RECORDS ◈ FINN WOLFHARD

10 | So Here's The Gist

Y/N

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SO HERE'S THE gist of the thing.

It's been approximately seven months since I left Vancouver, and now I'm stuck in New York for a week. Another storm, jeez.

Other than that, I've been deep in trouble with Jane and my record company, because I've been stuck. I haven't written a song in moths, because I no longer feel the motivation to, and I don't know what to write about.

I'm just bored.

"Oh, cheer up," Harry said, striding into the room, "I'm sure you'll come up with something."

We were in the living room of my rented penthouse apartment, the Times Square noise filtering in softly from the windows. The most recent discussion was about whether or not tonight's show was a flop, but now it had segwayed into talking about my inability to compose.

"I've been trying to write a song for almost a year now," I sighed, "seven whole freaking months."

"Then just write some stuff on the page and call it a song," he suggested.

"That would make a crappy song."

"Still more than you've come up with."

"Touche, Styles," I said rolling my eyes.

Before Harry could call me out on my self-pity problems, the door to the apartment swung open, and Sadie and Niall came skipping in. Unlike me, they were completely happy to be in New York.

"Got the pizza!" Niall yelled, hoisting a cardboard box in the air.

"Extra pep," Sadie said, cupping her hands around her mouth, "and extra cheese!"

Harry grinned, "you just missed the sob story [y/n] was trying to tell me."

"It wasn't a sob story," I shot back.

"Well you were sobbing, and you were telling me a story."

"I wasn't sobbing!"

"Relax, I'm just messing with you," the boy laughed, snatching a slice of pizza out of Niall's box, "but seriously, we need to have a conversation."

As the rest of my bandmates plopped on the couch, I raised an eyebrow in interest. Whenever Harry got serious, it was probably for a good reason. Except for a bad topic.

"If you can't write a song soon," he stated, clapping his hands together, "we'll probably be out of a job."

That earned a gasp from all three of us. I hadn't thought about it that way, and that made me feel scared and stupid. Frick.

"Have you tried locking yourself in a room?" Sadie suggested, "I heard Mozart did that when he was young."

"Yes, but I'm not a musical genius like him," I sighed.

"Have you tried getting someone else to write your song?"

"No," I said, "my fans would freak out if I sang something other than my own stuff."

"Well, we're going to get fired," Niall said, taking a bite out of his pizza.

That kind of hurt me a little bit. I knew he was right, and that was exactly the problem. It wasn't their faults, and yet they were the ones with their jobs at stake. I needed to do something.

"Thanks for adding on extra pressure, idiot," Sadie hissed, smacking the Irish-boy with the pizza box.

Clearly this serious conversation was creating a lot of tension in the room, and I didn't want it to break out into a fight. I felt horrible. I didn't know why I couldn't write anything, and I wished I could do everything to make a single song, but I just...can't.

"Okay, let's just not think about it now," Harry said, standing up, "there's this new show out that I've been meaning to see.:

I raised an eyebrow, "is it good?"

"How would I know? I haven't seen it."

"Just put it on," I laughed, rolling my eyes, "I'll be back in a second."

Hopping up from my seat, I stalked into the kitchen in worry. I had to do something. I couldn't just give up, and risk the jobs of my bandmates. I loved them, and to let them down was a horrible thing to do.

"Think, [y/n]," I muttered to myself, beginning to pace around the tiled floor, "think!"

I couldn't think at all. It was pointless.

I could do what Harry suggested, and write a crappy song that had no meaning, but I knew that would give me a ton of backlash. My whole brand was 'songs that people could relate to'. I'd be a laughing stock if I just wrote something without any real feeling behind it.

Hitting my forehead with my palm, I let out a groan and walked back into the living room to join everyone else. The TV show was playing on the screen in front of them, something spooky sounding, but my friends looked horrified.

The 'I can't believe my eyes' kind of horrified.

"Um, hello?" I said, waving my hand in front of their faces, "why do you all look like zombies?"

I waited a second, but neither of them responded. Weird. Turning around to see what the fuss was about, I glanced at the screen in interest. Four boys were rolling a dice onto a table, yelling out in excitement.

Four boys. Three unfamiliar. One I knew.

"Holy hell," I said, my eyes widening, "Finn?"

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HEADS UP! Stranger Things came out when Finn was his current age, because it fits the story better. Just letting you know, so you don't think he's 12 in this haha :)

ALSO!

I have a new Louis Partridge book out for those who liked Enola Holmes <3