As March stood in the hallway, watching Cecil urgently chatter away, a thought he'd been trying his best to ward off began to overpower him. He tried to repress it again, but no matter how strong his efforts, it returned, echoing as the recollections of Eugene's protests. Had inviting The Love You Forevers been the wrong decision?

The logic had seemed so sound in the dazzling fallout of their radio performance, but as he listened to the chaos unfolding outside of the venue, where the frantic voices of Marion, Eugene, and the venue manager were audible clear above the cries of many, he couldn't help believe that he had jeopardized everything.

The thought chilled him to his core.

He could not bear to think he had sacrificed his band for a chance to capitalize on the turnout the Love You Forevers' would bring, but it was becoming evident that it might be the case.

He had known full well he was playing with fire, but foolishly believed he would not be burned.

—

“Well, what's the problem if they can't play? We'll just play a set twice as long then,” he argued to Wayne.

Wayne shook his head.

“Nah, you don't get it. Everyone out there is clamoring for them, man. If they don't come out, the entire place is gonna riot.”

March frowned.

“It's our fuckin' release show though, isn't it? Why are they even here if not for us?”

He held his arms close as he talked, a habit of his when growing heated.

“You were the one who wanted the spectacle,” quipped Arthur, leaning against the doorway.

“I wanted a fuckin' band who could draw, not ruin us!”

He glared at Arthur.

“Listen, Eugene has been in my fuckin' ear the entire past half-hour about how fucked we are if this blows up.” he said, making a quick scan of the hallway before growing serious. “The venue owner told him we'll be blacklisted from Cherryaire if we can't get this sorted.”

Wayne and Cortier, the rhythm guitarist, looked at him in horror.

“Are you serious? What the fuck can we do about it?!” scoffed Wayne.

He glanced back in the direction of the Love You Forevers' dressing room, concerned about them overhearing.

“We're gonna have to go in there and grab her or something, if Cecil can't do anything about it,” Cortier suggested.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Are you fucking mad?” was Arthur's response.

March remained silent. He placed his hand to his face, and tried to calm himself as he watched Cecil continue to chatter.

Cecil's face showed great animation, but did not betray any sign of hopelessness, which calmed March if only slightly.

“All this, just because their fucking drummer couldn't be sly about grabbing the fan!” complained Cortier. “I mean, what did they think was gonna happen? All these people clamoring to get in, and he goes out there asking them 'who's the biggest fan'?” he said in a mockingly low tone. “Like Christ! I thought someone was being murdered when I first heard the screams.”

March's face grew dark as Cortier whined, and he turned away from his bandmates.

Seeing this, Arthur broke from his pose against the doorway and moved nearer to him.

“Don't let it get to you, man. Who could've believed they actually are as insane as their stories?” he offered, placing a hand on March's shoulder.

“I just wanted the turnout, man,” he replied disheartened. “It's our first single. I wanted it to be great.”

The others had no response, but instead looked at him mournfully, taking care to convey a shared sadness rather than aggravate his wound with pity.

This solemn moment was soon interrupted by the sound of Cecil stepping into the hallway, which drew every eye instantly upon him.

Noticing their looks, he turned to face March and Arthur, whose attention he received with a cold stare.

Then, from the dressing room exited the young fan, Floyd, Sylvia, and finally, Aster.

Upon finally seeing the girl, whose swollen red eyes betrayed the lack of concern on her face, March faltered.

He had wished to douse her with some sarcastic complaint to atone for the irritation and stress she had put him through, but instead it was as if a stranger had just walked through that door.

She turned and looked March dead in the eye, and he recoiled.

Hesitating a moment, he approached her, hoping to mask his evident surprise.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied matter of factly.

The entire group, including the young fan, then proceeded to make their way backstage.

As they progressed down the hall, March became aware of the sound of his heartbeat.

It surprised him, as the echoing of it within his ears was something he hadn't felt since their very first shows. Yet, in this moment, it had returned.

With every step towards the curtains it grew, until the gallop of his cardiac dance seemed even to drown out the cheers of the crowd as Cecil moved about, setting up on stage.

Eugene appeared beside him, looking as though he had just fought for his life.

“You need to fucking get out there, now,” he barked, visibly agitated.

March, who was quite used to Eugene's thorny temperament, couldn't stop himself from being surprised at the aggression with which he spoke.

“They're going to riot, so we need to get this show done before they do. Move!”

Then, as quickly as he appeared, he melted into the darkness of the backstage, where he was replaced by the venue manager who laid into him with the same fatigue-soaked, though now profanity-laden approbations.

At the end of it, March, shaking, turned to Aster, who seemed as much as deep in thought as he.

He grabbed his arm instinctively to hide his shaking, and tried to assume a relaxed air.

Despite all the urgency to wrap up the show as fast as humanely possible, March tried to pretend like they had time.

This was his day, the moment they had worked so hard for.

It was this night, marked on the calendar for months and nurtured in his bosom like a newborn baby of pure joy, that he lived for.

The only thing that even rivaled it was the sensation of holding their record in his hand for the first time.

So as the cries from outside bled in, and the urgent eyes of his bandmates scoured over him like lacerations from a rose-whip, he steeled himself and willed his shaking core to steady.

He looked that girl deep in her fiery eyes, and tried to bring some penchant of positive fortune from out of his shaking voice.

“Good luck.”