He Depends on You || Porter Robinson

Part Three

I woke up the next morning to my phone alarm blaring on the hotel bedside table. I groaned as my hand shot out from under the covers to turn off that god forsaken noise. As I disconnected my phone from the charger, I noticed a series of texts that had rolled in while I was sleeping.

One from Brigid, asking what time our flight landed in North Carolina tomorrow night.

A couple from my group chat of college friends.

And 11 missed texts from Porter.

I quickly slid open my phone to see what was going on. I scanned the texts and pieced together what happened after I left Porter's room late last night.

PORTER [1:23am]: You still awake?

PORTER [1:27]: Kaaaaaate

PORTER [1:30]: Dillon just texted. Said they're going to the hotel bar. I'm gonna go meet them. Come with.

PORTER [2:05am]: Wait is our flight tomorrow? Well I guess today...

PORTER [2:07am]: Nvm. It's tomorrow. I think

PORTER [2:24am]: Kate! Get your ass down here!

PORTER [2:26am]: Miss you.

PORTER [2:41am]: Dude

PORTER [2:41am]: This chick is shittinig on Harry Potter and I tol her that you'd be very displeased.

I smiled as I began to notice Porter's texting become less composed, likely due to the alcohol he was undoubtedly consuming. He is usually the most well-spoken person I know so I always relish in moments like this where he seems more...human.

PORTER [2:50am]: I'm sooooo fuckked if I have interview tomorrorw

I rolled my eyes. He did have an interview this morning. In two hours to be exact.

PORTER [3:17am]: Knockc tomorrow

My heart sank as I read that last text. Usually I just let myself into Porter's room in the morning to wake him up and make sure he actually gets out of bed on time. I always have the extra key. But when he gives me a heads-up to "knock tomorrow," it means that he is not alone in the room.

Look, I get it. Porter is a world-famous DJ. And with that comes loving and adoring fans. And sometimes female fans who want much more than just a picture with him. And he's an adult, he can do whatever he wants. Who am I to stop two consenting adults from enjoying each others company?

But I can't deny the tug on my heart whenever I know that I am not the one who is keeping him company at night.

I pull myself out of bed and quickly get ready for a full press day. An hour before we are due downstairs to take a shuttle to the first radio station of many for the day, I make my way down to Porter's room.

I reach his room, take a deep breath, and knock.

Silence.

"Porter!" I knocked louder. Then I start to hear rustling on the other side of the door. And hushed whispers.

"Uh...shit...one second Kate." Porter mumbles loudly from the other side of the door.

A couple seconds later the door swings open and I come face-to-face with Porter, hair disheveled, dark circles under his half-opened eyes, and standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers that were clearly on inside out. He seems to notice as I glanced down and his cheeks turned slightly pink. I smirked, trying to play it cool.

"In a rush to get dressed this morning, Porter?" I asked with a smirk. He looked away and awkwardly starts to rub the back of his neck. He opens his mouth to say something, but is quickly cut off by a female voice.