Little Favours

Chapter 4

It was festival day and Alisa was freaking out.

Tom could feel it coursing through him as he sat in the makeup chair, watching the chaos around him. His bandmates sat in nearby chairs, making faces as makeup artists tried to hold them still. This was it—their shot at the stage they'd been working toward. The footsteps around him, the contagious energy of the design students, felt like fuel.

One of the makeup artists leaned closer, smoothing a powder brush over his cheek. Their eyes meet and she broke gaze, a flush of pink creeping to her face.

He resisted the urge to shift under her focused gaze, feeling strangely exposed. He had that effect on people, much to his dismay. As the artist adjusted a smudge along his jawline, he glanced over her shoulder to where Alisa was stationed, tapping at her phone repeatedly. He could tell something was off the moment her expression changed. She paled, eyes widening as they scanned over a message, her shoulders suddenly stiffening.

He couldn't hear her, but he could see her lips form a quiet, barely-there, "No." She bit her lip, gaze dropping for a second before flicking up to scan the busy room, as if looking for a solution.

Tom lifted his chin slightly, catching her attention with a raised brow. She gave him a brief, tight smile, the kind that screamed "I'm holding it together," then turned back to her phone, fingers flying across the screen.

He didn't need the details to know it was trouble.

"What's up with her?" Josh, his bassist, muttered beside him, noticing Tom's line of sight.

"Not sure." Tom shrugged but didn't look away. "Looks like something went sideways."

One of the makeup artists stepped back, motioning for him to relax. But Tom stayed rigid, his eyes still on Alisa. A small pang of frustration ate at him from seeing her so stressed out; she'd worked too hard to have something mess up this close to showtime.

Without thinking, he pushed himself up from the chair and crossed the room toward her. As he nears, he caught snippets of her conversation with another designer.

"... our headliner, the one with the biggest outfit. It's too late to—" She says, words coming out a bit too fast, gripping her clipboard til her knuckles pale.

Maya sighed. "To be honest, I think you're much suited for the piece anyway."

"Wait—what, me?"

Those around her nodded, muttering to themselves something about similar heights and builds, whisking Alisa away, before she or Tom even had the chance to speak.

The clock was nearing 3PM. Tom fidgeted with the sleeves of his denim jacket as he let out a shaky breath. He had barely processed the fact that he was about to perform for one of the biggest crowds the festival had seen, let alone the knowledge that Alisa, somewhere out there, was going through her own unexpected situation.

He hadn't caught a glimpse of her since she'd disappeared to deal with the model crisis, and the whole backstage felt oddly hollow without her presence.

He shifted his weight, peering up at the sliver of stage visible from their position underneath it. He caught glimpse of the fashion show crew moving props and lighting gear around, but still no sign of Alisa. Instead, one of her friends—a short, dark-haired girl who had been coordinating the models earlier—rushed over to the makeup artist beside him.

"Is Alisa ready yet?" she asked, her voice hushed but urgent.

Tom's head jerked up at the sound of her name.

The artist nodded. "She's in the green room, last I checked. The girls are finishing up her hair and makeup now."

"Good," the friend said with a satisfied nod. "She looks perfect. Honestly, if we hadn't come up with this last-minute fix, the show would've been a nightmare."