Brightside

02 | you've got a friend in me

"Eddie Yamaguchi. Maverick's expecting me."

"He says you have a password."

Eddie rolled her eyes. "Peace up, A-town."

The receptionist stared at her expectantly.

Eddie sighed and made a peace sign with her hand before flipping the sign to make the A. "I'm not repeating myself. Please put the two together."

"Third elevator, fifth floor. Turn left. You'll see him on the right."

"Thank you."

Eddie made her way to the elevator, buried her hands in her jacket pockets after pressing the button. Balled and unballed her fists. She'd met Maverick a hundred times at charity events, she didn't understand why she was nervous. Yes she did. This was more personal than a charity event. He was in the studio. His space. She was walking into his office and expecting him to tell her something he might not even know. Maverick was too nice to tell her to fuck off over text.

The ding made her want to vomit, but instead, she stepped forward. Looked around for a moment, down a golden yellow hall that had too many frames for too many people who were far more important than Eddie looking for a man to simply say thank you. Embarrassing.

Turn left. You'll see him on the right.

Eddie did so, walked up to a glass door after decidedly ignoring the accolades on the walls. And when she saw him, of course, he was in the booth. Lost in a melody; probably lost somewhere in his own locked down mind. A trip down memory lane that he granted anyone who listened to his new album access to. Far more vulnerable than Eddie wanted to be with anyone.

She stood there for a moment before he finally opened his eyes. Still singing, he waved her in. Eddie pulled the door open and was immediately met with Maverick's heart on the page.

"I'd like to say that I know the way / Home, but you read la carte / And I'm in a funk / Rosy-cheeked, you say je suis ivre / 'Cause you speak French when you're fucking drunk." Maverick shook his head. Waved to cut the music. As if he didn't manage to rhyme two different languages together and make it sound decent—like that wasn't some kind of genius. "It's not right. Can I take ten?"

The person sitting by the soundboard leaned toward their microphone. "A normal person ten or a Maverick ten?"

"We'll find out in ten."

"See you in half an hour."

Maverick took his headphones off and walked out of the recording booth. "Akuma!"

Maverick had always had this older brother aura about him—despite the fact Eddie was four months older than him—that made him pretend to punch her every time he walked up to her. Yes, even at charity events. It was embarrassing. There were pictures of him doing it on red carpets. Eddie imagined his actual little sister was simply glad he'd found a new fake-punching bag.

"Pete Mitchell!" Eddie put her hands up in defense of Maverick's fake attack. Swung a fake punch and Maverick spun on his heel like a knocked-out cartoon.

Maverick held his arms out. Sure sign he wanted a hug. Eddie rolled her eyes and gave in. Enveloped by Maverick's cologne—at least he didn't wear too much.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Maverick said, pulling away after a moment. He nodded toward the door with his head, letting Eddie lead the way before holding it open for her. Sometime since the last time she'd seen him, he'd gotten his nose pierced. Small gold hoop glistened in the light. He and Stevie really were merging into the same chaotic gremlin one day at a time.