𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟒𝟎. 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲

In the soft, quiet light of morning, Suki lay nestled against Drew, her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She traced small patterns along his arm, losing herself in the peacefulness of the moment, reluctant to break the silence but knowing she had to say it. She took a steadying breath.

"Drew," she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the stillness of the room, "I don't think I can leave the label."

He stirred beside her, eyes still closed, but she felt him pull her closer, his hand resting gently on her back. "Why not?" he asked, his voice warm with sleep but careful, curious. She could feel him trying to understand, even without fully waking.

She hesitated, watching the morning light creep through the curtains, casting gentle beams across the sheets. "It's... complicated," she started, searching for the right words. "They're not letting me do anything with the music I actually want to make. Everything I write, everything I want to release—it's like they won't even consider it."

He opened his eyes fully now, his brows furrowing as he studied her face. "They're holding you back?"

She nodded, the frustration bubbling up again. "I'm just... tired, Drew. I've poured so much of myself into my music, but they keep pushing me toward these things that just... don't feel like me anymore. They say they're doing it for 'the brand' and 'the market' and all those words I'm sick of hearing. I feel like they're trying to shove me back into this version of myself I've outgrown."

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his gaze steady, searching her eyes. "Then what's stopping you from walking away?"

Suki sighed, shifting against him, and she felt his hand gently start to rub circles along her back, grounding her. "It's not that simple. I owe them. The contracts... they're airtight. They know what they're doing." Her voice lowered, a bitterness slipping through. "They still own so much of my catalog, Drew. Even the new stuff that I want to release? They're holding it hostage."

She bit her lip, the frustration welling up again as she confessed, "I feel trapped, like I can't breathe. I write these songs, and they're pieces of me... but they'll never see the light of day. Not like this."

Drew wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so that her head rested against his chest again. She felt his breath against her hair, steady and calm. "They can't keep you there forever," he murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance in the morning silence. "You're Suki. You're the one who makes the music, who pours herself into every song. They're just... a company. They're not the magic. You are."

She smiled a little, but it was fleeting. "Maybe. But they've got all the power right now. They'll block everything if I try to go indie. I'd need their approval just to perform at a bar downtown." She laughed, a little hollowly, shaking her head. "And if I do manage to release something different, something that actually means something to me? They'll probably shut it down or spin it into some viral, click-bait nonsense. It's like nothing I do belongs to me anymore."

Drew took a breath, his arms tightening protectively around her. "Suki, you're more than what they're trying to package you as. You've already made it clear to the world who you are—they can't undo that, no matter how hard they try."

She shifted up onto her elbow, looking down at him, her fingers tracing absentmindedly along his jawline. "It's like they're taking all these pieces of me, every part that's real, and stripping it down into something that doesn't feel true. It's so... isolating." Her voice softened, turning almost vulnerable. "I used to think that music was where I'd always feel free. Now... I don't know."

Drew lifted a hand, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing gently against her skin. "We'll find a way out. You'll find a way. I know it."

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling his words settle into her heart. "Sometimes, I just... wish I could go back to when it was simpler. Before all the fame, before the contracts, when it was just me, a beat-up guitar, and a pen. That was the last time I felt like my music really mattered. Like it was mine."