Dream

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by believerbeaver
by believerbeaver
                                    
                                              She greets him at his last show of the tour with fifty-three new songs. He reads them all slowly, sitting at the table on the bus, and she watches him anxiously.
                          "Every single one is perfect," he says. "But what am I supposed to do with fifty-three songs?"
                          She hesitates. "There's enough for four or five albums, I guess. I just...wanted to get them all out for you, you know? Before...before I don't have the words."

                          He takes a breath. "I don't need them."
                          She frowns. "What do you mean?"
                          "There won't be more albums."
                          She stands up. "What do you mean there won't be more albums?"
                          "I'm quitting," he says. "I don't want to do this anymore."
                          "What? What are you say—"
                          "This last month was absolutely miserable," he interrupts. "I hate this. This whole thing has never been about me. It's been about me and you. I don't want...I can't do it without you."
                          "But this is your—" she stops and her face twists in confusion, something he hasn't actually seen in a month, and it hits him hard.
                          "Dream," he whispers.
                          He doesn't announce that it's his last show. She won't let him, because she won't let it be his last show, she says.
                          But he knows that really, it is.
                          He asks her to perform with him, because in the grand scheme of things, stage fright doesn't seem like it should be that big of an issue anymore.
                          But she's Mia, and apparently to her, the stage is more frightening than a slowly progressing brain disorder that will someday take away her ability to speak, let alone sing, so of course she immediately says no.
                          He rolls his eyes. "You're singing with me," he says.
                          "No."
                          "Yes."
                          "I can't."
                          "You will."
                          She shakes her head. "James, I—"
                          "You need to do this," he says quietly.
                          She pauses, takes a breath. "I know."
                          She performs every single one of his songs with him, slowed down, acoustic versions that they'd played together when it was just the two of them.
                          And then she ends the concert by performing three songs of her own, by herself, and he's left completely star struck by his best friend. His jaw actually drops when she sings the last note.
                          He's never heard an audience that loud.