Classic Rock Imagines

Lars Ulrich; Shampoo 🌸

Requested by ~ cowboysfromh3ll (Star)

~ Star's POV ~

"How's it going?" A smooth voice asked from behind my shoulder.

"Not good," I murmured, frustratingly looking down to the nearly empty papers in front of me.

"Maybe you should take a little break," he said, starting to rub my shoulders now as I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

"Lars," I began. "I really need to work on this."

I looked down to the beginning of the first chapter of what was supposed to be my first novel. I loved to write, I always had, and I was finally determined to make a decent living out of it so that I could quit my crappy job at the local diner.

"I never get to see you anymore," he whined, coming around to sit on my desk, looking down to me with sad puppy dog eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said out in a frenzy.

"I know how much this means to you, though," he said, now giving me a smile. "I just hate not being able to spend as much time with you."

"I know," I said softly. "Me too."

I looked back down to my lined papers and the nice black ballpoint pen that I got to write this thing out. I thought writing on pen and paper in my room would force me into writing, with no distractions, or so I thought. I never hated when Lars came in to check on me, though. I loved knowing that he cared about me.

"When do you get off work later?" He asked.

"Seven," I responded, a smile cracking onto the corners of my lips.

"I'll be there to pick you up," he said, hopping off of the desk.

"Aren't you supposed to be recording today?" I asked, remembering him telling me how the guys were finally working on their second album. I was so excited to hear it, knowing how great the first one was. I was so caught up in my own writing, though, that I barely got a chance to hang around the guys like I used to.

"We'll be done by then," he said, just about to leave my door. "And then we'll go out...just me and you."

"Okay," I said with a small smile as he shut the door behind me.

I focused all of my attention on writing as much as I possibly could. I was so determined in writing that I practically forgot about my shift at the diner. I got dressed as fast as lightning and went running down the stairs of the apartment building and then down the sidewalk, eager to not be late again.

"Star, you gotta start showing up on time," my manager grunted at me as I walked into the diner, quickly moving over to punch in and pick up the tables that were waiting. I hated working during brunch, it was so busy and everybody that came here seemed to hate waitresses. Or maybe they were just taking out their built up frustrations from their mediocre lives on me.

"Sorry, Bill," I said back in a hurry, pinning my name tag to my uniform and hustling around to some of the waiting tables.

I was so focused on what I was doing, moving between tables and the kitchen, struggling to keep up with the never-ending flow of customers that were flooding into the medium sized diner. Most of my shift must've flown by because the sun was starting to set, the orange haze filling the sad little restaurant.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice cracked from behind me as I was just about to head for my one and only bathroom break that I had a chance to steal between tables. I rolled my eyes and turned around, but opened them wide when I saw who it was.