𝚂𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝙼𝚢 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 (Complete)

𝙱𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚁𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚍𝚜

He doesn't have to say my name.

But he does anyways.

I hear it echo through the auditorium without even flinching. I can't move; it's like I'm playing night at the museum, moving means getting caught.

"Paris Andrist. Will you come on stage?"

It's a simple hum. Everything is just a numb sound—background noise as the memories begin flooding in. I take a step back, forgetting that I'm actually sitting. My foot pushes against the leg of the chair, and I tip over backward, falling roughly to the ground. I slowly rise to my feet to see Mike's camera angled at me.

I flash my best look of betrayal.

I turn to the screens for an unnecessary confirmation and see my side profile projected for all to see. My eyes go wide, and suddenly I'm frozen again. The cheers die out as if the crowd is disappointed that I haven't done anything.

What do you want from me, people?

Thousands of people are staring, judging, waiting for me to make the pilgrim's progress down the mountain and through the sea. Am I supposed to just keep my head high and trudge down on through? What then? Why does Lucas even want me on the stage?

I look between the camera and my face blown up to fit the size of the screen.

Nope.

Not doing it.

I sprint away from the camera, through the door in the back of the platform and hide behind the curtain separating the small room. I back into the wall and slide down it, desperately trying to steady my breaths.

It's fine.

You didn't just ignore thousands of people.

You didn't almost just have a panic attack.

The world isn't ending.

It's all good.

You're good.

Everything's fine.

Ｆｉｎｅ

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Ｆｉｎｅ

𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠

Fantastic

I rock back and forth, mumbling quietly to myself. "Paris?" a voice calls from somewhere outside.

I jump and hit my head against the wall. The noise brings attention to my hiding spot, and Lucas suddenly appears through the fabric of the curtain. The concern is written all over his face and relief floods color back into his pale cheeks. Luckily, my eyes are dry. I'm embarrassed by my red cheeks, but hopefully, he can't see it with the only light coming from the small gap his head is sticking through.

"I should have told you what I was planning, I just—" He cuts himself off.

"It's fine," I reply quietly. "Why were you calling me to the stage anyway?"

"I was hoping we could sing the next song together," he answers, a small smile playing on his lips. "You think you can gather enough courage to join me?"