𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 | ♬

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

s o n g s : star shopping, cameras drake

The salty breeze wafted through the air, and the rhythmic sounds of crashing waves enveloped us as we perched at the bar, our hair and swimwear still damp, and the clouds above growing denser by the moment. "Looks like surfer season is winding down," I mused, gazing up at the sky and letting out a sigh. "One could say that," Jay concurred, reclining and taking a sip of his beer can while surveying the scene. "So, why isn't your brother here?" he asked, turning his attention to me, prompting a sigh and a nonchalant shrug from my end. "He's not in a talking mood-and I didn't want to force him," I replied, fingers fidgeting nervously.

I couldn't help but feel like I was falling short when it came to Logan. I was supposed to take care of him, yet he was a complete mess, losing himself in adventures or whatever, and there was nothing I could do to stop it-because, damn it, he's Logan.

Jay must have picked up on my concerns, as he flashed a reassuring smile and called, "Hey," to draw my gaze. I mustered a faint smile, but he saw right through it. "What's on your mind, Kova?" he asked, and I pursed my lips. I didn't want to reveal too much; after all, this was our business, wasn't it? But sometimes, the weight of it all became too overwhelming. I was 20, taking care of a 16-year-old who wasn't the easiest kid, and then there was the fact that I despised pity. If I talked, I knew it would be all about that.

I tapped on the table, debating whether to spill my thoughts or not. "Listen, you can talk to me, you know that, right?" he reassured, and I offered a soft smile. I knew Jay was an angel, always there for everyone, uplifting spirits and just genuinely being a good person. I was about to say something when the laughter and banter of Kyle and Dakota interrupted us, Dakota stumbling behind him with new beer cans and food in hand.

"Who's up for some grub?" Dakota asked, eyeing the fries. "They've got vegan chicken wings; thought I'd give it a shot." She shrugged, taking a seat next to Jay and grabbing a few fries, devouring them in an instant while also inspecting the suspicious-looking wings. "And these are...plants?" Kyle teased in a joking manner, earning a light hit from Dakota. "Hey, don't judge if you haven't tried it yet," she protested, cautiously taking one and biting into it. "I'll stick to the real ones," Kyle quipped, leaning on Dakota and moaning appreciatively as he indulged in his wings. She frowned, attempting to get the plant-based bite down. "Oh, they're not good?" Kyle teased, holding his wings in front of her. "Mhm, mine are so juicy and perfect, Mhm-" he was about to moan louder when I kicked his leg with my feet to silence him. "Dick," Dakota muttered, scoffing.

Throughout our gathering, Jay kept a watchful eye on me, clearly sensing something was amiss, but I played it off. I was here to spend time with my friends.

This was our ritual-once the storm rolled in, we would be the last ones at the bar, drinking and engaging in senseless banter until the rain started to pour. However, I had to leave early. After all, I had a brother to take care of. Amidst a few goodbye hugs and kisses, I made my way home, almost running, since at that time, it was pouring already.

-☆-

Unlocking the front door, I glanced around, finding Logan knocked out on the couch, his snores filling the room. A sigh of relief escaped me as I approached the coffee table, grabbed the TV remote, and switched off the cartoon he had been watching.

In his slumber, he resembled my younger, carefree brother. Logan was always a complex kid-strong-willed and fearless, a good combination, but a challenging mix for a struggling teen.

His messy blonde hair framed his face, an arm covering his eyes as he snored loudly. Beside him, an empty water bottle stood, which I carefully picked up and disposed of, trying not to disturb his peaceful sleep.

Taking a deep breath, I entered the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and returned to my room to address what had been occupying my thoughts-researching the mysterious Micah Hayes. I hadn't informed my friends yet; I wasn't even sure if I would accept the job. Still, there were a few compelling reasons, and deep down, I knew I didn't have much of a choice but to dance for him.

I loved dancing but hated dancing for others. I preferred choreographing my own pieces and despised when people critiqued my work and talent. Dancing shouldn't have rules, not at all.

The aging laptop whirred noisily as I waited for it to boot up. It was old, a relic from my dad's work, and I decided to keep it-not because I couldn't afford a new one, of course.

Entering my mother's birthday as the password, I opened the browser, which took an agonizingly long time, and typed in the name of the rockstar. A plethora of articles and pictures flooded the screen, revealing a handsome brunette on red carpets and stages, either holding a guitar or dancing.

"Cheated on Influencer Rosie? Rosie and Micah-the tragic end..." were some of the articles I skimmed through.

Fantastic, working for a cheater-how great. As I scrolled through the content, I found a host of scandals, from love affairs to marketing ploys. Apparently, my dude had led a tumultuous life.

Sighing, I opened YouTube, searched his name, and was greeted with numerous music videos and songs. What caught my eye, though, was that he was actually dancing with his dancers. It wasn't lazy or overexaggerated; the blend was perfection. Perhaps I could overlook the many scandals for the sake of this opportunity.

The music echoed through my headphones-simple, alternative, with hints of various other genres, leaving me intrigued about what his next single might sound like. As I delved deeper into the abyss of information, it became increasingly evident that he had a legion of adoring female fans.

Micah Hayes was the epitome of fan service. I clicked on an old interview from a year ago, watching as his dark gray eyes sparkled, nodding politely as the interviewer fired multiple basic questions at him. It turned out he had also made an appearance in a series that garnered significant attention.

Taking a sip of my water, I closed the unnecessary tabs, leaving only the music videos open. With a notebook in hand, I began jotting down the steps and styles he often used, brainstorming ideas for my own choreography based on the information I had gathered. He was a smooth dancer-effortless, lazy in his movements, yet undeniably captivating. I was pleased to note that our dancing styles seemed to share some similarities.

After a few music videos and dance studio recordings, I made up my mind-I would accept the job.