#and feeling bittersweet because the lead singer left the band to focus on being a father

[atinrag]

Just discovered Hatari and I can't stop listening to Hatrið mun sigra.

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home — Chapter One: Flightless Bird, American Mouth

a/n: I've been working on this story for mooonths now and I'm so excited to finally share it with the world! It's heavily inspired by Harry's Behind the Album mini doc, except I changed the setting to Hawai'i because I've personally spent some time there and as they say, write what you know! YBMH takes place in the period between One Direction's hiatus and Harry's first album/tour, but with that being said, this is entirely a work of fiction and some events don't follow the true timeline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, I hope you love it as much as I do! It will be updated every Friday at 5 PM PST. My inbox is open, so feel free to talk to me once you've finished reading! I'd love to hear from you :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 5.5k

May, 2016

Harry watches LAX get smaller through the airplane window and visualizes all of his worries stuck at the terminal gate, their magnitude also diminishing as he takes flight. He sinks lower in his seat and skims through playlists on his phone when a nagging feeling at the back of his mind pulls his attention away from the screen. Looking up from the song choices, he spots a cell phone quickly lowered from his line of vision and a girl with flushed cheeks who quickly averts her gaze. Harry shoots a tight-lipped smile in her direction and goes back to his phone with a sigh. The days when he could roam the streets freely without fear of recognition—or worse, harassment—feel like an entirely different lifetime. He sometimes imagines that he’ll wake up back in his childhood bed as if the past five years had all been a dream, but he never does. In fact, his privacy and anonymity seem to dwindle with each minute of radio play that One Direction receives. It’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, but one he hopes will go down easier with some time in the Hawaiian sun.

His close friend and new manager, Jeff Azoff, had suggested the vacation as soon as the band privately agreed to take a hiatus.

“You’ll go home for a few weeks,” his voice had crackled through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Visit your mom and Gem, lay low for a while until the smoke blows over,”

Harry mulled it over in his mind, eyes flickering over the rolling landscape outside of the tour bus window.

“Then what?”

“Then you go for a little vacation. The label offered to cover a house in Hawaii so you can start working on the album,”

“Alone?”

Jeff chuckled lightly on the other end before responding. “I mean, if that’s what you want,”

“No,” Harry corrected. “You and Tom should come. Mitch and Bhasker, too,”

“The dream team,”

“And there’ll be a studio there?”

“Yes,” Jeff started, almost hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think about that too much,”

“But you said the label—"

“I also said vacation. Look, Rob said ‘it will all happen in due time,' did he not?”

Harry twisted the rose ring around his finger, tracing over the silver petals and thinking back to his conversation with the CEO of Sony Music, Rob Stringer. Upon the proposal of his debut solo album, Rob had told him that the most important ingredient for a successful debut would be patience. The singer had agreed in the moment, but every day not spent in the studio felt like a test he hadn’t studied hard enough for.

“Yeah.”

“So you take the free vacation,” Jeff suggested. “You go out, live, get some writing material. Maybe mess around with some tunes. And then we come back to L.A. and get to work. But until then, I just want you to focus on taking it easy.”

So take it easy he had. Or at least he had tried to when he was back home in England. Harry quickly grew restless after what felt like the millionth awkward conversation with past friends and acquaintances, all of which eventually led to the topic of One Direction and it’s unexpected hiatus. After one month at home, his mind and journal were full of ideas for songs, things that he wanted to say before he lost his nerve. One night as he tossed and turned in bed, he shot Jeff a text, just two words that would kick off a three month getaway to the Big Island of Hawai'i:

I’m ready.

********

“Sounds great, I'll go put in your order.” Alani offers sweetly, trying not to overdo it with the customer service voice. After waiting on the family at her designated table, she heads back to the kitchen and finds her younger sister, Pua, crouched in the corner taking what appears to be a serious phone call.

“I don’t know, I just saw it!” Her sister cries in a hushed tone. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Is everything okay?” Alani cuts in with concern.

Pua whispers into the speaker before bringing the phone to her shoulder.

“Harry Styles was just spotted on a plane this morning,”

“Who?”

“The guy from One Direction,” her sister explains with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The band who sings that song you secretly like, ‘Fireproof,'”

Alani vaguely recalls the melody, but she waits expectantly for Pua to elaborate. “And this is news because…”

“Because the band just broke up, so where could he possibly be going?”

"The unemployment office?”

Pua rolls her eyes and returns to her phone call while Alani envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m just kidding!” Alani apologizes, squeezing tighter despite her sister’s attempts to break free. “I’m sure he’ll be living off of royalty checks until he’s, like, eighty,”

“Get off me, freak!” Pua cries out, finally breaking the embrace.

Alani clutches her chest and pulls out an invisible knife. “Ouch. I’m telling Harry you said that,”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.” the younger sister huffs, storming out of the kitchen through the employee entrance where Alani’s best friend, Maleah, has just arrived.

“Looks like someone forgot to eat their Cheerios today,” she remarks, tying her curls into a high ponytail.

Alani shrugs and leans against the counter. “She’s going through something. Just discovered that boys in pop bands are, in fact, just regular boys.”

“Poor thing,” Maleah frowns. “We all have to learn eventually.”

********

The sky is a blend of cotton candy pink and burnt orange when Alani returns home from the café with a strawberry smoothie in tow. She empties the mailbox and sorts through the various bills and advertisements, but her stomach drops when she sees a familiar return address label. After a quick greeting to her excited dog who waits at the door, Alani bolts up the stairs and quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her. Breathe, she reminds herself before tearing into the envelope and discarding it onto the wooden floor.

Dear Ms. Hale,

We are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine. However, we regret to inform you—

She doesn’t read the rest, slumping to the floor in defeat. The sixth rejection letter from Rolling Stone lies crumpled at Alani’s feet and she kicks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. She had worked for over two months perfecting her analysis of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi and its allusions to the environmental impact of urban development in Hawaii. As part of her initial research, Alani had even traveled to both the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu, which is the famous Pink Hotel mentioned in the song, and Foster Botanical Garden that Mitchell referred to as “the tree museum.” She was certain that her effort and persistence would result in at least a consideration. The second third time's the charm! Maleah had joked watching Alani submit the piece. Six articles in the span of two years, each one facing the same rejection despite the increased effort Alani had put in over time. The fact that the rejection letter hadn’t changed over the course of the two years brings an incredulous smile to her face, and her stomach turns when she considers that the editors probably hadn’t even read her work, anyway. All that effort, she thinks to herself, all that time, for nothing.

“It will take time,” her favorite professor, Dr. Hudson, had reassured her three months after the Joni Mitchell article was submitted. “Every great writer faced countless rejection until that one piece. Yours will come. Keep your eyes open and your pen ready.”

Alani sighs and lifts herself off the floor, choosing to crawl into her unmade bed instead of slumping onto the hardwood. She hears a soft scratching at the door before her King Charles Spaniel, Freddie, pads into the room.

“Come here, bubs,” Alani whispers. He obeys and burrows into the duvet, giving her temple a gentle lick before nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

“You still love me, right?” she asks, voice cracking. “Even if I’m a failure?”

Freddie sniffs her ear in response.

********

“Right,” Harry says, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he reads the map. “No, left, sorry,”

“Do you actually know how to read a map?” Jeff teases, correcting the turn.

Harry pouts in response, his brows furrowing. “In my defense, we’re literally in the middle of fucking nowhere,”

“There are worse places to be,” Mitch pipes up from the back seat. “England, for example, where they say things like ‘litchrally’,”

“Very well said, Mitchell,” Jeff Bhasker adds with a fake British accent of his own.

Harry turns to his friends in the back seat with a finger pointed like an agitated mother. “If you lot don’t shut up, I’m gonna lead us to a volcano and push you in,”

“Where are we even going? I forgot,” Tom complains.

“To get food,” his manager responds from the driver’s seat. “I think,”

“Why can’t we just stop there?” Mitch asks pointing to a café pulling up on their right.

Jeff merges into the turning lane quickly without a second thought. “Good enough for me, I’m starving.”

“Sorry, H.” Mitch pats his friend on the shoulder.

Harry scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted poke.”

The Aloha Nui Loa Café is much more spacious than the exterior suggests, yet it still feels cozy. The walls are painted sage green and adorned with various local art pieces, as described by the plaques that accompany them. A skylight fills the center of the room with plenty of warm lighting, leaving the space along the walls in a bit more shade for an intimate feel. In one corner, a hanging disco ball leaves freckles of sparkling light along the walls where the sunlight hits, making the whole image very idyllic in Harry’s mind. As if he couldn’t enjoy the setting more, he hears the beginning of an Otis Redding song that he’s had stuck in his head drift through the restaurant speakers.

“Welcome in!” a voice calls, which pulls him from his survey of the room. His head whips to the source—a girl around his age with wavy, dark hair and honey skin. “For here or to go?”

Harry takes a hesitant step up to the counter. “For here,”

She smiles warmly and pulls some menus from under the counter. “How many in your party?”

“Five.”

“Great, follow me.”

Harry and his friends follow the waitress to the corner of the room under the disco ball and take their seats at the round table.

“My name is Alani,” she introduces herself, setting the menus down. “I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Harry continues scanning the restaurant while his group orders. His eyes land on the shirt that Alani is wearing, a white tee with the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey” in blue lettering that surrounds a picture of a cartoon bee.

“Harry,” Jeff says gently, catching his drifting attention.

The singer turns to his manager, who nods to Alani waiting with a pen pressed to her notepad. Harry feels a rush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks and he clears his throat to cover it.

“Just water,” he says, eyes glued to the menu. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alani nods, flashing a toothy grin at the rest of the group before turning back to the kitchen. Harry. Her mind repeats, finding a hint of familiarity, though she doesn’t know why.

When Alani arrives at the drink station, she finds her sister staring at her, mouth agape, while Maleah unsuccessfully conceals her laughter.

“What?” she questions, checking herself for any embarrassing stains or smells.

“You were—and he—” Pua stammers. “He was—and then he—”

“That’s Harry Styles,” Maleah translates, her voice hushed as she peers over her friend's shoulder.

Alani turns to steal a glance at the table she just seated, but Pua and Maleah latch onto her and shake their heads frantically.

“Don’t look!” her sister hisses.

Alani smirks, amused at their reactions. “No shit. That’s One Direction?”

Maleah snorts, clasping a hand over her mouth as Pua huffs. “No, dumbass! It’s just Harry. I don’t know who the other guys are,”

“But the blonde guy? That’s not—?”

“No!” Pua and Maleah giggle in unison.

“Okay, geez,” Alani relents. She manages to steal a quick glance at the table over her shoulder, immediately searching for Harry. Her eyes scan over the long, curly hair kept out of his face by a pair of white sunglasses that she had seen on Kurt Cobain once. All of his features are sharp and striking, from his pointed nose and defined jawline to the bright blue eyes. Or maybe they were grey? Alani wonders, trying to remember the exact shade. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced teeny bopper she’d had in mind, the one from a music video her sister had shown her a long time ago. She would have never guessed that the What Makes You Beautiful singer had so much dark ink trailing down his bicep and forearm, though her knowledge of One Direction was very limited.

“What did he order?” Pua questions, her eyes wide.

Alani quickly snaps back to reality and resumes filling the drinks. “A water,”

“Oh my god,” Maleah swoons. “I’m never drinking anything else ever again,”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Alani teases with an eyebrow raised.

Maleah sneaks another peek at the table and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, I didn’t really think so either but look at him. What a fucking dream,”

Harry was objectively handsome, this Alani could admit, but she personally didn’t see the appeal and had a strong feeling that he was just like every other male celebrity. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make eye contact with her only served as further proof of what she knew to be true.

“Okay, well, your dreamboat is waiting for his water. So excuse me,” Alani winks, making her way back to the table.

The singer spots Alani returning out of the corner of his eye and the sight of her causes a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to duck for cover. Instead, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and pretends to be occupied with something on the screen.

“Okay,” she greets, setting the drink tray down. “I have a Blue Hawaii, a Mango Mama, two Loco Cocos, and a water,”

The group graciously accepts their drinks with a chorus of “thank you," but the only one under Alani’s scrutiny is Harry. He still doesn’t meet her almond eyes, and though she figured he wouldn’t, she can’t help the inkling of disappointment that washes over her. After taking their meal orders, Alani heads back to the kitchen, checking on her other customers along the way. Harry’s eyes follow her and he observes the way customers light up at her presence, indulging her conversation with laughter. He watches as she lingers by the jukebox in one corner of the room, a detail he had missed in his initial scan, and waits anxiously to see what song she chooses. Baby I’m-a Want You begins softly and Harry feels the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly. Good choice, he thinks.

********

“He’s still here,” Pua muses, peering through the tiny window in the kitchen door. It had been nearly two hours and the five men were still seated around their table cracking jokes and doing a lot of talking with their hands.

Alani doesn’t look up from her bowl of sliced kiwis, offering a hum in response. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Pua shoots back. “Don’t bother him,”

“What kind of girls do you think he’s into?” Maleah asks, attempting to peek through the window.

Alani shrugs, bored of the conversation and of thinking about Harry. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet he’s a real sucker for the ones who stalk him while he’s eating,”

“How does he make eating a salad look hot?”

“Can we talk about something else now?” Alani whines, poking holes in a lone kiwi with her fork.

Pua tosses a wet dish rag in her sister’s direction and cheers when it lands in her face. “Go see if he wants more water, he looks thirsty.”

“I already refilled it,” Alani defends. “Twenty minutes ago. I’ve refilled it a hundred times, I’m surprised he hasn’t peed his pants.”

I’m gonna piss myself. Harry thinks, his right leg bouncing to distract himself. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. Like clockwork, she would return to fill his glass almost as soon as the last drop had been drained, and so what began as a little experiment slowly turned into a bladder hazard. But if the trend was to be trusted, she would be back any minute and he wasn’t going to miss it; afterall, there were only so many ways to casually linger in a small café without making it weird. Unable to bear it any longer, he heads to the restroom and hopes that Alani doesn’t clear their table before he has a chance to see her again.

Harry pads down the back hallway with his eyes cast down at the floor, which proves to be a mistake when he walks directly into another person.

“Sorry!” they both apologize quickly, Harry’s palm taking purchase on the other person’s upper arm.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he offers, finally meeting the dark, mocha eyes already looking back at him.

Alani presses her lips into a tight smile. “Me either,”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up when he realizes it’s her, and he isn’t aware of how close they’re standing until he detects the faint scent of kiwi on her breath. He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“So I guess I’ll just—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Green. Alani notes to herself. His eyes are green.

********

Shortly after Harry returned from the restroom, him and his friends settled their bill and headed out. Alani cleared their table and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the hefty tip left behind. The word mahalo was also left behind on the receipt, underlined twice, and she wondered if it was his handwriting.

Later that night, she settled into bed with her laptop and hesitantly typed his name into Google. As she expected, countless articles about the split of One Direction emerged, most of them speculating what was next for each member. To her surprise, however, Harry’s name seemed to be mentioned more than his fellow bandmates as various sources labeled him “the next Justin Timberlake” and rising star of the group. Upon further investigation, she learned that the demand for information about the elusive Harry Styles was high, especially concerning any possible solo music. No news had yet been confirmed by Styles himself, nor anyone claiming to represent him, but she still wondered if his presence in Hawaii had anything to do with a possible solo project. Almost as soon as she thought it, Alani dismissed the theory in favor of the idea that he was most likely just taking a vacation. And from the buzz that she saw surrounding the news about One Direction, she couldn’t blame him.

The more Alani read, the more she wanted to know, and something deep down told her that his was a story worth telling. Of course, the only problem was that she had hardly talked to him, and there were only so many things she could say about the fifteen glasses of water he downed. There was no way of knowing if she would ever see him again, either, or if he was merely stopping in Hilo on his way to another island or somewhere else entirely. Alani sighed, thinking back to her most recent rejection from Rolling Stone. She knew that there was no possible way she would ever see or talk to Harry ever again, and even if she did, why would he bare his entire soul to a stranger? Still, she let her mind wander through the possibility.

Dear Ms. Hale, the letter would read, we are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine and are pleased to inform you that your piece on Harry Styles will be featured in next month’s issue. Additionally, we would be honored to have you on staff, effective immediately.

It was far-fetched, Alani knew this, but she dozed off that night with endless ideas swimming in her head.

********

By the third day after his visit, the only trace of Harry is in Alani’s search history. She would have completely forgotten about him if it weren’t for her sister’s constant reminiscing and multiple attempts to rename the house salad to the “Harry Special.” As a result, a part of Alani’s thoughts periodically linger back to that day and the subsequent hours spent on Google that she’d rationalized as research instead of stalking. Somehow the knowledge that she’ll never see him again only adds fuel to the questions still burning in her mind, but a customer clearing their throat while she sorts menus below the hostess podium interrupts her thoughts.

“Welcome in!” She calls, standing. “What can I—”

She stops in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. Harry blinks and waits for her to continue.

“What can I get started for you?” Alani tries again, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her shock. Luckily for her, Harry had been too focused on choosing his next words to register her mistake.

“What’s in the Honu smoothie?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when the menu just inches above her head clearly spells it out.

Alani hums, thinking back to the times she had made the smoothie herself. “Kiwis, spinach, mango, avocado, and a hint of lime,”

“I’ll take one of those,” Harry says, reaching for his wallet.

Alani punches in the order with trembling fingers and nods. “For here or to go?”

“To go,”

Disappointment fills her chest. Sure, she hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, but the fact that she did felt like a sign. If she wanted to take the chance, she’d have to do it fast.

“Anything else?” she asks, weighing her options while he skims the menu.

“No thanks.”

Alani makes the smoothie quickly, head spinning. She had spent most of the night after their initial meeting planning out exactly the type of questions she hoped to ask him and what kind of article she would write. She was used to writing about what she knew—artists and music she’d admired for years— but she figured that starting fresh with someone she hardly knew would be a good challenge. Not to mention that it seemed like just the thing Rolling Stone would jump for. Alani finally works up the courage as she finishes his smoothie, but when she returns to hand it to him and hopefully strike up a conversation, his ear is pressed to his cell phone. She holds out the drink and he graciously accepts, giving her a small nod as a “thank you” and rushing out of the restaurant.

Two days later he returns and is seated at the counter, typing away on his phone. Alani feels both a rush of optimism and annoyance at the universe for dangling his presence so unexpectedly. She starts heading over to him, but Maleah cuts in.

“Trade me?” she proposes, eyes wide.

Alani blinks. “Oh, I would but I—”

“Please,” her best friend pouts. “I’m leaving to see my grandparents in stupid California for two months. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to see him again?”

Alani sighs, but gives in, reluctantly exchanging Harry for the family of four seated by the window. A strange feeling settles into the pit of his stomach when he sees that she heads in the opposite direction after a hushed conversation with another waitress. He doesn’t know why she traded him for a different customer, but he takes the hint.

A week goes by without another sighting of Harry and Alani has permanently taken on the role of greeting hostess in hopes of seeing him again. Her heartbeat temporarily speeds up when she sees a long haired customer approach the door, but her spirits quickly fall when the face doesn’t match his.

Another week brings another disappointing realization that Harry might be gone for good. One rainy morning when the restaurant is quiet and only two customers huddle together in a booth near the back, Alani hunches over the hostess podium and doodles on a stray receipt— a sunflower, a crescent moon, and two hearts. The bell above the door jingles but she doesn’t look up, too absorbed in her scribbles.

“Do you serve coffee?”

The familiar accented voice stops Alani’s pen dead in its tracks. She lifts her eyes first to confirm, and then straightens up when she sees that her ears haven’t deceived her.

“Yes,” she swallows.

“Great. I’ll take it to go,”

She slightly deflates, but Harry thinks he’s reading too much into it.

“Actually,” he corrects anyway, just in case he isn’t. “I think I’ll stay for a while,”

Alani flashes a warm smile and nods in the direction of the counter. “Right this way,”

Harry sheds his windbreaker onto the back of the seat, revealing a black and white Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes Alani’s blood pressure rise. A sign, she thinks.

“What do you want in your coffee?” she questions carefully.

“Nothing,” he responds, shaking out his damp hair gently. “Or actually, uh, butter...if you have some,”

Alani blinks, not sure if she’d heard correctly or if there had been some transatlantic miscommunication.

“Butter?”

“Yeah,”

“Like the—”

“Spread, yeah,” Harry confirms. “It’s weird, I know,”

She lets out a light-hearted laugh and nods. “It’s a...unique request,”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Harry confides. “It’s not bad, actually. But maybe I’ve just been in L.A. for too long.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She offers a polite smile and heads to the kitchen where the cook and two other waiters talk amongst each other. Alani is grateful that the restaurant is slow this morning because she knows that it means minimal interruptions to her time with Harry. To ensure this, though, she asks one of the other waiters to cover the podium and returns to Harry with his coffee.

“One butter coffee, free of judgement,” the waitress announces, setting it down.

Harry grins softly, stirring the drink with the spoon Alani provided. “You can judge, it’s alright,”

“I just wanna know why,”

The coffee had been part of a fad diet while on tour in order to boost Harry’s energy on stage and stay trim for the hundreds of photo-ops he would be a part of. He doesn’t know how to communicate all of this to Alani, however, not sure how much she knows about that part of him, so he shrugs and tells a simplified version of the truth.

“I read about this trend a while back, it's called bulletproof coffee. Supposed to get your energy up and I needed it for my job,”

“Which is…” Alani trails off, downplaying the knowledge that she had acquired from Google.

“I make music,” is all Harry says and he takes a sip of the drink to avoid elaborating.

“Anything I would have heard?”

He swallows hard and listens to the faint rumbling of thunder outside before replying. “Possibly,”

“Try me,” Alani challenges.

He narrows his eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself first?”

“What do you wanna know?”

Everything, Harry responds internally, though he reigns it in. “How you got into waitressing,”

Alani sighs, resting her elbows on the counter across from him. “There’s not much to tell, it’s a family business. What I really wanna do is write,”

“Music?”

“Articles. I’m studying Journalism at UH,”

Harry hums in response, filing the detail away in the back of his mind. “Sounds interesting. You ever publish anything?”

“Not yet,” Alani shakes her head gently, toying with the sleeves of her green University of Hawaii crewneck. “Hopefully soon, though,”

Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but before he can, Alani speaks up again.

“Is it my turn to ask something now?”

He offers a curt nod and stirs his coffee.

“What kind of music do you write?”

Harry chooses to be vague again. “Different stuff. Pop, usually. Been messing with some classic rock, though,”

“Explains the shirt,”

He peers down at the design on his tee and agrees. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Do you like it?” Alani asks, her eyes begging to make contact with his again. “Writing music, I mean,”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, tapping his spoon against the rim of the mug. “I really do,”

Alani’s heart pounds. This is her chance, a moment to finally secure her breakthrough piece. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she opts to dive right in without looking back. The worst he can say is no.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“That’s cheating,” Harry teases lightly. “It's my turn,”

She pouts playfully, but obliges. “Fire away,”

Harry doesn’t know which question to ask first, but when he glances down at the crescent moon inked on her wrist, he decides to start there.

“What’s with the moon tattoo?”

Alani isn’t sure what she expected him to ask and wonders what purpose such a detail could possibly serve him, but she answers anyway.

“Oh, well,” she begins, tracing her index finger over the outline. “It’s kinda the meaning of my full name. It’s Mahealani, Hawaiian for ‘heavenly moon,'”

Fitting, Harry comments to himself. Every detail he learns about her makes him want to learn that much more, from her favorite foods to the last thing she thinks about before falling asleep. Studying her expectant eyes, he suddenly remembers that it’s his turn to respond.

“That’s cool,” is all he says.

Alani doesn’t know what to make of the faraway look in his eye, but she decides to pose her most burning question while he appears to be in good spirits.

“I know this is gonna sound totally out of the blue,” she starts, working past the lump in her throat. “But when you mentioned how you write music, I was just reminded of this assignment I’m working on in my class,”

Harry waits for her to continue, nursing his now lukewarm coffee.

“I’m supposed to write a piece about someone who I don’t know that well,” she continues. “You know, to practice our interviewing skills. And, well, I was just kind of wondering if you might be interested in helping me out—being the subject, I mean,”

Alani had every intention of telling Harry the truth, about how she really planned to submit the article to Rolling Stone in hopes of securing an internship before her college graduation next Spring. But as she started speaking, she quickly realized how it would come off: a complete stranger asking for personal information to submit to a well-known publication. She knew that there was a chance he would shut down and never return, so she lowered the stakes and hoped that this route would be less risky. Was it ethical? Alani hadn’t decided yet, but she would work out the details later. After six failed articles and two years of rejection, she saw a ray of hope and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Harry ponders her offer for a moment, which confirms that she had recognized him. Normally he would be off-put by such a request, and to a certain extent he is, but there is something sincere in her voice that he trusts deep down. Before he agrees, however, he decides to fish around a bit to test her reaction.

“You know who I am,” he says gently. “Don’t you?”

Alani’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach, not sure what to say next. She hopes with every fiber of her being that she hasn’t upset him, or worse, ruined her chances, so she decides to offer some truth to throw him off her scent.

“My sister recognized you,” she explains. “That day you came in with your friends. I thought they were your bandmates at first,”

This lets Harry know that she isn’t a total stalker, which is comforting, but he wouldn’t have been minded if she were a fan simply engaging in conversation.

“Oh,” he laughs weakly.

“I totally understand if you say no,” Alani offers quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I just thought it was worth a shot. And that it might be more interesting than interviewing our produce guy,”

Harry decides to give her one last scan for any sign of insincerity. He’d always felt that his gut instinct was strong and it hadn’t led him astray thus far.

“An interview?” he clarifies.

“Just one,” Alani promises. “An hour, tops. And you can proofread all of it once I’ve finished, too.”

Harry waits a beat, already knowing his reply, but he wants to see how she will react to his silence. She doesn’t budge, almond eyes set and determined.

“Okay.”

next chapter

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Drive By ~ Reggie (part 2)

A/n: This part’s Discord link! I want to clarify this time that the discord server is actually run by @httpnxtt ! So bless her for giving us a place to SCREAM (as we so often do!) Also I wrote this listening to “Lover Man” by Ricky Montgomery and this HEAVILY follows that song so feel free to listen to it to enhanse the experience!

Word Count: 7400+

Warnings: OKay so listen this part could potentially be super triggering so READ THIS PLEASE!!!! Grief (blaming yourself, anger, depression, etc), trauma reaction to arguing/yelling, trauma reaction to assumed physical abuse, implied minors having past sexual experiences, internalized homophobia, people discriminate against soulmates in this au, implied domestic disputes, rejection. I... think that’s it I’m so sorry if I’ve forgotten something.

MASTERLIST

Reggie really hated soulmates.

He liked seeing other people and their soulmates, and he loved talking about soulmates with other people. It's just, if he'd had the choice, he wished more than anything that he could have just... not had one himself. He'd rather just be one of those odd people who never manifested a soulmate connection; that would be so, so much better if this is what having a soulmate meant for him.

Now, Reggie didn't always feel this way. When he was younger he used to listen to people talk about their soulmates all the time and dream of a future when he got his. His parents had been one of those people who strongly believed that soulmates were a bad thing, and had been open and proud that they weren't soulmates. Maybe seeing them argue all the time had been the basis of his love for soulmates, and his drive to find his.

If only he could tell his young self that life isn't that simple. There's no magical cure to loneliness, and soulmates aren't all they're cracked up to be. Not for him. Nothing ever was, for him.

"Reg?"

The bassist looked over, eyes wide as his name was called. "Yeah?"

Alex was the one looking at him, concern creasing his features. "You seem really distracted today. You alright?"

In all honesty, he absolutely wasn't. Ever since they'd been forcefully brought back into the land of the living as ghosts, and now they were trying to make a band again and Alex had found his soulmate and the world was so crazy different and Luke was acting weird like he ALWAYS did when soulmates were involved and Reggie was really overwhelmed.

"Yeah," he answered anyway. Thinking about soulmates makes him finally make a decision he's been trying to avoid for a few days now. "I'm a little restless. I think I'm going to go on a walk. Take a page out of your book." He smiles and stands up, and Alex nods.

Luke looked over. Reggie should have known Luke would have known that Reggie didn't like walks like Alex did. "Do you want company?"

"No," Reggie answered immediately. It came off less as desperate and more insistent though, so he didn't stress about how fast he'd said it. Usually he'd love to have Luke around, but he couldn't for what he wanted to do. Especially because he knew the only reason Luke wanted to go along is because the last time one of them went on a walk they came back with a soulmate mark, and he didn't want Luke to be all over him and protective. He couldn't deal with that right now. Luke's face fell though and Reggie added, "I just need some space you know?" His voice was soft this time, and Luke nodded after a second, a small smile on his face.

With that, Reggie poofed out of the garage and was outside, turning away to begin walking down the road.

The sun was going down before he found what he'd been looking for. He'd had to sneak around and peak where he probably shouldn't of, but he had to know. Fine, it was creepy. He wasn't proud. But he... he HAD to know.

It was his snooping that had brought him to the graveyard.

Walking through the yard looking at every single head stone searching for the one name he was most afraid to see but knew he eventually would, Reggie realized that in all of the things that he had imagined when he'd thought about tracking down a certain someone from his past every single outcome possible made him just as sick as this did.

Finally he came across the grave he was looking for. At the top was a name. Y/n's name. Reggie sat on the dirt, legs crossed, hands in his lap. As he looked at the grave, he felt the top right corner of his chest itch. The spot just below his collar bone. His hand itched to touch it, but he wasn't like Luke. He didn't give into urges. He was too afraid if he touched it enough times people would realized the real reason he never wanted to change in front of anyone else.

His eyes closed and he sighed. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the gravestone. "I remember the night you left. The hours Luke spent crying when his soulmate mark turned grey. I remember Alex holding him so tightly and calming him down. How I had to..." He swallowed. "I had to be quiet about how much it hurt me too." He sat back, his eyes opening again as he looked at the year on the tombstone. He reached out, his fingers grazing over the year Y/n had died. "You died the same year we did. I wonder how it happened. How many months were you around that we weren't? What-" His voice choked with emotion. "Did you hear about us? What happened? Did you even care?" His voice was soft and it faded, his hands raising to rub at his face. Finally, Reggie shook his head and moved to his feet. He bent down to touch the top of the stone. "I'm sorry for how things happened all those years ago." And then he turned away and he left, and he didn't look back.

-

"You should ask him out."

Reggie jumped and his eyes whipped around. When had Y/n gotten to the studio?  "Oh hey." He tried to smile and laugh the comment off, but his fear at being caught red handed made his stomach twist and both the sound and the expression he made were contorted with awkwardness.

Y/n rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall next to Reggie. "Listen I might be gay, but I'm not stupid." He grinned. "Luke. Talk to him."

Without meaning to, Reggie looked back at Luke. He was talking to Alex and Bobby about the newest song he'd written and how he wanted it to sound. Alex had asked about what the song was about and it had set Luke off for half an hour. Reggie hadn't taken his eyes off of the lead singer since the conversation had started. When talking about music and things he was passionate about in general, Luke was so... beautiful? That really was the word for it. He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't been sure no one was looking... he'd forgotten Y/n was coming over today. Even then, how did the dude just walk in without alerting a single other person in the room?

Reggie cleared his throat and looked away from Luke. At least it was Y/n. He didn't have to hide from Y/n. In the small time he'd been going out with Luke, Y/n had been the most amazing person Reggie had ever met. He was so warm and welcoming. He made Reggie feel safe, like every time he was around Reggie was coming home. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced since his parents had ruined the feeling of safety and belonging in his house, and since his feelings for Luke had made everything so weird for him in the studio. Both places had lots of good feelings and memories and got so very close, but it was Y/n that really drove it home, if you will. Because of this, when Reggie spoke, it was with defeat and not denial. "I can't."

"Why not?" Y/n asked.

Looking over at Y/n with an odd expression, Reggie felt himself  get really confused. Was this one of those times he had missed something that was obvious to most people, or was that as weird as it felt? "You just learned I have feelings for your boyfriend and you want me to act on them?"

A soft, low laugh rumbled and Reggie felt himself smile despite himself. "He's not my boyfriend." Something between a grimace and a bittersweet smile rested on Y/n's lips, and slowly the sweet part of it was fading away. "He made that very clear." Reggie went to defend Luke but Y/n just held up a hand. "I know. I understand, I really do. Soulmates are like a huge taboo, and it doesn't help that we're both dudes. Trust me, I know how bad it can ruin your life when people find out you're not straight."

Reggie thought about Alex. "Most of us do," he said without thinking.

Y/n just nodded, not pressing Reggie for more information. Y/n was really good about reading people like that. Knowing what to say and when to say it. It was as if he could feel the spike of panic that Reggie had felt a second after saying what he had. "And I understand that too. I don't BLAME him. I'm not MAD at him. It just sucks. I mean, your parents don't know we're friends. None of your fans know I even exist. I mean Bobby and Alex are IN the band and they only found out about us like a week ago. We've been seeing each other for a month and a half." He scoffed. "I hate feeling like a secret. Like... he's ashamed of me. Like I'm sort of dirty pleasure. The way people look at porn." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly he's lucky he's worth it." This was said with more humor, and Reggie was relieved to feel the dark mood begin to slip away. "I have plenty of people who'd be very public about being in love with me." Then he winked at Reggie.

Without knowing why, Reggie's face went warm and his heartbeat picked up. It was the exact same thing that had happened when Luke made eye contact with him while they were singing, or when they got too close while sharing the mic and their shoulders or legs brushed. That moment of intense adrenaline when it was suffocatingly hot and Reggie's blood was rushing and then the guy he'd been crushing on for years looked at him and made him feel like he was the only person in the room. Reggie had always been so relieved that Luke could only do that during performances, when Reggie had something else to focus on immediately. When he had to be professional, and not when they were alone and he couldn't hold himself back from kissing Luke if given the chance.

How could Y/n make him feel like that now? They were just sitting here!

"If you're sad he won't publically be with you, then-"

"Because you two can have a relationship in public. People have seen you perform and no one blinks at it. Not at the way you look at each other, or how fine you are with invading each others' space. It's just written off as bandmates stuff. You probably share a room, or have known each other very long. Unless you kissed on stage no one would even care. Only the other gays would know and what are they gonna do, judge you?" He snickered and Reggie had to admit it made him smile. "You both have good reputations. It's as fair for me to be hidden as it is for him to hide me. He hates it - I can tell. He wants to go on actual dates or just been seen in public together. He wants to tell the girls that flirt with him to back off because he's taken. But he can't." Y/n sighed.

"And you think I can give him that?" Reggie asked. Y/n looked over, obviously surprised by the tint of humor in Reggie's voice. The bassist found it hilarious that all these things seemed to be a continuation of why Y/n wanted Reggie to give asking Luke out a shot... but then something clicked in his head and his smile dropped dead in exchange for wide eyes that matched Y/n's. "You think he likes me back." It was deadpan, opposite to the torrent of emotion inside of him.

Y/n scoffed. "Well YES, but... Reggie between us, you're the closest he's ever gonna get to a real relationship. The kind he wants, at least."

Reggie wasn't having that though. "Y/n he's head over heels for you. I didn't even think there was any room in that head of his FOR romance until he and Alex went out, and even then... I mean they broke up for a reason. Sometimes I feel like the only reason he-" Reggie snapped his mouth shut, eyes darting away as he realized what he was about to say.

By the look on Y/n's face, he got the feeling eh didn't actually have to say it. Y/n just nodded. "He only wants to be with me because we're soulmates." Reggie shrunk. "It's fine, I think so too. That's why I don't think I would mind if he did date someone else, along with whatever we have. As long as the person he decides to be with is okay with it. I don't know, I really like Luke and I really like us. I just feel like he deserves better sometimes, you know?"

The thing was, Reggie didn't know. He had never seen Luke as happy as he was with Y/n. He had meant that he only thought they had started dating because of the whole soulmates thing - Luke wouldn't still be with Y/n if the boy wasn't important to him. Luke looked at Y/n the same way he looked when he talked about music. But Reggie didn't know how to say that, so what he said instead was, "You matter a lot to him." It was quiet for a second before he added, "I don't think there are many people who make him as happy as you do. Even if you're just... here."

Y/n looked at his hands. "He told me about when he was a kid, and he'd check his body for any mark or name or phrase or anything. He told me about his parents had been missing s color before they met, and how they'd only told him when he was older and could keep a secret, but how they didn't want Luke to run away from potential great love because he turned away from his soulmate like so many do. They filled his head with so many hopes and dreams and... the way he looked at me that night. Without knowing anything about me, he looked at me like I was the reason the stars were in the sky. Sometimes I think that's all it is. That we share this mark, and the universe looked at me and whispered to him, 'that one'. He wouldn't have chosen me otherwise."

"He wouldn't have," Reggie agreed honestly. "But he has now, and I think it would kill him to lose you." Y/n went to argue, but this time it was Reggie who shook his head, cutting off whatever was about to be said. "I'm serious. You two are special. Don't diminish that."

After a second, Y/n's body relaxed and he smiled, nodding. "Thanks Reg." Reggie nodded and then they both looked at Luke, who was wrapping up whatever he was talking about, as Bobby wanted to get back to practicing. "I still think you should ask him out."

Reggie shoved Y/n off the couch at that, and both of their laughter finally brought the attention of Luke, who immediately ended the conversation by coming over and being within ear shot. Which meant Y/n had the last word.

This time.

-

"You're touching it again." Alex's eyes shot up to see Reggie's amused smile. He had gotten into the same habit Luke did; whenever he was nervous, his thumb would reach out to brush over the inked on words on his wrist. "What's bugging you?"

Alex sighed. "I'm just ALWAYS thinking about him, you know? Like I-" His face suddenly went very red. "I don't know, this feel so different to any relationship I've ever had. And maybe that's because the only other person I really dated was Luke, but-" He shrugged.

Understanding completely, Reggie nodded. "I get it. It must be nice, to have that. Do you think he feels the same?"

The blush got worse. "I... yeah." He cleared his throat and Reggie tried not to laugh. "We've been hanging out a lot and he's been answering a lot of questions. It's still not like anything serious - we're still getting to know each other, and we're both letting this take us where we want to go. Like, it's slower than it was with Luke, but faster than Flynn and Julie explained the pace of their relationship."

That made Reggie snort. "To be fair, it took YEARS for those two to do anything about their soulmate stuff."

"Yeah but they met super young," Alex reminded. Reggie nodded - that was a fair point. "Once they talked about what the soulmate thing between them meant, they took like a few months to figure it out. It's been like a week for us and I already feel like I've known him for years." He rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes kept flickering around the studio, and Reggie felt his stomach twist painfully as he realized what Alex was doing.

He was looking for Luke.

The last time they'd discussed soulmates, Julie had asked Luke about Y/n and it had gotten... awkward.

Reggie interlaced his fingers together to stop himself from suddenly scratching the intense itch he felt over that stupid, stupid mark on his chest. He couldn't stop thinking about it, but he refused to give himself away. He'd managed to hide it from his closest friends for an entire year - he wasn't going to trip up now. "Man, I'm happy for you. You deserve this. Not just the soulmate thing, but the way you talk about Willie makes me so happy for you." Reggie grinned despite himself. "I wish I could see you two together more."

Alex loosened up, his own smile growing. "Don't you listen to me talk about him enough without having to see me be an idiot in person?"

Reggie laughed. "You know I would love to see you be HAPPY," he stressed, raising his eyebrows. He always corrected his friends when they dished on themselves. "What you guys have is special."

Alex tilted his head. "You know, I always wondered what it would be like for you to get a soulmate. I bet you'd be even more a disaster than me."

Reggie had to remind himself that he was dead and didn't have a heartbeat, because he was sure he'd had a heart attack when Alex had said that. Once again, the urge to touch that damn mark was strong and he clenched his hands into fists so tightly his knuckles went white. "Yeah I've always wondered too." He cleared his throat. "That won't get you out of talking to me about Willie though. Come on, I have questions!"

The distraction worked... For now. He hoped it would keep working just a little longer.

-

Luke had fallen asleep hours ago, curled up with Y/n on the couch in the studio. His breathing was even and low and soft and it was almost enough to help Reggie go to sleep too. Only almost though, because Reggie was REALLY distracted by the way he looked with his hair falling in his face and his cheeks squished as he lay his head on Y/n's chest. He was even more distracted by the thought of being like that with Luke and feeling guilty because the more he thought about it, the smugger Y/n got and the smugger Y/n got, the more Reggie thought about it. It was a cycle and he was slowly going absolutely insane - the entire time, Y/n wore a knowing smile and barely held back from busting up laughing at him.

It was no different now.

"You're ridiculous," Y/n sighed softly.

"Shut up," Reggie complained, his eyes closing. It wasn't so much an order as it was a whine, and Y/n had to force himself not to giggle. Laughing would move his chest and wake up Luke, and the boy desperately needed sleep.

Y/n sighed. "I don't know why you don't just ask him out." This time Reggie groaned, but still kept it soft as not to disturb Luke. Bobby and Alex had gone home hours ago, and the three of them had stayed to talk, but Luke had fallen asleep so that Y/n was pinned. The problem was he couldn't get comfortable  as he sat in the middle of the couch, leaving him nothing to lean against and fall asleep on. Y/n had invited Reggie to sit next to him and be Y/n's pillow, but the bassist didn't think he could handle that AND Luke without combusting.

Pulling his thoughts away from thinking about Y/n sleeping on him - because for some reason, that was so much harder to deal with than imagining Luke doing it, in the sense that it made his heart want to explode and his head feel fuzzy and his skin tingle and that terrified him in a way he could not explain - Reggie moved his gaze toward the roof before saying, "It wouldn't work out."

There was some shuffling and Reggie looked back to see Y/n very slowly, skillfully maneuvering Luke in a way that didn't wake the brunette as Y/n slipped out from underneath him. Luke complained in the form of sleepy, incoherent mumbles and scrunching up his face for a few seconds, but was otherwise undisturbed. Reggie was astounded. Luke was a light sleeper, so the feat alone was amazing... but also, if Y/n could do that the whole time why hadn't he done it much earlier instead of asking Reggie to join the sleep train?

While he was busy being surprised, Y/n settled in a new spot, next to Reggie. He reached out, his hand cupping Reggie's cheek to gently bring the boys' eyes to a meeting point. Reggie felt his throat clog up and swallowed to force down the lump attempting to choke him. "Reggie," Y/n asked in a soft voice, eyes earnest and wide. "Why don't you think you deserve love?"

Reggie was speechless. How could Y/n have POSSIBLY known that? "I didn't say-"

Y/n shook his head. "You didn't have to. But that's not important. Don't start lying to me now." Y/n was very close and Reggie could not summon a single helpful thought in all of the possible workings of his human mind. He HAD many thoughts, but not a SINGLE one of them included him thinking straight and it was immediately an intense struggle. "Reggie, you are so amazing," Y/n whispered, and the raspy touch in his voice made Reggie die a little bit inside. "You're so kind and warm and soft, like as a person. You feel so much and have so much compassion and care so much about people. I don't know what you think it is that has you so convinced you don't deserve EVERYTHING the world has to offer and more, but I promise you that everyone who matters? Alex, me and Bobby, and YES, even Luke - we all see how incredible you are. Please tell me you can see it too, even just a little bit.

A good swallow finally dislodged the lump in his throat, and Reggie found his voice. "Y/n..." He shook his head, and Y/n's hands fell to his shoulders. "I just feel... different than everyone else. I'm..." He couldn't find words. "It's not that I don't think I deserve happiness. I just feel like I'm not ever going to find it. Not like you and Luke. I don't think that's part of what's going to be in my future. I feel like I'm missing something important sometimes. Something other people just have, and are born with. Like a really key part of a puzzle?" He shrugged, turning his head away.

"Oh Reggie," Y/n whispered in that same soft tone that spoke volumes of softness and fondness. "How could you think you need anything other than what you already have, when what you have is so amazing and special?" Reggie looked over as Y/n's left hand shifted Reggie's collar to touch his skin at the top right of Reggie's chest with his palm. Y/n's fingertips grazed Reggie's neck. "Do you feel that, Reg? Your heart..." Reggie realized why Y/n had moved his shirt - to feel his heartbeat. "You bleed kindness. You have always, I think. From what I've seen, and what I've heard, you're surrounded by hardship and hate and struggle, and somehow you came out of all of it with a heart gushing with love. I don't care what you think you're missing. You have THIS, and that is ALL you need. YOU are enough, Reginald. You are all anyone ever needs."

Reggie felt an... odd sensation. A warmth that spread through his body, from where Y/n touched him. At first he thought it was just that the words had touched him so much, but as the warmth faded, there was something left behind. A tingly buzzing sensation, right where Y/n's palm touched Reggie's chest.

Eyes widening, Y/n moved his hand away. It was only then they both realized it was the same hand he had touched Luke with for the first time. The same hand that had the Rose tattoo. The one that matched the one on Luke's shoulder. The shape that  marked the two boys soulmates. The mark which before had been only one outline of a rose... but was now two roses, crossed over each other. Identical, but facing opposite directions. Their stems curled the same way, the tilt was the same, but they faced opposite directions, ending up crossing each other.

"Oh my god," Y/n whispered. His eyes moved to Reggie's chest, which was still slightly exposed. His eyes went wide, his face draining of color.

A sort of panic suddenly flooding him, Reggie shot to his feet and flew to the bathroom. He tugged down the color of his shirt, looking in the mirror. To his horror, where Y/n's hand had touched his skin was the detailed drawing of a rose without any color. The same mark that had been on Y/n's palm and Luke's shoulder since they had met. Their soulmate mark.

His eyes caught motion and he looked over to see a suddenly shy Y/n in the doorway. "So," the teen edged, tension in his shoulders and hesitation in his eyes. "I guess this means we're soulmates too. How fun is that?"

-

"I guess I failed on that whole not coming back thing." Reggie was sat on the dirt plot in front of Y/n's gravestone again, shaking his head at himself. "I promised last time was my last time. Did the same thing the time before that." Reggie could feel his heart ache and his stomach tie into knots so tight that they gave him a stomach ache. His eyes watered as he looked at the name on the stone, blurring the words as he felt his heart scream in his chest. He put his face in his hands, slowly moving his fingers so they wound into his hair. "I miss you so much." He was crying, his body shaking violently as he tried to hold it in and failed. "God I'm so sorry Y/n. I'm so sorry I ran from you back then. That I pushed you away and ignored you. You were the only person that knew. The only person I could talk to about this."

For a second he cut off, and he really cried. He cried and cried until his throat was sore and his body felt painful from how tight it was wound. He knew the pain wouldn't last. Physical pain never did now that he was a ghost. It didn't change the fact that his very soul ACHED. He felt like he was missing something important. Something irreplaceable. Something precious. And it was all his own fault.

When his voice returned, it was watery and weak. His words were torn and broken with hiccups and stuttering. He was absolutely miserable. "Y-you said- I tried to- and you just-" He pulled on his hair, suddenly ripping his hands away from the strands to angrily wipe at the stupid tears that wouldn't let him talk. He NEEDED to talk. He had to get out what he was feeling and make sense of all of the thoughts in his head.

He had gone through denial the first time he'd come here. He'd thought it was some sort of conclusion. A letting go of the past, to know that Y/n was gone. It was supposed to be an answer to a question. He was supposed to be relieved to know what happened. He was supposed to just find out where Y/n had ended up and then be fine with it. He had even visited the second time only to give a proper goodbye, and that was when it had hit him.

Y/n was gone. He hadn't grown up. He hadn't found happiness. He hadn't experienced a world accepting of him. He hadn't found someone else and been happy and safe like he deserved. The pain that thought brought him was more overwhelming than the realization that Reggie himself had suffered the same fate. More sharp than even Alex or Luke suffering the same fate, because at least the three of them had each other. They had Julie and the band, and they had skipped right to the good parts and missed all the bad parts where people fought tooth and nail for the world they had now. But Y/n had only ever had Sunset Curve. He didn't have anyone else that cared about him. He had died, probably alone and miserable, feeling rejected by the two people he felt for the most, and probably forgotten by the two friends he had. The only four people that had been kind to Y/n in a very long had all shut him out and in his last moments, he had no one to turn to.

The third time Reggie came to visit, the pain had been replaced by guilt. He had spent nights awake thinking about all the times Y/n had begged Reggie to tell Luke about the rose. About Reggie being their soulmate too. Y/n had spent weeks and weeks trying to get them all on the same level. Trying to work it out. But Reggie had rejected him. Had run from him, the same way Reggie had been run from. He hadn't helped when Y/n had needed it as things turned south with Luke. He hadn't helped when Luke had come to him looking for advice after the fight with Y/n. He had told Luke to forget about it, and now Luke hated soulmates and Y/n had died alone and it was all Reggie's fault. If he had just been braver. A better friend. A better soulmate...

His fourth time at the grave, all he felt was anger. Anger at himself. Anger at Luke and Y/n for fighting. Anger at these stupid soulmate marks. Anger at the world that had raised him for seventeen years to hate the best parts of himself. To fear the way he loved, and the people he loved. He was angry at the nightmares and the pain and the worry and the stress that had been so needless. Why couldn't men be in love with each other? Because it wasn't how people had loved each other in public? Because it was new? Because it was different? Why were soulmates so terrible? Well that one he knew. Soulmates had been such taboo then because it was one less thing people could control. One less part of peoples' lives that could be locked down and forced around. A power stronger than any law. An energy that fueled hope. Hope, an emotion stronger than even fear if grown and bolstered. And that's what soulmates did, right? Encouraged people to think differently. See more. Try something new. Soulmates could be two men, or two girls, or a man and a woman. It could be anyone. Soulmates didn't gender code like society wanted them too, so obviously they were evil. Julie had gone off about it one day and you know what she was right! It was bullshit!

It was the fifth time Reggie had come with pleading eyes and begging and pleading. He had sat in front of that stupid gravestone and tried not to cry as he prayed to whoever might be listening. As he talked to thin air. As he picked up fistfuls of dirt and chucked them at the gravestone and demanded a second chance. He had screamed and kicked it and almost fallen on his face when he went through the stone. The fifth time Reggie had lost his mind, and he had spent hours trying to just get the chance to say sorry. To tell Y/n all the things he'd been wanting to tell him for so long. All he wanted was five minutes. Didn't he at least deserve that?!

Now Reggie had no other emotions left. He didn't have denial to lean on, or anger or desperation or anything else. He had used up every emotion he could think of - even jealousy for a while, as he listened to stories about Julie and Flynn or Willie and Alex. He had used one after the other until he was left stripped bare and emptied out. And now as he sat there, he cried and cried until the sadness was gone too and the tears all ran out. And then he just sat there and stared at the grey stone that was always cold and always had Y/n's name on it and offered no help or love or reprieve or condolences or even a little mercy. He looked at the grey stone and he felt a sort of kinship with it. He felt his insides pulse with a dull ache, as if they were sore. It sat there, reminding him consistently that he just felt... hollow. Empty.

Numb.

His fingertips grazed over the words carved to make Y/n's name, and he thought of the time that Y/n had tried to touch Reggie's soulmate mark; something Y/n did to Luke to remind both of them that they were soulmates. He remembered the day Y/n had begged Reggie to realize what they were. To really know it and really FEEL it and Reggie... he had pushed Y/n's hand away and said something he'd regret the rest of his life, and even after that.

How could one hotdog take so much from him in one go?

It wasn't fair.

-

"Reggie..."

Immediately, Reggie felt his body tense. "Where's Luke?" was his reply.

With a careful tone, Y/n answered, "That's what I came to talk to you about." Reggie's body only grew more rigid, but that didn't stop him moving away with ease and much speed when he felt Y/n's fingers graze his shoulder. He had been doing that every single time Y/n touched him since... since... His hand twitched and he almost touched the mark he had been ignoring for weeks, but managed yet again not to. "Reg," Y/n whispered. His voice sounded so frail and weak. So desperate. It was enough to break Reggie down enough that he slowly turned around.

And then immediately regret it.

Y/n looked like he'd been wrung out and hung to dry up in the sun. His skin was a different color than usual, like he felt queasy or was sick. There were bags under his eyes, and a expression on his face that made Reggie's heart burn with a pain he wasn't prepared for. He looked like he had been crying instead of sleeping. "Y/n... what happened to you."

Immediately, Y/n's shoulders sagged. he looked so small and defeated that Reggie drew back even more. The very air around Y/n simmered with pain and ache. "I'm... trying to make this work. This thing with Luke and- and with you-"

"Don't include me in that," Reggie snapped. He hadn't meant it to come out so harsh, but his panic had gotten the better of him and he had sounded angry. Like he was accusing Y/n of something.

Y/n's vulnerability was crushed to dust, and his face hardened and his body began to shake every so slightly. Reggie felt the yelling coming before he could hear it, and immediately his head was full of night spent curled in bed, trying to sleep as he crushed his ears with pillows and blankets and even his own hands to try and make himself stop hearing the shouts down the hall.

Y/n never yelled. He hadn't yelled once.

Hearing him yell now was so terrible that Reggie was stunned into silence for a solid minute.

"GODDAMNIT REGGIE!" He shoot his hate, his face twisted and his hands curled into fists and for a terrible second he thought Y/n was going to hit him. And then he immediately didn't understand why, because Y/n forced his hands opened and the earnest desperation was back and despite his anger he was pleading, and in that moment Reggie realized what he should have known by now: Y/n would never hurt him. Y/n would never hurt ANYBODY. Reggie was the one causing pain, and it was to the softest, kindest person he had ever met. The person who felt more pain than anyone else Reggie knew, and who still refused to let it destroy him. When Y/n spoke again, Reggie felt terrible to hear how raw the words sounded. "I'm trying to make you understand. I- I-" His eyes watered and Reggie felt a part of him shatter. "I lo-"

"Don't you dare say it." It came out as a plead, soft and wet and corrupted by a primal fear that made Reggie feel sick to his stomach to hear.

Whatever Y/n had heard in those words, it had taken something vital from him. His face went slack and tears fell down his face. Slowly, one at a time. He just looked at Reggie like he'd been slapped, and Reggie wanted to run away but he was frozen in place. "Do you just not like me back? Is it just about Luke? Do you only-?"

"I don't like Luke," Reggie demanded, finding strength in his voice again.

"Yes you do!" Y/n insisted. "I KNOW you do Reggie! I know you do because I see the way your hands twitch when Luke is near you, like you're dying to touch him. I see the way you look at him when you think no one is paying attention. I know he keeps you awake on the nights you can't sleep, and I know he's been as close to home as you could get for years because you go to him every single time you're upset or lonely or unsure. You seek comfort in him when you're hurting and you look to him for direction when you're lost."

"Stop it," Reggie whispered, his fingers curling into claws, nails digging at his skin even through his jeans.

Y/n just kept going. "And I know he feels the same about you because he says your name like it's the most beautiful word he's ever said, and he touches you like it brings him peace, and he talks about you like your his favorite song, and he's driven so intensely to be close to you like you're a fire and he's freezing. I see the way he looks at you and if I had a penny for every time he mentioned your name when the two of us were hanging out alone, I wouldn't be-"

"STOP IT!" His hands flew up to cover his ears... but for some reason Y/n cringed away from him. It felt like a punch to the gut to realize that Y/n had the same reaction as Reggie's had earlier. Y/n had, for some reason, thought Reggie was going to hit him. A look of guilt crossed Y/n's face and Reggie knew exactly what he was thinking. Reggie would never do something like that.

Whatever Reggie had, Y/n had it too, and that somehow made it so much worse.

For a second, they just sat there in silence. But then Reggie lowered his hands, very slowly, and Y/n spoke. "Is it because of me? What I was before you guys met me? What I did?"

Reggie didn't have to ask what Y/n meant. He knew full well how Luke and Y/n had met, and what it had meant. He knew that Y/n was touchy about this topic. He knew that  it was something that Y/n had stressed about for a long time until he'd learned that Luke didn't really care or think about that stuff. How much it had been a relief for Y/n to get away from a life full of people and relationships that only wanted one thing from him. How nice it had been for him to get a break from meaningless interactions and one night stands and phone numbers he never bothered to keep.

Reggie also knew this had NOTHING to do with that. Reggie didn't care about Y/n's past, or how other people saw him. He knew better. He knew Y/n had a person. However, upon being given any other reason than the truth, Reggie's instinct was to take it and run. However, he knew this was worth than the truth. And for a split second he had to switch gears from accepting the excuse to dismissing it. He had to take just a fraction of a second to shut that down in his head, despite what his first thought had been.

It created a moment of hesitation.

A moment Y/n took as an answer.

Even when Reggie finally stuttered out an, "Of course not!" Reggie knew it was too late. Y/n stepped away from him, his face crumbling. The air had been knocked out of Reggie's body as he scrambled for something to say. "It's not Y/n I swear."

Y/n looked him dead in the eye. "Then what is it?" Reggie's mouth snapped shut. "Please Reggie, give me one other reason that makes sense. Tell me that it's not that you see me the same way everyone else does. That you're not just a little bit disgusted with me, and that's why you HATE the idea that we're soulmates. Tell me why it makes you so angry to think of being with Luke, when you're so obviously into him, if it's not because not even a little part of you think he's tainted because he's been with me even if it's not... like THAT."

Reggie did the worst thing he could have ever done.

He stayed silent.

He was too petrified to give Y/n the answer that could fix all of this. The answer that could clear the air. Maybe Y/n could help. Maybe they could make everything better. Maybe...

Whatever he'd been thinking it didn't matter, because the words didn't come out of his mouth and then the door to the studio opened and Luke was standing there, looking between them with eyes full of concern and confusion as the poor boy watched the two most important people in his life argue. Y/n went to leave, grabbing his bag as he made his way out of the studio, and Reggie let him walk away thinking something so damaging and wrong. Something that would ruin everything - all because Reggie was a coward.

-

"Mommy! Mommy! The angel helped me!" Reggie didn't even process it properly. It wasn't important. It didn't pertain to him. Why would he make note of it?

How wrong he was thinking that.

His mind was so focused on Bobby who was now Trevor, who had stolen their music. Who had stolen everything closest to Luke and hurt the man Reggie would anything for. Reggie was on a war path. He couldn't think about anything else until he heard Luke distinctly whisper in the softest, shakiest voice, "Y/n?"

Reggie's head whipped around to look at Luke, only for the action to repeat again as he quickly followed Luke's gaze to see....

Unable to help himself, Reggie gasped.

There was Y/n, in the exact same condition he'd been in the night he'd stormed out after arguing for Luke. That night was branded in Reggie's mind - he was sure Y/n was even wearing the same outfit. No... Y/n had never worn white while he was alive. Why was he decked head to toe in white?

The angel helped me! That was what the little girl had said. Had she been talking about Y/n? He saw the little girl, being pulled along by her mother, and that was when Reggie realized the child could SEE Y/n. In surprise, Reggie looked back at Y/n, and as if feeling his eyes, Y/n looked back at the same time. His eyes shot a mile wide, filling with even more hurt than had already been there just looking at Luke, who Reggie realized had been the target of his sad gaze before it had landed on him. The second their eyes met, Y/n was gone, disappearing in the same flash that he had seen Alex and Luke disappear in when they disappeared.

Luke fell to the knees, and Reggie felt the world crumble down with him.

[soundsandnoises]

Papa Roach with Nothing More in O2 Bristol Academy (15/04/2019)/ O2 Birmingham Academy (29/04/2019)

PAPA ROACH

I didn't intend this piece to be very personal, but here I am, making it as personal as it can get.

Maybe hearing 'Last Resort' at the beginning of the show triggered something, maybe it's the season or me being bit more fragile in my head again. I know what some may say: “gosh that song was so long ago (like 20 years ago), there are so many great songs Papa Roach produced throughout the years, you should focus on the new material.” Sure, maybe I should. But this song is undeniably one of the songs being the foundation of Papa Roach, so I WILL say few words on the matter. I know the lyrics, they were always hitting close to home. Yet only recently they resonated deeper than deep, like some secret meaning has been unlocked. I fully understood the emotion in it and while it was always intense to sing, scream it at the shows it seemed it just hit another level when I REALLY meant those words...

It's truly special that after all these years the song and the band still have the same effect on the audience, the connection. And what a bittersweet match the concert setlist was when right after dark cloud of 'Last Resort' the acknowledgement in a form of 'Help' followed. And again tears dangerously gathered in eyes while lungs were giving out from the volume of sang words.

The mood and speed of the evening has been established. A ride just as wild as I've seen ten years earlier in not so big club in my home country. Only this time Jacoby seemed more in peace with himself, still presenting this wonderfully insane persona onstage, but this character was broken by fragile, soft human being having a banter about sense of belonging and being alive. But don't dare take it as a weakness or slowing down, 'cause there was none when he encouraged the crowd to crowdsurf, create a moshpit and... ignited a rebellion of sorts among people on the balcony urging everyone to get up from their seats (against security's advice apparently). The crowd immersed completely in the madness to release anger, sadness, pain (like in wonderful unison on 'Scars') and let loose in 'Elevate'. Which leads me to songs from the latest album. Self-destructing, heartbreaking and heavy sound was left in the past and lighter (for feet and heart) tunes overruled it. But it doesn't mean it's all sweet pop and electronic samples now: take 'Renegade Music' where drums, mimicking Beastie Boys' 'Sabotage', accelerated, gained the momentum, great fusion of music genres in this song made it a killer when played live.

There was time for beautiful tribute to late Keith Flint [The Prodigy] when Papa Roach turned the volume and temperature of the show and rock show turned into rave thanks to the  'Firestarter'. Also the show couldn't end on the better note – 'Born for Greatness'; phenomenal choice – it left people buzzing with positive emotions, with sort of soothing feeling though their bodies were tired with fatigue after damn physical show (bleeding nose included, I'm pretty sure the guy was alright after all, especially after getting a shout out and a towel from Jacoby).

Experimenting with sound and growing as a band and musicians doesn't mean that Papa Roach steered away from talking about inner demons, struggle, feeling alone. It's still there, just as other topics familiar to the audience. It's the tone that changed, evolved again. And brand new music wins hearts just the same as the old tunes – people were giving their best moshing, dancing, going crazy . It's the only way to forget about whatever bothered you, kept you down. Those have been left outside the Academy's door, put on hold so you can feel alive, even if it's for a short while.

Setlist:

Last Resort

Help

Who Do You Trust?

Getting Away with Murder

Renegade Music

Between Angels and Insects

Elevate

Not The Only One

Traumatic

Falling Apart

Forever

None of the Above

Scars

Feel Like Home

...To Be Loved

Encore:

Firestarter

Infest

Born for Greatness

Nothing More

I could describe their show in one sentence (and it would most likely give it justice or at least the sense of it): go big or go home. But it’s so worth to say so much more about this band from San Antonio, Texas. 

Because it wasn’t just an opening act, support band. They offered engaging, surprising, immersive and passionate show. From machinery that could easily be part of set of Mad Max or Transformers, machinery that in fact was instruments to expressive, mesmerising performance of band’s singer [Jonny Hawkins]. Unconventional approach, pure energy, something animalistic, vocals piercing the air, loads of turns and hard work on band’s path - all these make Nothing More bruised and battered yet firmly standing on the ground construct. A beast that shows all the colours live and it’s impossible to pass it by unimpressed. There’s no stopping, intense lyrically (’Fade In/ Fade Out’ or ‘Jenny’) and unapologetic sonically  (’Go To War’, ‘This Is The Time (Ballast)’). Something else. 

[chorusfm]

The Night Game – The Night Game

Do you remember your first kiss? A few weeks ago my mom stopped by for dinner and brought with her a shoebox she had found in the basement. The box, now flimsy and tattered, contained love letters and notes from elementary school up through college. I laughed when she gave them to me. Over the years she’s dropped off countless things from my childhood whenever she decides it is time to redistribute the stuff neither of us knows what to do with any longer. When she left, I almost just tossed them aside. However, on top of the pile, I caught a glimpse of something that caused sensory memories to start flooding back. I took a sip of beer, mumbled “fuck it” under my breath, and pulled a few folded pieces of paper from the box. I recognized handwriting. I recalled the way specific notes were folded. Ink colors. Inside jokes. Faded pencil sketches of pen-names and scribbled between class “I love you’s.” I started to feel long-buried memories of when these little pieces of paper, pre-cell phone and instant messaging, meant everything to me. When each letter represented possibilities and of being so in love that these possibilities, these fleeting ideas of a future, all felt inevitable. And each, now, clearly also representing a moment of heartbreak; of unfulfilled youthful promises. Do you remember your first kiss? Do you remember the way the car tires sounded when you pulled into the driveway to drop her off? Do you remember going back years later and driving by his house? Just trying to feel, something. The turns and directions from your high-school to the front door came back almost too quickly. Imprinted on your muscles in ways not even time can erase. Do you remember feeling the knot in your chest when you first said I love you? And laying in bed alone with your heart ripped out and never thinking you’d recover? Do you ever stop to think about what’s between the missing and loving — knowing now it was never to be and can’t ever be again? Do you still feel the hair on your arm raise when you catch a smell, hear a particular record, or read their name? That feeling of wistful remembrance, of looking back at what was once great and once equally as painful is the feeling the debut album from The Night Game captures in eleven songs. It’s goddamn exhilarating. The Night Game is the brainchild of lead singer Martin Johnson. Martin, best known as the frontman for Boys Like Girls, has always had a knack for a hook and catchy melody. While Boys Like Girls got pulled into the Fall Out Boy/Panic! at the Disco wave of pop-punk, Martin’s ear for melody always seemed slightly more heightened than his peers. Moreover, while this album has ties to the more pop side of his former band, it stands as a new entity altogether. Martin’s created a group and a record that alludes to his past work — in lyrical themes and even some melodies — but also stands alone in a distinct way. It doesn’t feel like a solo album as much as it feels like a reimagining. His vocals are undeniable, but the way he plays with pacing and almost speaks some of the words help to differentiate between this project and the still poorly named former band. At first, I wanted to call this music “nostalgia rock.” Not nostalgia in that it sounds like something from the past, although it wears those influences on the sleeve, more-so in what the songs are about. It’s about going home, seeing the town you grew up in, thinking about the times spent there, the friends, the girls, the boys, the love and the heartbreak. It’s about wondering where your youth went, where your friends are now, and what could have been. It’s flipping through the pages of a yearbook with a beer. Thinking about the people you used to know, the people you forgot, and getting lost in that moment. It’s thinking about the conversations you had with a summer romance, stealing moments away from the heat and dreaming about the future. You wonder where they are now. Did he get everything he wanted? Does she ever look through her yearbook and think the same things? This album excels at creating a mood. It reflects this universal feeling back into your ears, and by surrounding it in melody, you get the essence of what good pop music always strives to be. You think about the person you were, the person you wanted to be, and you measure those summers of possibility up against the person you became. An album like this unlocks the part of you that wants to believe your best moments aren’t behind you; one that ties a nostalgia for youth around your battle-worn heart. It’s a fine line to walk, and it takes a songwriting daftness that borders right on the edge of cheesy to pull it off. We know it’s silly. That’s why we love it. We open with “The Outfield” and are met with synth, glossy vocals, and a soaring chorus. It’s the kind of pop song that feels equally capable of being played with friends on an open road and experienced alone on a warm night. The album finds a way to blend pop, rock, and even a little hint of Nashville. It flows together perfectly to set the hook, then set the mood, and then expand its theme. By the time it is over you’re thinking about the nights with friends sitting on the tops of cars with a song just like this playing over the speakers. You’re thinking about what you wish you could have told your stupid younger self. As this album progresses, you’ll have sung along to the obvious pop hits, like “Bad Girls Don’t Cry,” and stadium built “American Nights,” and you’ll have found yourself wishing the album ended with “Coffee and Cigarettes” instead of “Back in the Van.” However, besides that small misstep, odds are you’ll be grabbing another drink, hitting play again, and re-opening this mythical musical memory-book. Through 45 minutes this album puts a modern spin on a pop-sound that’s proven timeless. From the soft instrumental interlude of “Sunset on the Beltway” to the call and return pop-magic of “Do You Think About Us.” The programmed drums and electronic elements found in some of the songs provide a nice mix between 1983 and 2018. Often the vocals and melody are the focus and only a few times do these electronic flourishes seem to overpower the songs. Most of the time the instruments or vocal effects provide a modern dichotomy to the more classic songwriting style. The feeling of the album shines through in moments like, “The Photograph,” where the chorus begins: Cause it’s gone, in the past, but we’ll always be together in the photograph. No, our love didn’t last, but we’ll always be together in the photograph. No I won’t forget/all the things she said/and the way she looked at me. And in how the song ends with a refrain of “she’s not the one,” a repeated mantra that’s almost trying to convince the singer to believe it. Or in one of the album’s highlights, “Die a Little,” where you’re pulled through an exceptionally catchy song with: What killed me yesterday, baby it’s still a part of me. I had to die a little, to learn to survive a little. And after all the pain, baby there’s nothing I would change. I had to die a little, to learn to survive a little. A song of self-reflection and coming to terms with how the worst we go through can become what makes us stronger. The vocals reach a crescendo as the emotional punch in a song built to get stuck in your head. Then we can look to “Summerland,” where the narrator reminisces about a summer romance and “fire and matches and cigarette lips” while searching for true love in the sand. But, the feeling unlocked with these songs always carries with it that key ingredient of nostalgia … a bittersweetness. Summer loves always end. It’s precisely because of this shelf-life, this never fulfilled fantasy, that they sit on our minds for the rest of time. I think that’s the magic in this album. It taps into a universal feeling of what yesterday was, and just as importantly never became, because that lets us lie to ourselves about what could have been. Deep down, we all know that feeling is a mirage. It’s a feeling you can only get because you don’t see the ending. The roads not taken are full of infinite yous doing infinite impossible things. You can find yourself staring at a box full of letters, and each one can represent a different version of who you might have been. That feeling is perhaps personified best in “Coffee and Cigarettes,” where a soft beat and whispered vocals reflect on a love that once said they’d wait forever but are now gone. Pop music is often dismissed for its saccharine sentimentality or melodramatic portrayals of youth and love. However, when a pop song hits you just right and can pull memories of what it was like to routinely feel those feelings, isn’t that part of why we’re drawn to it? There’s the innocence of a simple song getting stuck in your head and what it was like to put it on repeat. There’s a beautiful release in remembering the look and feel of your teenage bedroom — the CD covers taped to the walls and the pain of adolescence feeling as melodramatic as the music coming over your speakers. When the music can capture a feeling you’ve experienced and send it back to you wrapped in a chorus you can’t get out of your head — that’s when pop music feels transcendent to me. That’s when these silly songs can become so much more. Because I think there’s much good in being reminded of where we started, being forced to reflect on what we once let dominate our thoughts, of where we once dreamed we’d be, and the people we once thought would be there with us. Like reading a love letter full of words you thought were lost to time and then letting yourself, for just a brief beer-painted moment, remember, and I mean, really remember, that first kiss. That first I love you. And seeing how closely all of these feelings, these gloriously brutally perfectly awful feelings, coincide with when you first fell in love with music as well. They were tied together from the start. They still are. --- Please consider supporting us so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/review/the-night-game-the-night-game/

[justbailey91]

Back from the bittersweet journey of self discovery, Natalie May endeavours to serve her own lemonade. Her sweet melodic sound and gentle-womanly attire champions a timeless Black British voice. This Burnt Oak crooner delved into the dark labyrinth of her mind to excavate the hidden coals she could harvest to fuel her art, to unfurl her kinks and quirks to produce crystal clear authenticity. Here’s what happened when I met with Ms Natalie May:

Tell me how it all started, tell me about your childhood and where you grew up…

I grew up in Burnt Oak, where I lived for 28 years up until last week, when I moved outa my mama’s basement. I have 3 older sisters who’re very intelligent, very book-smart and all I wanted to do was watch cartoons. My friends at school were all very pretty, got loads of guys and I bloomed very very late late late. So I wouldn’t call myself a misfit because my friends and my family all accepted me, but I wasn’t studious or the hot-ting like my friends. I always felt different. I always knew that I wanted to sing; I found my yearbook and all the messages were like “Hi Beyonce, I’m gonna miss you Beyonce”.

How was growing up in predominantly female household, has it influenced your music?

I think subconsciously it has; even though I saw my dad on weekends, i’m just so used to being around women. So when it comes to relating to men, its quite startling, here’s a man who wants to be in my space, how do I navigate this? My mum is super driven, very successful, so again its that narrative of being a independent, strong black woman. I grew up in a house full of successful female hustlers. I can definitely see that in myself; but sometimes it can create a kind of boundary when it comes to relationships and sharing a space.

Who were your musical influences growing and what was being played in your house?

Destiny’s Child! Destiny’s Child!! Destiny’s Child!!! My sister went through a goth faze and played rock bands like Lost Prophets. I ended up being a little bit alternative myself and was listening to Britney Spears. I lived for N’sync; Justin Timberlake!!! It was like I’ll wake up today because Justin Timberlake is alive. So very pop/r&b, with a little bit of rock because of my psycho sister. My Mum and Dad would play their Rare Groove and their Roots FM.

How would you describe your music and your style?

Its influenced by experience of being Black and British and having parents who’re of Caribbean descendants. My spiritual journey has brought me closer to my African roots as well. I had the chance to go to Kenya and experience the culture that is huge part of me, But i’m also British. So its about navigating my way through both cultures. Who defines your identity? Is it even a who? Is it family? Is it society? Identity is so interesting because its individual to everybody. I have a lot of peers who’re of the Conscious Community; who’re a group of young black people in Britain who’re interested in spirituality, african history, healthy eating and consciousness. Its a powerful movement. Most of them who’re born here want to move back to Africa; Where as I love the same things, but i’m British and its also apart of my story. My art just reflects all of that down to my personal style, I have an afro but I wear english heritage fashions.

Its almost a political statement; in some ways is that you being rebellious to British society?

Its all those things; but simply as an artist I need to express myself whether it be through fashion, music or art. If i cant express myself I feel stifled and depressed. My hair, my fashion, my class, my job, I have a stall down portobello and all these things have inspired my personal style. I’m a black woman with natural hair, in english gentleman attire. Which then poses questions and statements beyond what I intended.

What artists are inspiring you at the moment ?

I’m living for Solange. Her music is stunning obviously, but its also her message and her courage that I love. I watched her perform F.U.B.U (For Us By Us) at Love Box and the lyrical content…Even I was like, ooh girl you wanna get out of here alive. But the courage to be authentic in her truth is so inspiring. Love Minnie Riperton’s voice and her angelic style. Love my old school, art-deco jazz singers; The grace, the glamour, the poise, the elegance of those artists. Nat King Cole. Lena Horne.

You are well and better known for your first single ‘Sexy Sexy’ that you did with Rudimental, back in 2009; Tell me about about that period?

I’d just finished theatre school and I needed to sing, so I got a little side hustle-call centre job so that I could eat and also to pay for my studio sessions. Then Piers, from Rudimental, was recording in the same studio and he had left the beat of Sexy Sexy for me. I was like “what is this any soca, jump jump song?”, but thought hey i’ll give it a go. I booked the session but hadn’t written anything for it, so I ended up writing it on the tube and it worked. At this point Funky House was just kicking off, I was getting radio play, I played it to events management and It got out there.

That song boomed didn’t it?

Literally boomed, i did so many gigs, we did a video, it was in the film Anuvahood – in the sex scene.

So after the single dropped you went on tour and loads of success, what happened after that ?

I was very grateful for the opportunities and all the gigs that I was doing, but I wasn’t sure if the music really reflected who I was. I didn’t know what direction I wanted to go in, but what was happening now didn’t fit. I needed a break. This was my passion and this was what I loved, but I wasn’t living it. I was becoming lost in it. I got a job in a vintage shop called ‘One of a Kind’ (Portobello Road) and ended up styling ‘Florence and the Machines’, assisted her stylist on her video and worked ‘Rihanna’s’ stylist, just doing amazing fashion things. I was still gigging and still writing also, but I loved the fashion and so ended up juggling the 2 of them. Now that i’ve got my own stall now, I want to focus on the singing again.

What are your aspirations with singing?

All I want to do is just create some authentic, credible, classic music; that tells a story, that inspires and moves people. Tony Robins and Dr Jo Dispenzer, who’re motivational speakers and neuroscientists, talk about state and emotion. A lot of these motivational speakers use music in there seminars because it moves you, it makes you feel something. so I want to create music that alters peoples state; whether it be to their shadow or dark emotions, where they can express their vulnerability or their pain or whether it up-lifting. All in the cause of opening them up, and myself also, to being a better version of themselves.

Tell Me about Alchemy? How can readers get a tangible example of what is and how you use it ?

Alchemy started in ancient Egypt tradition and the basic principle is turning lead into gold. Lead being a dense, black, dark substance that you transmute into something very valuable, Gold. What I love about alchemy is how we can relate that dark matter to us and our emotions, our difficult experiences, our challenges and use it as potential instead of rejecting it. Consciously using that energy for positive use, instead of letting it control you and have you self-sabotaging. Its dark and its difficult, but in doing that I can have more authentic relationships and conversations with people. I can be completely open with where I’m at, not in a victim kind of way, but in a real way. My relationships have so much depth; I’ve learnt so much about my needs and what I want from a relationship. Its just a better understanding of self and finding that gold.

Its like that meme with Beyonce, Solange and Jay Z coming out of the lift; saying that that lift journey created 3 iconic albums? Lemons into Lemonade.

Exactly. Lemonade, what was that born out of? Out of her pain her trauma that she went through with Jay Z. She alchemised that situation. Beyonce is known for being a private person and we all saw that footage. Where do you go from that? She turned to alchemy and she even references it in the visual. Solange, with A Seat At The Table, she took all of her pain of being a black woman in America and she turned it into art. One thing that alchemy has helped me come to terms with is death, imagine if we lived in a society where nothing died. But now in autumn the leaves are turning brown, they’re dying, why? To make room for the new. I’d recommend alchemy to anyone. It’s the process of death, rebirth and transformation.

What advice would you give yourself back in 2009, when you first started working with Rudimental?

Trust the fucking process. You don’t need to know everything. Personally I like to plan, but if it doesn’t go with my plan, there’s no room for anything else and that is a limiting perspective. So open your eyes and bask in what is now.

What was your experience like being in the industry?

I was very anxious. I was very young, I didn’t have a very good understanding of who I was and the industry. In terms of the industry itself everyone was very lovely and very welcoming, but because I was so diligent with what I wanted, I became anxious.

So what are the plans for the future?

I have a lot of shows happening, i’ve started a new self development and awareness workshop with my friend; on mental health, emotion intelligence skills, creating a safe space for people to be vulnerable and to express their authentic truth. All of that as well a singing, doing shows, photoshoots, recording, music!

To anyone who wants be in your position what advice would you give?

Goal set, but definitely allow space for life to surprise you.

Instagram: @neonataliemay

Soundcloud: soundcloud.com/neonataliemay

  COUCH SERIES: Natalie May Back from the bittersweet journey of self discovery, Natalie May endeavours to serve her own lemonade. Her sweet melodic sound and gentle-womanly attire champions a timeless Black British voice.