𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 | 𝘑𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘒𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘯

✰ 30 ✰

The day of the second semi-final arrived with the bat of an eyelash. Joost was torn between hate and love for the matter. He was enthusiastically optimistic, yet couldn't fight the few pressuring thoughts telling him to back out.

There he was, in his overly large suit and neatly placed hair, sitting in his dressing room with twirling thumbs. Nerves hit his chest as minutes passed and his performance neared. His pack of cigarettes only spared two more for his post-concert meditation.

Despite Joost's argument with Maeve, their tension was palpable. The pair dwelled alone in between the walls, the girl editing the footage of the rehearsals for his upcoming backstage movie. It was her offer to officially join him, filming his journey.

She was fully consumed with her work, she barely noticed the thick air between them. One could cut it with a knife. Evie sensed the anxiety rushing his mind. Joost's thumb-twisting had been a known sign of it.

"Joost."

He stopped abruptly, lifting his head to look at the girl.

"Talk to me. You'll die of panic, if you don't spit it out", Evie urged sympathetically.

"It's nothing, just nervous."

Her eyes pierced through his.

"Are you sure, you're okay? You know, I'll listen-"

"Yes, for fucks sake!", Joost bursted,"I'm fine, I don't need you to listen!"

Maeve smiled weakly as she desperately tried to overshadow the stabbing pain in her chest. It was out of the ordinary for him to lash out like this, he kept his cool usually. To say the least, she was close to tears, but he wouldn't know.

She whispered, a slight crack appearing: "Okay."

The photographer closed her laptop and hastily paced out into the hallway with her camera in hand. The Dutch artist was left to throw himself back into the couch and rub his hand over his face in torment. Joost immediately regretted his actions, it wasn't his intention to hurt her.

Even as the others assembled in the space, he couldn't help himself but act nonchalant. The Klein did not understand what was happening to him, why he was acting this way.

The clock hit close to his slot. Suddenly his suit felt heavy and tight enough to cut his bloodstream. Joost's lungs closed up and his already pale skin began to blanch further. Routinely, the team prepared everything they needed for his show to be perfect.

Without a single word, he stormed off to a quiet corner somewhere in the arena, the closest spot he could find. He didn't have the time for this. He couldn't panic now. This is what he had been working towards his whole career.

His vision blurred as he trembled uncontrollably. Joost failed to concentrate on his breathing with his thudding, rapid heartbeat in his ear. The stairs were uncomfortable but he could not keep standing.

A dull voice caused him to snap out of it for a moment: "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I-", the Dutch man gaped at the faded silhouette before choking out,"I can't do it."

"Yes, you can. This is your dream, Joost, and you're so close to the ultimate destination. You're nervous but it'll disappear as soon as you're out there. You were born for this!", they encouraged.