Procrastinators on Stage (Chris Kendall/crabstickz fanfic) *unedited*

Part 9- I Don't Like Being Weak

“Do you know what you’re going to do for your audition?” Lucy questioned me. The two of us had barely managed to ease the keys for the flat away from Chris earlier. We’d had to make some stupid oath that we wouldn’t wreck the place, cause any fires…the normal safety regulations. Lucy and I had barely been back at the flat for ten minutes when I’d started to set up the lounge to become my studio.

My lyrics book, prose booklet, and the sheet I’d printed off from an email I’d received from the production company about my audition, were open across the floor whilst I sat at the eye of the paper storm. My iPod was also balanced atop some scrap pieces of paper that had my scratchy pencil scrawl over them, courtesy of my brainstorming about tomorrow. Lucy, on the other hand, was reclining back on the sofa to my right, with one of my books raised above her as she read the music notes and lyrics from a distance.

“The other audition-ees and I have to do some drama workshop for our acting skills, but we also have to do solo singing performances, where we choose our song,” I explained to her, managing to make myself both nervous and excited for the day at the same time as I talked about it. “I was thinking of singing ‘Pompeii’ by Bastille?” I stretched out my arm to pick up one of the sheets to my left, which crinkled under my fingertips when I touched it. I grunted as I sat back down in my original cross-legged position. “It’ll obviously be a female version of the song, though.”

“Bastille?” Lucy said. She sat up, her motions perky as she swung her feet to the floor and grinned at me cheekily. “You like them?”

I rolled my eyes, barely suppressing my smile. “They’re my favourite band, only marginally so compared to Imagine Dragons and American Authors.”

Lucy gave a fangirl squeal, quickly pulling herself from the sofa to sit beside me, marginally missing the papers as she curled her legs underneath her. “I love Bastille! I mean, Dan Smith…” She mimed fanning herself.

I laughed at her motion. “I know! And the music…” I closed my eyes and smiled fondly as I recollected the tones of their songs, combined with their whimsical voices. Their music had really helped to motivate me whenever I felt the most unproductive.

She giggled lightly. Her laugh was very sweet, reminding me of spring water tumbling over pebbles in a stream. I opened my eyes at the sound, noticing that I’d moved my hands so that they were splayed on the papers behind me, letting my body relax backwards.

“Are you one of those people who close their eyes and mouth along to their songs?” Lucy asked. I beamed at her and brought my iPod towards me. I had an overwhelming urge to just listen. I pressed play on my Bastille playlist, filling the air with the sounds of ‘Bad Blood’.

Instead of practicing like I’d wanted to, the two of us ended up singing along to songs, the papers crumpling under our toes as we pranced about, and mimed playing along on guitar, bashing at drums, or holding a microphone. I felt like I was back at university with Maddie, when we’d do exactly this. Recollecting this released emotions of bliss, delight, and a yearning for the company of my best friend, even when we were so far apart, and had only been like that for three days or so. It was like a perfect form of grief.

I listened with my eyes closed.

When ‘Flaws’ had petered out, it left Lucy and I stranded without the music to console us, with our hearts galloping and our breaths jagged. “That was fun,” Lucy said with an exhale of breath. She lifted a hand to her head, removing her orange beanie and ruffling her hair with the other hand. “I did love the way you sang ‘Pompeii’, you know.”

I half-smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“I’d definitely cast you as Elphaba if I could.”

“Thank you…again,” I smiled fully now, my heart warmed by her words. “Do you want a drink? I’m not sure what’s in the fridge, but we can find something, surely.” Lucy agreed to my proposal, so we walked to the kitchen together, keeping up a constant stream of chatter between us.