JUNO (sabrina carpenter x you)

chapter 3

Sabrina's POV:

*•☕️*•☕️*•☕️*•☕️*•☕️*•☕️•*

I awoke with a groan, my head pounding as if a jackhammer was relentlessly drilling into my skull. This wasn't just any ordinary headache; it was a full-blown, earth-shattering migraine that threatened to split my cranium into two. The kind of pain that makes you question every life decision that led to this moment. Undoubtedly, it was the cruel aftermath of last night's celebrations, a hangover of truly epic proportions.

With Herculean effort, I managed to stretch my aching limbs, feeling every muscle protest as I sprawled out on the hotel's luxurious kind-sized bed. The white satin sheets, normally a pleasure against the skin, now felt almost abrasive to my hypersensitive nerves.

I ran my hands over my face, desperate for some relief, only to instantly regret the action. My fingers came away smudged with the remnants of last night's makeup, a stark reminder of my inebriated negligence.

"Shit," I muttered, realizing I had completely disregarded my usual nighttime routine. The evidence of my carefree state was scattered around the room: my clutch purse tossed haphazardly on the nearby chair, my phone precariously perched on the nightstand. Most tellingly, my stiletto heels — expensive, impractical, and absolutely necessary for last night's event — lay discarded at the foot of the bed, as if they too had given up and collapsed after the night's exertions.

I lay there, motionless, letting out a deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of my being. Despite the throbbing of my temples, I couldn't help but smile softly at the recollection of last night. Like a broken record stuck on the most exhilarating track, the memories looped over and over, each repetition bringing a fresh wave of disbelief and elation.

Playing my first ever sold-out show at Madison Square Garden. The words alone were enough to send a shiver down my spine. It was more than just a milestone; it was a culmination of years of hard work, countless rejections, late nights, and unwavering determination. A dream that had seemed so distant for so long had finally, incredibly, become reality.

But amidst the whirlwind of this career-defining moment, another memory stood out with startling intensity.

Her.

I couldn't get her out of my head, and honestly, I didn't want to. In a span of only just meeting for a few hours, I feel that I had known her longer.

I found myself becoming lost in recollections of her features — the way her long, wavy dark hair was tousled in a messy bun, how her curtain bangs framed her face just so. Her eyes were light hazel, the kind that crinkled at the corners when she smiled.

And that smile...

It felt like it was just for me.

I was mesmerized by the way she moved behind the bar, every action precise and graceful. She wasn't just mixing drinks; she was truly creating art.

But it wasn't just her appearance or her skills that had me so enthralled. It was the music of her laugher, a sound so genuine and infectious that it seemed to light up the entire room. And her lips — full, expressive, curving into smiles and smirks that made my knees weak. Everything about her was intoxicating, more potent than any cocktail she could've mixed.