The "Biggest" Fan (EN)

23.

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind — a blur of meetings, recording sessions, sleepless nights, and Matt's constant messages. Honestly, I'd spent so much time in the studio I was considering getting my mail forwarded there. Fun fact: the studio couch? Garbage for sleeping unless you enjoy chronic back pain. Zero stars.

Despite the fatigue, there was a low hum of excitement running beneath my skin. I was here, recording my songs with my band. Sure, it wasn't all dreamy. The schedule was intense every day, and Matt's nitpicking was enough to drive anyone insane. But this was what I signed up for, wasn't it?

"Louis," Jake's voice broke through my thoughts. He was sitting in an armchair, drinking what I'd reckon was his third coffee cup this morning. "How much do you think our album's gonna make? Like, if we're talking cash."

Oh, because that was on my mind. Definitely not how to hit the high notes without coughing up a lung.

"Our album?" Skylar cut in, raising a sharp brow. "You mean Louis' album? His name's on the cover. Best we'll get is some credits no one will ever read," Skylar said. She obviously didn't want to sound this annoyed, but her bitterness was evident. But I couldn't blame her; we were all running on fumes.

Jake crossed his arms. "Honestly? Don't care. We get to make music, travel, stay in fancy hotels — what's not to love?" He listed off on his fingers. I saw Skylar roll her eyes, "Plus, the paycheck. First thing I'm buying? A car. Something sleek. What car do you think would suit me best, Louis?

"Why not a yacht then?" I asked sarcastically.

"You know what?" He said, narrowing his eyes at me, "Not a bad idea."

"Can you not?" Matt's exasperated voice rang out as he was watching us, "We're on the clock here, people! Louis, headphones. Jake, shut it. Skylar, go out if it's so boring."

I inhaled. Chris, our sound engineer, gave me a sympathetic thumbs-up from behind his console. He hit play, and a guitar riff played through my headphones. I knew every strum by heart — I'd been hearing the same thing over and over again.

"Alright, Louis, give it some feeling this time. I want people to believe you've actually lived what you're singing about, "Matt said after another take.

"Believe me," I muttered into the mic, "If I had any feeling left in me, I'd direct it straight at you."

Chris stifled a laugh from his booth. Matt, as always, was immune to humor.

A few more takes followed, and I could feel my throat getting sore. This wasn't how I pictured making an album. I thought it'd be magical — just us creating music, pure and simple. Instead, it felt like I'd been dropped into some massive, soul-sucking machine.

I launched into the chorus, giving it everything I had. When the take finished, Chris gave a thumbs-up. Matt didn't.

"That's better, but the chorus..."

"No," I said firmly, cutting him off. "It's not changing."

Matt's eyebrow arched. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not tweaking the chorus," I said, pulling off my headphones. "You've already got me rewriting half the verses, Matt. The chorus stays."

"It would really help to reach the charts. People need something they can relate to."

I blinked, deadpan, "It's a breakup song. What's more universal than heartbreak? Should I throw in a line about how everyone loves pizza to make it more relatable?"

Jake snickered from the couch, and Matt only exhaled loudly, "I get it, Louis. Letting go of your creation is tough. But remember, sometimes the song you're holding onto might not be the one the world needs to hear."