this is my reaction, to everything i fear

basics

name: Declan Graham

nicknames: Dec, Dex

birthday/age: November 15th, 1992 | 28

gender/pronouns: Cis-Male / He/Him

sexuality: Straight (mostly)

relationship status: Single

zodiacs: Scorpio ☉ ; Leo ☽ ; Gemini 🡕

occupation: Session musician/novice sound engineer

hobbies: partying, shopping, gardening

length of time in crescent harbor: 3 years

place of birth: Cleveland, Ohio

current neighborhood: Goldfinch 

height: 6′0

moral alignment: Chaotic Evil

pets: None

scent: Tom Ford Noir

Cass nearly dropped the bowl onto the floor as he recalled her vocal warm up without a snide nuance in his tone. Then she caught his look of shock, though she canted her head to the side in response. Recalling their past, she knew there were plenty of times where she’d caught him wired out on random floors in the surrounding Manhattan area, but it certainly wasn’t because of something as recreational as weed. In fact, one of their past times was smoking together in the process of creating new projects or lifting new ideas out of their minds and into physical existence. She nodded in agreement to stay put as she watched his frame go up the stairs, not realizing she had been holding her breath in the entire time as she exhaled aggressively into the space. 

This wasn’t business now. But it wasn’t being completely lax either, it was finding a way to cope, to stop herself from asking the man why he hadn’t tried to reach out. Had he been seeing someone new (besides the one night stands gossip blogs seemed to catch him with)? A knot formed in her stomach, but she fought down the feeling. She wasn’t allowed to be jealous of any other woman in the world who had gotten into cahoots with him, especially not in a time where he wasn’t hers. The thought flooded her brain and she found herself sitting in his chair in front of the control panel. He hadn’t been hers in quite some time, and maybe that was what was festering in the very core of her. 

Before she knew it, he was back in the basement with a grinder filled with the substance that she hoped would get her to at least relax her shoulders. The smoke filled the room and his quip was enough for her to sit straight up and narrow her eyes at him. “We’ll continue as usual,” She retorted as she took the bowl and took in a deep inhale, holding as long as she could before she exhaled with the smoke coming out of her nose. The relief was almost instant, the aftertaste not being too pungent. With a few more passes back and forth, a fit of giggles escaped in the space. “One more for good measure, but the fun way,” She bantered, as she held her hand out to his. “Keep your mouth open.” She instructed as their hands folded together creating a tunnel where she blew the smoke from her mouth to his. 

He copied her movements, though there was a scratch in the back of his mind begging him to remain professional. Declan had never smoked with a client, at least not during a session. He took one look at her, lids closed as she exhaled through the funnel, and inhaled. She was more than welcome to stay the night-- or was that crossing a boundary? Letting out a few coughs, Declan sighed and pointed toward the microphone. “We should get back to it,” he suggested softly. 

Anxiety filled up the open spaces in his body, and there was a slight annoyance. He was supposed to be relaxed, creating something that would last for years. Instead, he was pondering millions of ‘what-if’s,’ and asking her to do retakes because he couldn’t figure out if he liked the take or not. “There’s like seventeen tracks,” he murmured to himself. 

“If you’re good to still go, we can keep going,” he told her, “but I’ll be honest. I don’t know if I’m fucked up, or distracted, but it’s all starting to blend together. Plus it’s like....1 in the morning.” Dec stood up and stretched, cracking his back. “I can drop you off, that’s not an issue,” he added.

It took a lot to bruise her ego, but the moment he said he was bored, something had switched in her. She had always been used to producers and executives practically falling at her feet, but this was among the first times in a while where someone had decided to push her, challenge her even, to reach somewhere that she wasn’t sure she could get to. “I don’t know how much higher I can go on that, I don’t think it’s in my range.” She noted flatly. She had seen his prior notes in their multitude of emails as they discussed key changes and harmonies. 

For what it was worth, she felt like she was doing well enough, but maybe that was the problem. She was only doing well enough, it wasn’t soul altering, it didn’t render him speechless the way it used to when they were just two students messing around with equipment that they had no license to tamper with. She kept her back towards him, taking in the tea and humming under her breath, feeling the way her voice cracked when she even attempted the note that he was pushing her to do. 

More passion? What the hell was that supposed to mean? She had plenty of it and he knew that! But maybe they were starting on the wrong song, or maybe her nerves were getting the best of her. That was when she spotted the empty bowl, right by the pile of records he seemed to keep. She walked over to the pile and lifted the glass device, eyeing it curiously. Was this the hardest he went these days? There was unbridled unease filling the space and she knew she couldn’t deliver if there was stemming anxiety in the horizon. “Do you have any? Want to?” 

He ran his hands through his hair, resting the palms against his forehead for a moment. Declan didn’t mind shutting up and doing what he needed to in Seattle. Working at that studio was just a check and way to get his name out into the world, for more well-known clientele to want to work with him. They were doing something that could potentially make him lost his job as well as this contract-- if it was going to be successful she needed to try.

“You’ve probably been doing the same vocal warm ups since college,” Declan commented. Surprisingly, without a snide tone. Rising from the chair, he stretched his back out a bit when her question shocked him. “Uh, I usually keep everything upstairs,” he shrugged. Everything included the other substances she didn’t like, but she wouldn’t be the one searching his room, would she? “Hang down here, I’ll be back.” 

Upstairs in his bedroom he felt like he could finally breathe. It was extremely stuffy in the basement, whether that was due to the humidity or what felt like tension in the air, Declan wasn’t sure. He opened his nightstand, glancing at the few pill bottles he kept in there before grabbing the bag and his grinder. Nothing harder.

Once her made it back into the basement, Declan packed his bowl and took the first hit. “So are we calling it a night? Don’t need you coughing all over my mics,” he grinned as he offered. 

At her latest quip, she did her best to keep tabs on where they landed in the current tally. It was easy to joke about suggestive situations, but it was an entirely new beast when they had an history where they found themselves in said suggestive situations. It’d been years, and though there was a plethora of times that ended less than ideal, from what she could remember when they were in sync with each other, it was admittedly mind-blowing. But she’d never tell him that, not when he looked so smug from the other side of the glass. 

“I don’t think anyone’s caught on about our escape.” Cass began, grabbing her phone as she scrolled through her timelines. A look of the recent stories were outlets waiting for her anxiously to emerge from the space back in Seattle. “The trick however, is getting back to the studio unscathed.” She blew out a rush of air through her lips, tilting her head to the side. “That’s all a part of your charm isn’t it? Being reckless.” Cass spoke into the mic once more before she closed her eyes for the briefest moment. It’d been a term she used with him frequently in the past, one that usually ended up with their lips colliding together, bodies pressed without leaving a single inch between them.. 

But instead…she signaled. 

Her lyrics crooned into the space. She easily followed the BPM’s of the instrumentals, adding in her signature runs, sustaining notes, until she flubbed on the key change with a laugh. “Sorry, consider that take one out of a thousand.” 

She was absolutely mad if she thought she was going to nail it on the first try, but Declan would keep that thought to himself. He wanted her to step out of her comfort zone, to really deliver the notes in an eye-opening way, not a way that would promise charting and endorsements from Pantene. “All good,” he spoke into his own mic. “Take as much time as you need. We’ve got all night. And uh, try to push yourself, okay? It was a little boring.” 

He sighed from his side of the glass, starting a new track and signaling when he was ready. It was strictly business. There was no point in asking her how she was, if she was seeing someone on the downlow, or if she was free on an upcoming weekend. He had her personal number, but once recording was done and everything was sent off to the label, they’d probably never see each other again unless it was in passing.  

“Stop, stop-- sorry,” Declan interrupted her fourth take. “I’m bored Cass. You’re not doing anything to stand out from anybody else out there with these songs. I’m falling asleep out here. Take five, grab some more tea and uh...come back with some more passion, alright?”

She rolled her eyes at his remark about the granite, “I’m sure my skirt won’t tarnish the finish on this, I decided to go with the one that had zero spikes on them.” Cass promptly jumped down and stood in front of him as he handed her what she figured would be her first of many servings of tea. The warmth of the cup enveloped her hands and the closer he stood the more she had to fight herself from having her cheeks flush. There was a reason why they’d been apart for long was there? Briefly she caught a glimpse of his eyes, nowhere near as exaggerated as they were when she knew he was using.  She was about to thank him for adhering to her rule until she found her lips pressed together in a tight line. Upstairs being off-limits? “What are you hiding up there?” She said amused, “Something you don’t want me to find?” 

As she followed him to the basement, she made a remark that she was sure hit his ears clear as day. The only snide remark she hoped she’d make for the evening, the rest of the evening would strictly be professional, they could manage that. “It never bothered you before if there wasn’t a bed.” With that, once she made it into the studio she took a moment to avert her eyes from his and sipped on her tea. 

The decorations that surrounded the space were simple but very him. Records were hung up by how abstract the album art was, there were a few awards even that had been hung up with his name in monochrome lettering. He was doing incredibly well, despite the mini TMZ scandals she’d seen about him throughout the years. As she finished up her first cup of tea, she placed it gingerly next to his own before she acquainted herself with the mini acoustic room within the studio. It wasn’t as grand as the studio space they had in Seattle but it was well insulated with some top of the line equipment. “This…this is the mic I usually use for most recordings. How’d you know that?” She asked before, she caught his statement. She offered him a smirk, before she took off her jacket and placed it on a chair that was within the room, revealing a pastel tank top to compliment her skirt. 

“You’re not looking too bad yourself these days Dec,” She offered. Before she started her usual scales all the way up to her running bridges and whistle notes. When she was happy with her tone, she glanced at him between the glass, speaking directly into the microphone. “I have no curfew, when do you need me out?” 

“We’re being professional, Cassandra,” he reminded her. “Upstairs is off limits. There’s no need to see my second bathroom or my bedroom, unless you want to record something else up there.” Declan poked out his tongue in jest, although if the opportunity presented itself he’d take it. Just like he told Max he would. 

Declan did his normal things on the other side of the glass-- making sure his tea was far away from the soundboard, launching ProTools and opening a new track while looking over at his bowl. He wasn’t sure if she still smoked, but depending on how long this session went, he’d probably need to wind down. Especially if things became heated as they had in the past. “Research,” he answered. Of course, he couldn’t replicate the sound on her older albums, but that was the exciting part of this journey-- creating something new that wasn’t held by the grasp of money-hungry record executives. 

He let out a soft snort at her compliment; considering she’d seen him completely passed out on various floor types throughout New York. “I don’t need you out,” he stated, hearing his words echo in the live room. “Just don’t want you to get caught. If you want to stay all night, you’re more than welcome. Couch is pretty comfy,” he grinned. “Whenever you’re ready, signal.”

Against her better judgment, the moment Cass had gotten the text confirmation that Declan was serious about taking up her proposition, she held up her part of the bargain and dug into some of her lyric books, searching for songs that she had wanted on the table but had been unceremoniously been denied. The topics ranged in fairly relatable circumstances: unrequited love, flings that were never meant to last, and of course a song about broken ties but never being able to shake the connection. That song never made it to the producers email, but she had it tucked in and securely in her bag for the day. 

For the time being their interactions had been strictly business, with Cass sending Declan a plethora of voice notes to demonstrate the harmony and tone she was going for, his notes in return being the exact melody with the instrument suggestion in question. It was almost as if they hadn’t spent so many years apart from each other, their connection through music being that much more undeniable. What if there’s more? She shifted slightly as she waited for the producer to greet her at the front door of the studio, with her driver out of sight, she followed him in and waited for his signal to slip away. 

When the time came, she found herself with a water bottle in her hand and her heart racing at the speed of light. Saturday was a lax day, one where she was left to her own devices to make any sound decision she saw fit, so why the fuck was she heading into Declan’s car to be taken to his home? Why did it feel like they hadn’t missed a beat as they talked about the nature of the town, the quiet suburban lush of it all and how they envied it, and suddenly they were in front of his surprisingly kempt home. She whistled low as she looked out the window, “Dec, you’re doing amazing for yourself apparently. I wonder what it looks like inside.” 

She soon found herself walking through his foyer, neutral and warm colors filled the space. Hardwood floors, no popcorn ceilings in sight, windows that seemed to be floor to ceiling that brought in so much natural light, it felt like an oasis. “Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, it’s definitely better than that 4 x 4 at Tisch.” She remarked with a smirk. “No weird smells, obnoxious roommates…” Eyes glanced over to the kitchen where she found a beautiful kitchen fit with double ovens, a large kitchen island with built in sink, trinkets that tied into his Italian heritage, including a giant cornicello that seemed to be a paper towel holder. She swiftly jumped to sit on top of the island as she took in more of the space. “I don’t even know what to say, you’re much more refined these days.” 

“Bobby wasn’t obnoxious, he just had insomnia,” Declan defended the guy from long ago. He might’ve also been one of Declan’s biggest enablers, but that was beside the point. Declan picked up the blanket that was disheveled on his couch and refolded it, placing it intricately over the back as Cass made herself at home. “Yeah, don’t scratch the granite,” he called out, sauntering over to her direction. “This gig is the one that’s going to pay it off.” 

Leaning onto the island, he watched as she took in the space. Why was she surprised? He was always in touch with his heritage. It was quite possible that she didn’t remember what his Nona’s house looked like, years had gone by after all-- the last time she was there was probably their junior year of college. Declan allowed the air between them to be filled with silence, basking it in before things turned strictly business. “Tea.”

Declan moved away and filled up the kettle with enough water to make at least six cups of tea split between them. Within a few minutes it was screaming and he was walking over with a mug for her. “In light of keeping things professional, upstairs is off limits,” he said smugly before walking off toward the basement. “Hurry up.” 

The walls were decorated with records, stereotypical, but not the records one would assume. Tons of one-hit wonders as well as bands that may have been far ahead of their time. There was no Abbey Road or OK Computer in sight. “Not quite as big as the actual studio, but it gets the job done,” Declan explained. “You can test out the acoustics in there whenever you’re ready. I’ve got a few different microphones if you hate the one that’s up there already, but you won’t-- I picked it out specifically for what we’re doing. Remember to use your voice as an instrument.” Declan sat down and started up his computer, a bit annoyed that he couldn’t get a newer one anytime soon .”You look great,” he shot out as he began clicking around. They could be civil and professional. 

“What time do you want to be home by?”

@cassandra-herrera​

Working in the studio wasn’t usually this difficult. Normally, Declan’s clients have a solid idea of how their songs sound and were open to constructive criticism and slight structure changes. Then he went home and did whatever he pleased. For the past week however, Declan was going home and staying up all night recording himself making rough tracks based on the lyrics Cassandra had sent him. It was already lightyears ahead of the shit the label was having her sing, so the process couldn’t be that terrible. 

Saturday was the easiest day to begin the whole process in his basement. From what he could tell, it was the day the label left her alone. At least, physically. He was sure her phone would be blowing up while they were recording, but there would be no surprise visitors. He waited in the lobby of the studio for her driver to drop her off and once she stepped inside, he gave her a slight nod. 

“So we’ll wait for him to drive away and we can head over to my place,” he reiterated the plan. Declan reached into the mini fridge and grabbed two bottles of water-- it wasn’t room temperature, but it was better than dairy. “Here.” Declan handed her the bottle before walking out the door. “You comin’? I gotta lock the door behind us.” 

Us.

Soon enough the image of the studio was growing further away from them as Declan hit the gas. “Backroads,” he mumbled to himself. The windows were tinted, but again, he didn’t want to take any chances of being caught. She looked natural sitting in the passenger seat, shooting small talk with him. Like she belonged there. How was he going to get through this sober? “This is the place,” he forced a laugh before clearing his throat. Hopefully she didn’t remember the mess that was his dorm in college-- his cleaning habits had improved since then. 

“Studio is in the basement. Bathroom is over there,” he pointed, “This is the living room, dining room is off to the left and kitchen is back there.” Declan tossed his keys into the bowl and sauntered into the kitchen, putting on a pot of tea. “Probably goin’ to go through a ton of teabags tonight,” he muttered.

.

Working with an ex was a weird question for Max, especially now. Not that it would ever happen but still. Cora would be fine, a little awkward sometimes perhaps but it would work out. Harlow? Not a chance, he’d fucked up way too much there and now she was pissed at him again for something else entirely, although he kind of had the feeling there was another thing going on beneath the surface that he had no clue about. When did he ever have a clue about anything anyway? Max didn’t want to pry in Harlow’s life. If she wanted to tell him, she could, but after the last time he saw her, at his place, it had gotten even weirder than it already was. ❛ Maybe she just found someone new, ❜ he shrugged, taking a slow sip of his drink as he kept his eyes on his friend. 

❛ Like, the text? ❜ Max wasn’t very good with music. At all. Sure, he enjoyed listening to it, especially when cooking, but he didn’t think he’d ever even opened his mouth to try and sing. He’d played some guitar in his early teens, that’s it. There was just nothing urging him to do it except maybe someone’s birthday but it always turned out purposefully silly. ❛ I know you do, I’m just not all entirely sure what the good is, ❜ Max teased, grin spreading over his lips as he slowly rubbed the rim of the bottle over his lower lip. ❛ Ransom? I dunno, I’ll be dead then so you’ll have to ask mama, ❜ he chuckled.

Found someone new. Well, it would be the one thing that Declan had never come to terms with. There were rumors of Cassandra being with different people in short-term flings, even photographs of different men and women opening doors for her. But photographs didn’t prove anything-- they were just a moment in time, designed to make things look more suspicious than they actually were. “Yeah, well,” he murmured, taking another hit. “It’s been years so, whatever.” He was sure Max could see how deep his brows had furrowed into his forehead, or how his lip twitched against the glass of the bowl. Hopefully Max wasn’t paying that much attention at all. 

“Lyrics, yeah,” he answered. Declan wasn’t sure that Max knew any words to any songs, but that’s what made Max fun. He didn’t care about this stupid shit that Declan was obsessed with. “It’s all about girlbosses and shit. Nothing that could actually benefit her career,” he scoffed. The fact that he cared this much about what essentially was just a paycheck was annoying. His cheeky grin turned into a genuine one-- it was nice knowing that Max could see through his façade. “Eh, mama loves me, so maybe life won’t be too terrible without you.”

She blew out a careful exhale as he bartered back. She would have called him cynical, begged him to have even an ounce of optimism in his tired bones, but she couldn’t deny that it was actually the producer being in touch with the reality of the situation, something she had trouble facing these days. It was a risky move, but one she felt she could be calculate to the exact return that’d leave them with some extra commas in their bank account. He could get a rise in notoriety, she could gain back some of her dignity. Was it a form of using each other? She squashed down the notion, as she grabbed for her phone, opening up the new contacts and ushering it his way. “Give me the best number to reach you.” She turned briefly to sip on her tea once more, ripping a piece of paper from her notebook and scribbling down her number. “No one besides my assistant and my mother has this number, it’ll be easier so you don’t get traced.” 

An in-home studio? She sat with the idea for a moment, until she found herself being eye to eye with him. He had some stubble against his jawline, but he looked more filled out, had he started working out? His pupils weren’t dilated at the moment, but she wasn’t a fool to ignore the dark circles underneath his eyes. “We’ll have to do a few hours here and then put in the real work at your studio then, it might bleed into more than 12 hours.” She began. “And my stipulation is that there’s no …distractions while we’re working together. I want efficiency and clarity.”

A brow raised as he turned back and wrote down his number just as quickly. “Traced? What are we, stealing the Declaration of Independence?” he chuckled, though he understood where she was coming from. Work phones or burner phones were common in this industry-- whether it was to protect demos leaking or hacking Twitter accounts, Declan wasn’t entirely sure. 

“I’m not going to charge you extra if it bleeds into more than 12 hours,” he told her quietly. It wasn’t like there was a negotiation on his end anyway-- it would’ve been a ridiculous contract to turn down. “If you e-mail me the lyrics-- actually a voice demo might be better-- of the things you want to record, I’ll do a rough mix of live instruments this weekend and send them back. If you like the basic arrangement, that’ll be half the battle,” Declan offered. The way he jumped from producer to session instrumentalist for this woman was impressive and pathetic all in the same. “And for the record you’re the one who brought up distractions. Not me,” he smirked. 

.

 With an eyeroll, Max tried to still see it from Declan’s perspective. They sure did have different ways of viewing things and his relationship to this pop star was nothing Max had ever had probably, so of course he couldn’t really relate. ❛ You think she will? ❜ he questioned with a raise of one of his brows. ❛ Trash? Isn’t she like… A big deal? Just don’t make it a whole thing for her to have to fuck you so you’ll do your best, dude. You gotta do that either way. Then maybe she’ll even be impressed enough and sleep with you because of that, ❜ he pointed out, raising a finger at his friend as he made the point.

  ❛ Oh don’t be surprised if someone  takes me out soon enough, ❜ Max snorted softly before coughing as more smoke left his lungs. ❛ Since Harlow got back I kinda feel like more and more people have just put a whole target on my back. ❜ She’d still come to his place for sex though, which he still found strange. Especially since she got mad at him right after. For reasons that were probably valid to her but he just didn’t understand why it was relevant. ❛ Deal. Surprisingly not a lot of the people that want my head on a silver platter live by the docks though so maybe I’ll be safer there, actually. ❜

He looked over at his friend and shook his head with a sigh. Then again, their sexual relationship had never been calm. Cassandra would never just ask Declan if he wanted to have sex upfront. They would fight, she would flirt with others to get him riled up, and soon enough they’d end up in whatever room of whatever building they were in, cursing each other. “No way man. Not with the way she walked into the room and was strictly...business,” Declan shrugged again. Of course, they were much older than they were in college and couldn’t showcase their true emotions while at work. Or maybe she was just over him. 

“She’s an extremely big deal but...,” Declan sighed once more. Explaining the music industry to Max was about the same as explaining geometry to a gopher. “The songs that her label wants her to sing, the ones they wrote for her? They’re just awful man. I don’t want my name attached to it, no matter how well I produce everything.” Brows furrowed as Max assumed that Declan would be that type of producer. “Hey now! I might be a dog, but I’ve got some good in me,” he grinned. 

A humorless laugh left Declan’s lips. He knew all too well what it was like to have a target on his back, considering who is ex was. “How much is the ransom if I bring your body back to the docks?” he teased. 

From a business standpoint, she couldn’t protest or say anything damning back to the man because he had it right. For the next year and a half, Cass was at the will of her label and that meant creating for them and allowing them to squeeze out any last remnants of her own spark. But standing before the man, she listened carefully as he continued on to say he didn’t want his name on this poor of a song, he had his aspirations still, he didn’t want anything to sully it which was far. Any song that had to incorporate girlboss would have been a stain on anyone’s resume. As he pulled out the USB and dropped it like the piece of trash it was, she looked at him with careful eyes, somehow feeling like the longer she stared the more vulnerability stirred between them. She wasn’t going to outright tell him that as much as it was a surprise to see him, she was glad for it. 

“Suppose we stage and work on three other singles that aren’t in that USB. Together.” She began. “No one else gets on it, even for the mastering. Written by me, produced, mixed, and mastered by you. When I pitch it as a surprise to the execs, if they end up loving it, I’ll ensure you get paid double.” She knew she was dangling money like it was nothing, but she always couldn’t bring herself to just say, ‘I want to keep working with you.’ Eyes darted down then, “That is if you think you’re up for the task.” 

Arms crossed and head canted to the side at her proposition. Again, from the business side of things she would be a great client to have on his roster. It would definitely get his name thrown around more often in the industry, especially if they made something that went straight to number one. “That all sounds great,” he began. Especially the part about no one else getting in on the deal. No royalty splits with the label, just between the two of them. “I’ll be honest, I don’t believe your execs will bite. Not since they sent you with this shit fully believing it would chart,” he chuckled.

Play the long game.

“However, this isn’t my personal studio,” he reminded her. “Anybody could come in here at any time and potentially leak anything. Even a clip on Instagram, if your label hears an entirely different arrangement, let alone beat, they’re going nix the deal.” Declan allowed his eyes to wander for a moment-- if they were here alone for a few hours, he was going to take in the view. Who knew when she would drift away and lose contact again? “If you’re not opposed to this...I do have a studio setup in my basement. There’s not multiple rooms like here, but if we’re going to be doing something completely new, we can work with what I have,” he shrugged. The equipment he had was good, including an analog soundboard if they wanted to go that route. “You’d have to come to my house though,” he reminded her.

.

Of course Max was judging Declan — but silently. With a simple eye roll when his friend took a hit his brows then furrowed together when hse started speaking, giving an update on his life.  ❛ Yeah? ❜ It wasn’t that Max wanted to be passive about Declan’s issues but he didn’t really know what to do. He couldn’t exactly take the bottles from him, or the pills or the weed. The latter was even legal and what hard did it really do? Other things did though and he didn’t want one of his closest friends to get really fucked. Maybe he already was, maybe he’d always been. It was just… Declan, that’s what he was like. Max was worried nonetheless though.  ❛ Like… The ex? How do you feel about it? ❜ he asked, brows raising as he looked at the offer held out to him. He raised a hand, shaking his head before looking at it again, changing his mind and grabbing the joint to take a hit, coughing as much as the other male, if not more, against his shoulder. It wasn’t anything he did ofted but this past month had truly been something. ❛ No more than I’ve fucked in the past month… Months. ❜ How had he managed to stir shit up with both his exes this year? It was only June.

“Mhm,” he responded. What else was there to say? The most toxic yet satisfying woman he’d ever been with showed up at the threshold of his job and he was supposed to turn some knobs to make her sound amazing. “I mean...,” he smirked, “She looks hot. I’d hit it again if she asked, no question.” A generous gulp of his drink before he laughed. “I got to work with her, she’s a big client. The songs she has to record though? Fucking trash, man,” Declan sighed, not wanting to think about work. “But again, if she wanted to fuck...,” he tossed his hands up in the air.

Declan looked over at his friend, albeit a bit hazy. “Oh yeah?” he grinned. “You’re still alive so nobody’s killed you yet, but...” he took another hit, inhaling deeply. “I guess it’s still early in the day. If you need a place to hide I’ve got another bedroom for you. All you’ve gotta do is cook me dinner every night.” 

The panic attacks had been more frequent these days, her outbursts and worries usually were contained until she was actually alone, so why was it that she was spilling over so easily? Why now? She took a moment to take in some deep breaths, taking three beats in through her nostrils and three out her mouth before she found herself pinching the bridge of her nose. “The worst they could do is refer me to 30 more songwriters who don’t connect with anything I’m trying to do.” Eyes peeked over at the end table near him, the cup of tea she had previously polished seemed to be steaming. “Did you make me a new cup?” She asked, before she grabbed it and took a sip. There were little hints of honey and citrus, just how she liked it. For the moment she focused on the warmth and how touched she was for such a small thing to remember. 

She scoffed, “If I ever wrote anything like this, just unplug my career, the entire thing.” She lamented. It was such a bad track, but so bad that her team was sure it would make waves from people expecting her to do better. “It’s not even the genre I wanted to be in, this is just…mind numbing.” She concluded, before she walked back over to her purse, digging through the lining until she felt her small notepad. She flipped through it until she found the song that had been stuck in her mind for weeks on end, “This, this is what I wanted to create, but they wouldn’t create a melody or let me do it.” She sat beside him then, watching as he read the words. “I wanted to call it Only Forever.” 

“Yeah, your voice was a bit shaky on the warm-ups, figured some tea could help,” he stated before sighing deeply. Cass spoke a lot. A lot more than he remembered, or maybe it was more prevalent since this was business. Strictly business. Obediently, he read the words and sighed once more. Lyrically, it was lightyears ahead of whatever shit they had demanded her to sing. “Right, but if you did this they would own the masters, correct? You’d have a Taylor Swift situation on your hands.” He needed the money and the clientele in order to get his own reputable business-- but who would want to work with him if this was on his resume?

“Look, I don’t want to do this song just as much as you don’t,” Declan finally admitted. “I appreciate the work but...I don’t want my name on it.” He pulled out the USB stick and dropped it on the soundboard. “So what are our options here? We can work together and release this shit or they’ll send you to another studio, probably with Max Martin or some shit.”

where: Declan’s Home with: @dgraham​

If anyone asked her how she’d ended up meeting the man, Cataleya wouldn’t have been able to keep her story straight. She was pretty sure she met him at a random party, but the details that mattered to her was the fact that he kept her on a steady (non-taxable) income stream. The best part? He didn’t seem to want anything physical, most days. No, this man’s usual vice was having someone to spend time with at odd hours of the day and a supplier for what seemed to be his favorite vice. She felt through her purse to make sure she had secured the goods before she felt for the spare key that she knew existed underneath one of the flower pots. Declan was certainly eccentric at best, a bit of a womanizer yet a gentleman when he needed to turn that on, someone who somehow did really well for himself yet ended up waking up in front of sprinklers more times than not. This should have been an easy $1,000 however, a delivery, a check up, and then she’d be back whenever he beckoned for her. 

“Decko?” Cataleya called out as she entered the space. “I’ve got your delectable delights.” She said in a sing-songy tune. As she made it into the main living room area, she saw the man in a sorry state. When was the last time he had shaved? Or followed general hygiene? “Hello? Earth to Mr. Graham? You look like shit dude, what happened, see a ghost or something?” 

He sat in his chair, television off but slowly accumulating dust particles. There was too much and nothing happening in his mind all at once. His tongue poked out, grazing his lips and showcasing just how dehydrated he was. “Do you ever get tired of alliteration?” his head turned to look at her, though his pupils were lifeless. She made herself at home, per usual, and put the desirables in their typical location. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered, finally standing up. Declan wasn’t sure when the last time he stretched was, let alone stood up, but his bones were aching. His back cracked, his knees popped, and he swore he felt his hips creak as well. “Work is just busy.” It wasn’t a lie-- his easy days were still nine hours, and his worst days could go upwards of fifteen. “What about you? Did you receive my last payment?”

Pleased with the affirmation, Cass waited a moment before she heard the symphony of beats, some that went together and others that were filled with dissonance. It was hard to integrate the melody to the rhythm, even harder to get through it without wanting to slam down her headphones to the ground. It was the equipment’s fault that the song itself didn’t go together, but it was a fault of someone on her team who thought this was the direction her newest era needed to go into. She didn’t dare to look beyond her booth not until she heard his voice echoing in her headset. Cass let out a breathy chuckle before she shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far ahead but I’m sure someone on my team has, why? Are you loo-” But before she could finish her statement, his rang through and it stung. Even though she knew how true it was, it still fucking stung. 

She signaled to stop the take, carefully placed her headset on the music stand and promptly stomped over in his direction. “Do you know who they wanted for this originally? Zara Larsson. I know it’s bad, I barely want to record it and it had nothing to do with my original demo!” Cass tried her best not to start pacing, but the energy within her started getting restless. Here she was in the middle of a studio session with the only man she’d ever loved working on a song that was going to fucking flop. “This isn’t the music I want to do,” She explained. “It’s far from it.” 

Right on cue-- the littlest piece of critique sent her over the edge, as it always did. He turned his chair to look at her, though his own demeanor remained relaxed. Thankfully, the common person wouldn’t look too far into who engineered the album so she would be nothing but a nice name on his clientele list, but based on the scene unfolding before him, she might need more than a month to finish recording. “Okay?” he raised a brow when she finally finished ranting for a moment. “So don’t fucking do it. What’s the worst they could do, drop you?” A smirk came over his face, thinking of the headlines. People that didn’t know what they were talking about would tweet about it and add it to their Instagram stories, making her remain in the headlines for at least a week. Well, unless someone else did something ridiculous. That was how these things worked. 

“It’s not like they’re your lyrics,” he added. Unless...Declan knew he should keep his mouth shut. There were no positive thoughts in his mind about the small glimpse of a “song” he had just heard, but he couldn’t help himself. “Not to be a gatekeeper or anything, but did you write the lyrics? Cause if you did... I haven’t seen someone sell out like that in a while. Though, I do admire the way you rhymed ‘girlboss’ with ‘fast car’”.

@maxvargas​

Max-- his best friend, a partner in crime. Not a bad influence, but also not the guy who would tell Declan to slow down on the drinking or partying either. That was why they were sitting out in the backyard with a six pack, Declan packing a bowl. 

“I don’t think 10 is too early to start drinkin’,” he commented to no one in particular. There were things he needed to talk to the man about, but...instead he brought a lighter up, inhaled til he coughed a bit, and exhaled. “I told you I got a new client, right? Booked for the fuckin’ month,” a chuckle. At this moment, his feelings were neutral, but after the initial shock of seeing his ex walk through the door, Declan treated himself to a nice evening of being fucked up. He was proactive by turning his phone off and hiding it beforehand, if only to prevent himself from texting her....well, anything. Explicit, less-that-favorable, he had all of those thoughts about her. He took another hit. 

“It’s my fuckin’ ex. You know the one,” he coughed again before offering to Max. “So what’s fucked in your life this week?”

The producer did have a point, even in the early stages of her career before she had catapulted into her debut, there was always an eye on her. But as a result that meant there was an eye on the people within her circle, her mother had even been caught time and time again doing something as simple as getting fruit from a bodega. But then her mind drifted to the time they had been caught holding hands in the hustle and bustle in New York, just months away from graduation, and how the subsequent deep dive into him from inquiring minds was so much all at once. They dubbed him the bad boy, the partier who couldn’t be stopped. A flame who could easily burn Cass to the ground if she wasn’t careful. But what the hell did they know? “I always knew they were a part of it, I just wish they didn’t have to be all of the time.” She said, a hint of sadness in her tone. 

Then the touch of his hand on her waist was enough to make her gasp, albeit quietly. She stared up into his eyes, the scent of his cologne smelled different yet had familiar undertones from sandalwood and vanilla. For a second she felt like she had flashed back to their early 20′s, they were just two dumb kids making scratch tracks and messing around with buttons that made things sound insane. The only difference was, they both stood at a standstill, not daring to close the gap between them both, yet the unsettled business lingered in the air. She turned before she stared for too long, getting herself into the booth and doing her warm ups. Luckily her eyes could be closed for a good portion of the time, but every time she stared back out and saw him sitting opposite her, she could have sworn his eyes were piercing through her. With sadness? Rage? Something to get out of his system? She wasn’t sure. 

After she had done her runs and hit the power ballad notes as was her signature, she sang the skeleton portions of the new single, gave it as much feeling as she should. When she was done, she moved slightly away from the microphone. “Well?” 

He cleared his throat once she stepped inside the live room; the acoustics were  much better than the vocal booth but there was too much vulnerability between the glass. Declan listened as she started with scales and continued throughout her warm-ups, impressed at how much she had grown throughout the years. Also...she looked healthy. Probably the healthiest he’d ever seen her, but most of his memories of her were tainted with lust. Declan made her another cup of tea as she finished, setting it on the end table next to him. 

Pressing his own microphone on, he said, “Sounded great. Scales are good, runs are good...,” a sigh. The beat was terrible, but he needed the money-- it was his biggest check to date. “Do you know who they’ve got lined up to remix this in four months?” A bit harsh and cynical, but that was how it worked. The team was always lightyears ahead of the common listener. Declan was just the audio engineer and frankly, it was none of his business but if his name was going to be on this (along with the thirty-five other people), he wanted it to be good.

“This song is going to flop.”