oh, anna [-hs]

do i wanna know?

a/n THIS IS THE SECOND CHAPTER IN THE TRIPLE UPDATE (2/3)

aww baby here we go. now it's getting serious...

47.

The opener was good, but really just built incredible tension in the audience.

Now we're all standing, awkwardly shifting our weight from foot to foot. Some of us are very drunk. A few times an intense chant of Harry's name has surged in different parts of the arena.

We've been waiting for ten minutes. I'm sure the curtain's going to drop any minute.

I decided to rest Cherry and my bag on the lip of the stage. It's right there and I was getting tired of holding them. Besides, it's going to be pretty hard for anyone to try and steal either from this side of the barricade. I'm kind of wishing I was buzzed. Waiting sober for a concert to start is so ridiculously boring.

What am I talking about, there's flasks practically circulating the pit.

I whirl around on my heel and scan the group of people behind me. A few of them stare down at their phones, some look up to the stage, others whisper-shout amongst themselves. A glint of metal captures my attention and I practically lunge for it.

"Hey," I call out to the owner. A small girl, probably in college, wearing a catsuit and black ears, turns to look at me. "May I?"

She looks me over once, taking in the silver barrier between us. And then she shrugs to herself and hands me the flask over the fence. Her eyes lazy and glazed.

"Fireball," she cautions as I bring it to my lips. I'm already drinking it before I can register her words. The taste hits my tongue and I wince. Like red hots and pee that fireball whisky. The burn tickles my throat. I swallow harshly and take another swig of the flask, before handing it back to her and wiping my chin with the back of my hand.

"Thank you," I sigh loudly. She chuckles a little and drinks from it herself.

"How'd you get backstage?" She wonders drunkenly. I shrug.

"I'm filming," I shout, pointing to Cherry.

"Filming tipsy," she grins big, and disappears back into the pit as quickly as she appeared.

I doubt two sips of fireball will get me tipsy. If anything, it will just serve as a reminder for why I stopped drinking fireball. I try searching the crowd for a different flask.

The lights go out and the arena is pitch black in an instant.

I whip around to stare at the blackness where the stage should be. The roar of the crowd grows unbearable. I lean against the structure, pressing my hands on the surface to brace myself from the sound.

A chorus of angelic voices rips through my eardrums. It's blasting from the speakers to my right. Louder and louder it grows. I feel like I'm pancaked between the wall of singing and the screams of the crowd behind me.

Slowly, the display screen and black curtains begin to rise. White fog crawls out from the few inches of space. As the curtain raises more, the screams grow to an unfathomable enormity. I blink heavily, feeling the impact. I'm so glad I put ear plugs in. Thinking I wouldn't need them feels childish now.

Beams of light shoot out from behind the rising curtain. And then I see a pair of white heeled boots, and the sparkles from the stripes on his pants glitter in the lights.

It raises to reveal his entire silhouette, he clutches the mic in one hand, his head lowered so he stares at the ground. He's dark against the lights shining out into the pit, backlit by their intensity. I feel a tugging in my chest, a memory resurfacing seeing him in this light.