Vox: A FanFic/X-Reader

Chapter Seventeen

We enter the hotel. A catered dinner waits in a conference room for the decompress. The attendees are those from the lunch plus a few more. They've lost their masks and festival attire, mostly.

As my eyes float around the room, I realize it's good to put a face with the talent and antics.

His hand slides up the back of my neck into my hair, turning my head and tugging at strands close to my scalp. Everything else falls away when I look at him. It's the same for him, I think. The smile on his face right now whispers secrets we've yet to discuss.

I curl into him and slide my hand up his chest. He picks me up and my legs wrap around him. We move toward the door, kissing and touching, when someone calls out, "Where are you two going?"

He doesn't stop. I tilt my head back, pecking his lips twice. "Your friends are going to hate me."

"They won't."

"They will."

"I don't want to see them right now."

"Me either, but let's be social for a moment. We have time, incubus."

He hesitates; I drop my legs. "Five minutes."

"How long do these things last?"

"Hours."

"Plural?"

"Sometimes."

"Give it an hour, or at least until someone else leaves. Pretend I'm not here."

"They're used to me dodging them to write or text you, anyway."

"At least you were in the room then, right?"

"Mostly."

"Okay. Go be social. I'm here for you, with you."

"Come on, succubus." He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in as we saunter toward them.

We scan the check-in code, order food and drinks, and find side-by-side chairs. A long table decorated in flowers and white linens centerpieces the room. Directly across from me sits the trouble-starter from the lunch. She winks at me and I narrow my eyes, causing her to smirk. Something might be wrong with that one.

Beside her is the tall one I called Nosy. There are two others I assume are the drummer and guitarist. The rest of them must be the label. Some look familiar, some don't.

For the next twenty minutes, things are fine. At least until an older man asks him, "So, where do we go from here? We're at an impasse."

He tenses. I glance over at the man, a fleeting look. Scooting closer, my arm slides around his back. I lean my head on his shoulder and tuck my hand in his. I regret asking him to stay for this now. He squeezes my hand, letting me know he's okay.

"Remind me when our contract ends," he asks the man.

"You're aware it's a yearly contract contingent upon results and momentum. You agreed."

"I did agree to a 'yearly' contract. Think about that for a moment. Why would I do that?"

"You weren't going to find better."

He laughs. "I did, actually. Before I signed with you, in fact. So, again, I ask you why would I sign with you for a year?"

The man's face blanches.

"Don't talk to me of impasses. Music goes where it will."

The door opens and two tall carts roll in with four additional people. They move in quick succession, taking things where they're needed until the table is full and the carts empty.

As usual, we eat from two plates and get confused looks, not that we care. The older man scoffs at us and leaves, mumbling something about 'children."

Someone kicks my foot, and I move my foot out of the way. Rude. I look up and see the trouble-maker grinning. She mouths, "Thank you," and takes a drink of her wine.

The question written on my face causes her to shrug, but she nods toward the door. She gets up and walks out.

I lean over and whisper, "I'll be right back," kissing his cheek to find the bathroom. As I walk in, she's at the sink washing her hands.

"For what?" I waste no time.

"For being real. For making touring easier. For injecting an occasional smile into his emotional repertoire. I could go on."

"Then why were you starting trouble?" I ask.

"Had to see if you were going to be one of those jealous, petty bitches, didn't I?" she says with an arched brow.

"Oh, fuck off." I shake my head and hand her my phone. "Add me on Insta. If he needs a smile, I'll send nudes."

She cackles and does as I ask, following up with her number. "Just in case," she says and passes my phone back to me.

We come back in together, laughing about something supposedly in the "What Happens On Tour Stays On Tour" category that isn't. I'm in stitches. As we walk in, everyone turns because we were much louder than we realized. Oops.

We reseat ourselves and she says, "Carry on. Nothing to see, hear, know, whatever here."

My chair sits so close to his that they're touching. It makes me smile. I sit down and snake my lower leg around his, tucking my ankle into his. His arm slides around my shoulders, and I turn to kiss his throat.

Nosy says, "I don't think people are supposed to touch that much, not normally."

He says, "I think we'll be going now. We have to—"

"More touching—"

"Mmhmm, forget tomorrow."

"Me or them?" I ask.

"Hush you."

I laugh.

"They're not normal." Nosy reiterates.

"Thinking you're jealous that it's not you," my new friend snorts.

"Finally, someone says what we've been thinking!"

"Who is 'we?'" he asks, pretending to be insulted. Or maybe he is. Who knows?

"All of us."

"Piss off."

"We're not going tomorrow. We're busy," he tells them while looking at me.

"Doing what?" Nosy again.

"No you," he says.

"Hey, I'll share to get in on whatever this is," Nosy teases and waggles his eyebrows.

He looks at me like he's considering asking me if I'd be okay with it and I shake my head and say, "Not that one," and laugh.

Everyone seems to understand that we're joking and laughs too. But Nosy says, "Then who?" He looks at the other two and tries to figure out what they have that he doesn't, I guess.

My new friend pats him on the back and tells me, "I'll fill him in after his ego deflates enough to match the rest of us."