𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟎𝟐. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞

"He's such a dick," Gracie muttered, rolling her eyes as she handed Suki another shot of tequila. Without hesitation, Suki tilted her head back, the liquid burning its way down as she let out a satisfied breath.

They stood in the VIP section, waiting for Lana's set to begin. Suki had changed out of her stage outfit into what Gracie dubbed her "incognito look," the one she always slipped into after a show. 

She was swallowed by a Carhartt jacket that hung off her tiny frame like a second skin. 

Beneath it, she wore leather lace-up shorts, paired with a custom pink vest adorned with the words "Pop Star" in rhinestones. 

Combat boots laced tightly on her feet and a camo trucker cap pulled low over her face completed the look. 

In this, she wasn't Suki Monroe, global pop sensation. She was just Suki—off-duty. As Gracie called it.

"At least he was a good creative prompt," Suki giggled, linking arms with Gracie as they trudged toward the main stage, their plastic cups full to the brim with cheap beer that sloshed dangerously close to the edge with every step.

"Still," Gracie huffed, "the nerve of him making out with Camila during your set—bullshit."

"Nothing he does surprises me anymore." Suki shook her head, her laughter tinged with disbelief. "He's as predictable as every other wannabe indie boy."

They both laughed, the sound almost drowned out by the rising hum of the festival crowd. Gracie, ever her protector, threw her arms around Suki's shoulders, hugging her tight from behind as they settled into the packed audience. 

Their eyes fixed on the stage, waiting for their prophet, Lana Del Rey, to appear.

It was moments like these that felt sacred—wrapped in the humid festival air, the electric energy, the anticipation. Nothing mattered but the music.

A shadow loomed over them, and a stocky figure approached. "Miss Monroe?" The bodyguard's voice was surprisingly soft for his size, his expression almost shy.

Suki looked up, a polite smile forming beneath the brim of her cap. "Hey," she greeted.

He shifted nervously. "Could I trouble you for an autograph? It's for my daughter, Princess. She's a huge fan. Been having a hard time at school with bullies, and this would really mean a lot to her."

Suki's face lit up, "of course!" The pop star mask melting away. "A real princess, huh?" She grinned, taking the Sharpie. "Tell her I said to ignore those bullies, okay? She's royalty."

"I already got her tickets to your show for her birthday," he beamed.

Suki scribbled her name quickly. "No way! Well thank you, I'll make sure you both get backstage passes."

"Really?" His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Of course," she smiled. "No problem." With a quick wink, she handed back the Sharpie. "And call me Suki."

Coachella was a buzz around them—distant echoes of music, laughter, and the occasional flicker of lights. 

But here, in this small pocket of time, it was just Suki and Gracie. They giggled like high school girls, the kind of laughter that came from shared secrets and inside jokes. 

The kind of laughter that kept you grounded even when the world tilted on its axis.

Suki, ever careful, cast a sideways glance, ensuring no cameras had her in their sights. 

With a deft hand, she snuck a cigarette from her purse, lighting it with the casual elegance of someone who had learned to make rebellion look effortless.