One More Time [A Larry Stylinson FanFic]

Chapter 9: Week Five

The fifth week.... the fifth week was not quite going as well as Marley might have hoped. For one, the exhaustion had hit her. She didn't know why now, all of a sudden, everything had crept up on her. But it had. She was irritable with everyone. Including Bev.

And that, was not good. (Spoiler alert.) She sighed.

After a long and difficult first practice, Bev had reluctantly signed on to Marley's choice for 90s Week. Marley wanted to change her tempo up a bit this week. Bev had cautioned her against over-reacting to the judges' criticism of her "safe" 80s ballad duet. She intimated that she was hampered by partners a bit. The only saving grace was that Production had decided, for whatever reason, that the restrictions for duets were released. After the older gentleman had been cut the week before, and he was revealed to be Samuel L. Jackson (holy shit!), Marley would have only missed the younger African American performer, someone who was doing quite well, and with whom Marley would love to have been paired if she wasn't so keen on hanging out again with Sam. They were her two options she had floated to Bev this morning. Bev was in no mood and had just responded that fine – she would see. Marley got the feeling that inquiries wouldn't even be made until tomorrow's practices. Which meant Marley's would probably be pushed until after theirs. She hated late practices. The anxiety leading up to them always threw off the rest of her day.

That might have added to why she had staged a sort of prison break. See, she had been having Tate bring her to the stairwell late at night to let her practice singing. For one, the acoustics were frickin' phenomenal. Secondly, they were a bit sound-proofed, so Marley didn't need to worry about anyone in the hallway hearing her. ...She just needed to worry about anyone opening the door and spotting her. Which is probably why Tate stood (and then later sat) in the stairwell on the top stair, next to the nearest door, ready to catch it if it popped open. He sat there for five hours the first night. When Marley couldn't sleep and texted him at 2 a.m., she didn't hear back. Assuming Tate was sleeping, she slowly and silently peeked open her door, a hoodie up over her face, sunglasses on, just in case anyone was there. Everyone was sound asleep. Not a soul in the hallway. Marley slipped out with just her bottle of water, her room card, and her phone.

Marley would have felt bad about playing her music in the stairwell if she didn't know how well the sound was insulated. She could hear the doors open, if any did, they were so noisy. The only worry was if the door on her level opened and someone popped in. But everyone moved through the elevators. Maybe a maid, but surely that wouldn't happen at 2 a.m. She just wanted to practice her solo – she didn't have that down yet. And since she didn't even know who her duet would be with, she wasn't sure if she needed to learn that song too. It was a rough start. Marley realized what a saving grace it had been the first few weeks having been ahead of the game knowing her solos already.

She queued Weezer's Say It Ain't So on her phone – a 90s rock bop if ever there were one, but undeniably a break-up song – and was through her third run-through, the part where she was soloing and bemoaning her father, step-father.... When another voice started harmonizing with her – and sounding sick as sin, she might add – when she realized that the guy singing with her...was...right there.

She jumped, startled out of her skin.

Marley's heart rate was still at heart-attack levels and she was still screeching, and she realized the person was both yelling and trying to reassure her. "No, no, no no no!" he was yelling over her. "It's okay! I won't say anything if you won't!"

Someone had walked into the stairwell, that's what was going on. Marley realized that the stranger's voice registered in her brain before his face did. It was honey-warm, even when it was yelling. It was the voice she had been puzzling over for weeks, trying to place. And the owner of the voice was standing just five steps up the stairwell, inside the closed door to the hallway.