Spin

Six

[FINN]

"Know I'm late, sorry."

I brushed past Dylan, muttering apologies to the production crew. While they should have been annoyed with me, it seemed my late arrival hadn't phased anyone too much - which was more bothersome than if it had. I avoided the heavy gazes and eager smiles, pretending I didn't feel like an animal at the zoo.

"Are you good?"

Dylan's close proximity startled me as I tossed my wallet and phone on the side table, her gaze lingering on my trembling hand. I tried to shrug her off but she grabbed my shoulder, keeping me in place before I could walk off.

"Hey. Talk to me."

"I could barely leave my place," I sputtered out, trying to keep my voice down. "Dunno how my address got out but I can't do that."

"Okay. Does your building not have good enough security?"

I hadn't noticed Jack walked up, laughing behind me.

"His flat has barely got a running faucet, you think the building has security?"

When I didn't deny the statement, Dylan raised her eyebrows at me.

"I have so many questions."

"Doesn't matter," I rubbed my palm over my face, unable to shake how off-putting it felt to walk outside my home to be greeted by 30 strangers. "I can't stay there, it's just getting worse."

It ached to say it but I knew I no longer had the option of staying at the old flat. My life oftentimes felt like I was living two simultaneously but the separation had always been clear. It seemed as though suddenly, the wind was having a grand time fucking up the line I'd carefully drawn in the sand.

"Say no more," she nodded assuringly. "Don't worry about it, Finn. I'll handle it, I can get you set up at The Savoy, I've got a contact there."

"Fancy pants," Jack teased, nudging me as he walked away.

"I don't need-"

"Don't be silly," Dylan scoffed, shooing me off. "It's safe, it's private, you'll be good. I'll figure it out, why don't you go ahead and get over there."

I didn't have time to protest, thanking her as the production assistant ushered me away. The lads were already sitting down as the makeup artist started powdering my face, a new step in the routine that both myself and my skin didn't approve of. I bit my tongue given that I was already late, letting her attack me with various creams to ironically cover the couple of spots the same shit had caused.

"Did you get a slap on the hand from Jones?" Ace muttered quietly as I glanced over, unsure what he was getting at. He pointed at my t-shirt. "Not the shirt she gave you for this."

"Was that not optional?"

The three of them smirked, confirming I was the odd one out.

"Whatever, it's a bloody shirt."

"The other wasn't bad, mate," Jack slapped my shoulder. "Kind of sick, actually."

"I know. An itchy bastard, though."

We all chuckled to ourselves as the journalist stepped out, my mood quickly shifting. Rob Wilton was an icon in the industry and while I loathed most press, I had been looking forward to our sit-down with him. It seemed as though I wasn't the only one feeling a bit starstruck, the boys on their best behavior as we exchanged our initial pleasantries and got on with the interview.

It was the kind of rare exchange that made me feel fulfilled as an artist. For nearly 45 minutes, we talked anything and everything related to our creative process, even going so far as getting into specific technical choices on each track. Rob's expertise and professionalism didn't disappoint, each question more tailored than the last. More than anything, it was refreshing to see that for the first time in the weeks we'd spent promoting the album, questions weren't just directed at me.