we have security going through video footage right now. And the other boy’s privacy is protected by the contact name Jem has him under, no information was shared that could leak his identity.”

“But-”

“This meeting is about sorting through the privacy breach and bettering Jem’s career. I’d suggest you go along with it if you would like to see him succeed. In this record label.” His voice is ice cold, impending and puts an end to the argument. “You agree to this right, Jem?”

I chew my lip, forcing myself not to look away as I nod. I catch a glimpse of Fahim’s exasperated expression from the corner of my eye, but I pay it no mind. Compared to what some people have to do to make it in the show world, I probably have it easy. I’m one of the lucky ones.

The meeting continues for a short while: talks about the person who stole the screenshots and what they’re gonna do when they find the culprit. But I switch off part way through. 

My mind is so loud yet so barren all at once. It’s like I have so much to think about that I can’t process a whisper of it. 

I continue in this blank state my entire walk home. The usual soothing sharp air and the sounds of birds don’t settle me, they don’t even get through to me.

I can’t even bring myself to reply to the text Isaac sends me as I cosy up on my sofa, hiding between the pillows.

Neighbour Boy, 19:32 You heard of a Flammulated Owl? It’s you as a bird.