honeycomb

You’re 90% confident that Billy Dunne loves you. He’s your husband, you’ve been married for years now. You have a daughter together, who he loves more than anything in the world, including his music. You trust him, mostly at least. Even if you don’t trust him, you trust Daisy. She’s one of your closest friends, and you know she wouldn’t hurt you by being Billy’s mistress. Even so, it’s not like that’s what she wants anyway. She’s made it clear that she values herself and her independence over any man, especially Billy. 

You feel like you’re crazy for doubting him but you can’t help it. You know that history repeats itself and you know your husband. He’s never been good at keeping his promises. He’s cheated before, with groupies. You remember what it was like when him and Daisy first started working together, the way they were in the studio, how they were on stage in front of hundreds of people, acting as if no one could see them. 

You remember what it was like when you were pregnant with Marlene, how he had promised to stay clean and sober. He broke that promise as well, too busy getting drunk at some shitty dive bar while you were giving birth. He wasn’t even there for the labor, instead coming hours later just because Warren managed to hunt him down and drag him to the hospital by his ear. 

He’s been better since Marlene entered your lives, of course, and the “AURORA” tour ended, the band took a small hiatus, which has been incredibly helpful for Billy. He’s mostly stopped drinking, sometimes caving and having a beer or whiskey whenever he drives past a bar and can’t resist the temptation, cut out drugs entirely other than the occasional cigarette whenever he’s stressed. He’s been more attentive too, getting you candy and flowers again, like when you first started going out. 

The band returned to the studio half a year ago. Billy started falling back to his old routine. Staying late at the studio with Daisy, writing music. Coming home at two in the morning, waking up Marlene and causing her to cry and wail when you had just managed to put her down for the night. Before he got back with the band, Billy still wrote songs, showing them to you, singing them to your daughter like her own personal lullabies. Now, you don’t get to hear anything anymore. Not until it’s done, not until it’s perfect.

They announced their second album two weeks ago, and promotion is already everywhere. Daisy and Billy are plastered on every magazine cover, every billboard you drive past on the Strip or the PCH. Every single radio station plays their newest single at least three times a day. The record has barely been out but they’ve already started rehearsals for the tour. You seen them rehearse, on the days where you can get a babysitter for Marlene. You see the way he looks at Daisy when they’re singing together, with the same amount of passion he did all that time ago, during the “AURORA” tour. 

He doesn’t seem drunk or high when he comes home, which is a good sign that he hasn’t relapsed yet, but you don’t doubt that it’ll happen sooner rather than later. You want to say something to but you can’t bring yourself to. You want to beg for him to stay home with you and Marlene more, to go back to how things were before the band got back together, but you know it would be selfish of you to ask. He just seems so happy. He never wanted to be a husband or a father, he was meant to be a rockstar. It’s just not possible for a man to have both.

You want him to be happy, even if it means you’re not. You know that that means letting him be free with the band, free of the burden of you and the nuclear family that’s been forced onto him. And you’ll let him go tonight. At least, that’s what you planned to do. 

Marlene wouldn’t fall asleep, having napped for too long in the afternoon, the ten month old was wide awake and wanted to play. She can’t quite speak yet, but she’s figured out how to babble an “mmm-ah!” that’s become her version of “mama.” You’ve been sitting on the couch, Marlene in your lap repeating “mmm-ah” over and over again, among various other sounds that mean nothing, playing with one of her stuffed animals while you try to dandle her to sleep. You end up falling asleep together before Billy can come home, you sprawled across the couch with your daughter on your stomach. 

This is the sight that Billy comes home to, his girls sleeping together on the couch, in the middle of a messy living room. He loves this sight, loves that after a day full of chaos and arguing with the band, he gets to come home to something so peaceful. 

Slipping off his shoes, he moves over to the couch, crouching to press a kiss to your forehead before taking Marlene into his arms, careful to not wake her. He brings her upstairs, making sure she’s warm in her onesie before placing her in her crib, making sure none of the covers are loose. Once he’s sure she won’t wake up suddenly, he returns downstairs to pick up a few of the toys still littered around the living room, accidentally waking you in the process. 

“Billy?” you murmur, eyes still bleary. 

“Hey baby. Here, come on, let me take you to bed,” he says, moving over to you to help you up.

You refuse his help and sit up on your own, head shaking. “No, I’m fine. We need to talk.”

He frowns but sits down beside you. “Is something wrong? Did something happen with Marls today?”

“She’s fine,” you’re quick to reassure. “It’s… it’s about us.”

“Look, I know I’ve been coming home late,” he says. “I swear, I’ll try to cut back time at the studio. I’ll spend more time with you and Marlene.”

“It’s not that, Billy,” you say.

“Then what is it?”

You chew on your bottom lip, hands a bit fidgety, avoiding his gaze. 

He says your name, hand reaching out to squeeze your knee. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

“I think we should get a divorce,” you say quietly. 

It’s like time stops. Everything around you goes scarily quiet, Billy seems frozen in place at your words.

He withdraws his hand, brows furrowed. “What?”

“A divorce,” you say again. “You’re clearly so much happier with the band and your career than you’ve ever been with me. You never wanted to be nailed down by a wife and a kid. You want to be a rockstar, you are a rockstar. Rockstars sleep with groupies and cheat on their wives and girlfriends and get drunk and high and they don’t have colicky babies making messes at home. I’m not blind, Billy. I can see how much happier you are when you’re not with us. It’s not fair for me to trap you here like this. You should get to do what you want.”

“You think that this isn’t what I want?” he asks softly. “You and Marlene are everything to me. You’re my family. Honestly? I hate the band sometimes. Sure, I love making music, but I make it for you and Marls. The best part of my day is getting to come home to my girls after dealing with those idiots all day.”

“But what about Daisy?”

“What about Daisy?” he asks.

“The way you look at her. On the magazine covers, on the album cover, whenever you’re practicing together. It’s too…” You struggle to find the right words.

“Too what?”

“Too much like how it was back then. During the ‘AURORA’ tour, when I thought—” you hesitate, not wanting to say it in case speaking it into existence made it true.

“What did you think?”

“That you loved her,” you say quietly.

Billy lets out a long exhale, lips pressing together. “I think I did. Once. But that’s just because I didn’t know what love was. I thought that love meant I needed to find someone exactly like me. And that’s what Daisy is. She likes the music I like, she’s loud and excitable, she’s got a temper like me, she was… broken like me. I felt safe with her because she was too much like me to judge me for being the way I was, she couldn’t be hypocritical like that. I thought that was acceptance, I thought that that ‘acceptance’ was love. 

“Now I know that I was wrong. What I have with you is love. This marriage, our family. I know that I haven’t been the best lately, that I slip back into how I was whenever I get with the band again, but I’m doing so much better now than I was back then, thanks to you and Marlene. Yes, I’m coming home late, but that’s because I want the tour to be perfect. So it doesn’t go to shit like the last one did. I’m not drinking or doing drugs, even if everyone else is. 

“Tour won’t be for another six months, Marlene will be old enough for some travel then. We can go to Pittsburgh, let the baby stay with my mom or your parents, and you can come on tour with me for a little bit. And we won’t do it all in one go. We’ll do west coast first, then a month where I can stay home with the two of you before we continue onto the east coast. And if you don’t like that plan, we can figure out another one together. I’ve already lost you once, now that we have a baby at stake I’m not risking it again. I love you. Only you.”

You try not to cry, nearly collapsing into his arms as Billy holds you close, burying his face into your hair. “I love you,” you say into his chest, failing to hold back soft sobs. “And I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” he says. “If I were you, I’d have divorced me a lot sooner.”

You let out a teary laugh, pulling back a bit. “Thank you,” you say softly.

“Don’t thank me for this. I should’ve been this good to you the whole time, not just now,” he says. “Now let’s go to bed before Marlene senses we’re spending time without her and wakes up.”

You smile, standing with his help, the two of you heading upstairs together. You know that you’ll still get these doubts sometimes. That for now, you can’t fully trust Billy. But he knows that too, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to gain your trust back. As long as the two of you fall asleep in the same bed and wake up next to each other every morning, everything will be okay.

a/n: okay wow this is bad bc i wrote it last minute after getting like no sleep soz if there are like 50 typos

You love parties. The lights, the music, the drugs. It’s amazing. What’s better is that you just moved into a new house, a house with a pool. The only correct thing to do was to throw yourself a housewarming party. Just your friends, of course, nothing big. A few people you knew from college, your boyfriend Warren, of course, and his bandmates. It’s not your fault that his bandmates brought their friends, and your friends brought theirs. Sure, you could’ve kicked them out, said no, but you didn’t want to. Besides, this is your house now, you’re allowed to do whatever you want.

People are splashing around in your pool, passing around joints and cigarettes alike while they drink cheap beer and snort bumps from the back of their hands. A beach ball that’s not yours is getting tossed around, but you decide you’re too hammered to ask any questions, instead just wandering around, saying “Hi” to people you don’t know, being pulled to the side occasionally to dance a bit with some groupies. 

You find your boyfriend soon enough, lounging in a sun chair with a cigarette between his lips, shirt unbuttoned to show off his bare chest. You smile at the sight, perching yourself right on his lap. 

“Hey pretty girl, are you here with anyone?” Warren jokes, taking the cigarette out so he can kiss you. 

“Mm, just my boyfriend. I’m looking for him actually,” you say against his lips.

“Yeah? What does he look like?”

“Curly hair, mustache, really hot, amazing body…” your words trail off as you drag your nails down his chest lightly, causing him to emit a low groan.

“Bet he’s not as hot as me,” Warren says, his lips attaching to your neck, sucking like a leech. 

You laugh, pushing him away so you have enough room to adjust. You move to lay against him, back to chest, so his legs are around yours. “Missed you,” you murmur, even though you had seen him just half an hour earlier. 

“Where’d you run off to? I went to get a beer and lost you,” he says, fingers idly playing with your bikini strap. 

“Dancing,” you say, plucking the cigarette from his fingers to take a pull yourself. 

“You have fun?”

“Yeah. You should dance with me,” you say. “Would be more fun with you.”

“Hmm, I dunno…” he says, pretending to be indecisive about this decision

“Warren.” You turn to look at him, your bottom lip in a slight pout. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please?”

“How could I ever say no to you?” he asks, huffing a laugh while he takes the cigarette from you to stub it out. 

A few hours of drinking, smoking, dancing, and swimming later, the party’s died out, guests with towels draped around their shoulders and their hair leaving water droplets on the concrete streaming out of your frontgate to head home. The music is still playing, but is turned down to be softer. There’s a few beers left, cigarettes and joints dying out in ashtrays littered around the backyard. It’s a mess that you’ll clean up tomorrow, when you’re less drunk and exhausted. 

There’s only one person left, no one other than your boyfriend, who is starfished out and floating on the surface of your pool. His eyes are closed, curls floating around him, and you have half a mind to assume he’s dead. The only thing that gives him away is the affronted look that immediately appears on his face when you turn off the music. 

“What’d you do that for?” he asks, one eye peeking open to look up at you.

“We have to shower and go to bed,” you say, sitting down so your legs are submerged.

Warren huffs, swimming over to you, standing in between your legs. His palms rest on top of your thighs as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, each one getting closer and closer to where your bikini bottoms barely cover. 

“Warren,” you say, warning in your tone.

“What?” he asks, looking up at you with all of the innocence of a naughty puppy. 

“We need to go to bed. Come on, you can stay the night.”

“But everyone just left,” he says, urgency in his tone.

“So?”

“So,” he says with a scoff, as if his point is obvious and he shouldn’t have to explain himself, “we can finally have all the fun we want without anyone seeing.” He fingers at the flimsy ties holding your bottoms together, tugging lightly but not pulling them apart yet.

“You want to skinny dip?” you deadpan.

“I didn’t say that but now that you mention it—” 

You laugh, splashing water in his face.

He splutters, giving you an affronted look. “What was that for?”

“For being gross,” you say.

“You were the one that suggested it. I just wanted to have pool sex.”

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, an amused smile on your face.

“Whatever it is, it’s why you love me,” he teases, hands moving up to your hips to tug you into the pool with him. 

You fall into the water with a yelp, holding onto him as you start to laugh. “Hi,” you say, a bit breathless from the sudden cold. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, kissing you. 

You moan against his lips, one of your hands reaching behind you to undo the tie on your bikini, tugging the straps down to let it fall into the water between the two of you. Warren breaks the kiss, brows raised as your breasts are suddenly revealed.

“Why are you so surprised? You’ve seen them before,” you say. 

“Didn’t expect to see them now, though,” he says with a small laugh, one of his hands moving to cup one of your tits, squeezing it as his thumb brushes over your nipple. A shiver runs down your spine at his touch, a breathy sound escaping your lips as you press your forehead against his. His other hand makes quick work of your bikini bottoms, undoing the ties with deft fingers to get you fully naked. 

“Now this is far from fair,” you say with a teasing pout, tugging lightly at the drawstring of his swim trunks. 

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, shucking them down without hesitation, tossing them out of the pool onto the concrete. “Happy now?”

“Is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?” you say, eyeing him approvingly. 

“My apologies, my beautiful gorgeous princess. Does my nakedness meet thy approval?” he asks, turning in a slow circle to give you the full view.

“You know, there is something seriously wrong with you,” you say, arms twining around his shoulders and neck while his find your waist. 

Your lips meet again as you feel him press against your thigh. The water ripples around the two of you as you move together throughout the night. You thought weed was supposed to decrease stamina, but it seems to do the exact opposite for Warren. Either that or it’s getting canceled out by the coke. Whatever it is, you know you’re grateful as hell for your boyfriend. 

No matter how good his dick is, you do love Warren for things other than the great sex. You love him for the aftermath, him helping you out of the pool and wrapping you in a towel. Showering together, his hands unusually gentle as they wash chlorine from your hair. Drying you off again, tucking you into bed beside him. Despite your boyfriend fucking like a rabbit, you know he loves you, and you love him.

a/n: i struggled to get this to my self imposed word count minimum but ITS OK WE DID IT JUST BARELY. anyway unedited bc i finished writing this like last minute and needed to get it in

When you and Camila walk down the steps of the courthouse, hand-in-hand, smiling your faces off when it hits both of you that you were married.

You were married to the love of your life, even if it’s just considered “legally bound” and not exactly a marriage.

But you were married for all that you cared about.

It was dark, the whole commotion having taken the whole day, with every couple in the world seeming to be trying to get married that very same day.

Camila was wearing a boho-like white dress, and you were wearing a shorter white dress, just like you had planned the day before.

“So, what do you want to do, Mrs. Alvarez?” You said, a grin on your face as she smiled.

“Well…I think we should go to our favorite diner.” Camila said, her soft smile melting your heart.

“Really? Even in our white dresses?” You asked, chuckling slightly.

“Even in our white dresses,” Camila said, opening the passenger door for herself. “I think there’s no better way to celebrate our marriage than with a burger.”

With Camila’s voice sounding very firm about what she wanted to do, all you could do was nod and get in the driver’s seat, put the keys in the ignition, and begin driving out of the courthouse.

As you began driving, the radio blasted your friends’ songs, both of you singing along to the point you had the roof of the car come off so the wind could blow in both of your hair.

The pair of you were laughing loudly, your singing and hair running wild as the wind took its way with you. It was slightly cold because of the wind, but you didn’t care. You and Camila felt warm inside despite it all.

You had each other, for now and forever.

When the pair of you finally pulled into your favorite 24/7 diner that you had your first date at, the waitress only looked at you knowingly as the pair of you walked in hand in hand.

You were so regular that practically everyone knew you and your partner were engaged. So, it was no surprise that after you and Camila finished your burgers, the cook, Rob, personally came out and gave you his famous red velvet cupcakes.

The look on Camila’s face when Rob insisted that it was on the house made the night even better.

As you both ate the cupcakes, holding hands as the waitress kept refilling your sodas without asking, all you could think about was how perfect this night was.

You were married to the love of your life, and you were eating greasy burgers that would certainly ruin your dresses, and you got free cupcakes.

When the pair of you began driving home, it was a more silent time, but a comfortable one.

“I’m so happy.” You said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it.

“I am too,” Camila whispered, turning her head and smiling at you. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Me too.” You whispered, turning on a road that led to your house. 

“We should do a late-night drive every week,” Camila announced.

You looked at your wife. “Really?” You said, chuckling.

“Yeah!” Camila said, as if this were an obvious choice. “I think it’d be nice. We’d just drive aimlessly, no destination in sight, just enjoying our time together.”

Her words made sense, and you didn’t take too long to make your choice.

“Okay,” You replied, nodding. “Every week, once a week.”

You grinned at her.

“Until we’re old and wrinkly…or until both of us get our driver’s license revoked, whichever comes first.”

Camila’s laughter filled the empty highway, and it didn’t take long for your laughter to join in as the moon glowed above the pair of you.

You had each other, for now and forever.

It’s not difficult to read Graham, he’s an extremely open book. You can practically read his mind just by glancing at him because of how transparent he is with his emotions. At least, that’s how he is around everyone else. It’s different whenever he’s around his brother, a bad sort of different. It’s like walls go up whenever he’s around Billy. He talks less, smiles less, becomes a lesser version of himself. Now, with tour coming up it’s gotten worse.

He doesn’t let his walls back down, even when he comes home to you every night. It’s too much for him, to try and switch back and forth when more than half of the hours in his day are spent around Billy, rehearsing and planning for and arguing about the tour. He stays closed up all day because of this, no matter what you try to do. Even when you try to surprise him with his favourite dinner or cuddle when you go to bed, you hardly get a proper response. 

He’s not rude by any means, he doesn’t get that way unless someone’s really upset him. He’s just quiet, unreactive. A thanks for the dinner, but his face doesn’t light up like it would normally. He holds you at night, sure, allows you to press kisses to his jaw and kisses you back gently when you ask, but he falls asleep sooner than normal. It’s clear that practices and the band is getting to him, you can see clearly how much he needs a break. 

Being his girlfriend, you know that you’re the person in charge of getting Graham to relax. He’s been coming home late, since Billy’s been keeping the band at the studio late into the night to rehearse. Luckily for you, you’re a great actress, so a phonecall to Sound City where you wail into the receiver about how you might’ve broken your ankle, Graham is rushing home right away. 

The front door bursts open, revealing your panicked boyfriend, his face holding emotion than he’s shown the whole week. He sees you, standing there on your perfectly fine ankles, a small picnic basket in your hands.

“I thought— you said you were hurt,” he says.

“I lied,” you say simply. “You needed a break and that was the only way I could get you out of practice early.”

“Oh.” His expression softens, and he approaches you slowly. “Thank you.”

You smile, taking his hand. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re going out.”

“At this hour? I’d rather just go to bed,” he says, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you close.

“That’s all you’ve been doing for the past month. Eat, rehearse, sleep, eat, rehearse, sleep, over and over again. It’s like you’re a robot, Graham, you need some variety in your life again,” you say, pressing kisses to his cheek and jaw. “Let’s go for a drive, down to the beach. We used to go every weekend. We haven’t done that for a while.”

You feel a smile form on his face under your lips, and you smile in return. His arms release you, but not before he kisses you, deeper than he has for a while now. “I’ll drive,” he says.

“You always do,” you say, going to slip on your shoes.

The drive to the beach is quiet, but not in the quiet that’s been haunting you all this time. It’s not the uncomfortable quiet you keep trying to break with conversation, only getting short, tired responses from Graham in return. This one is warm, comforting, like the quiet nights you would have together when you first went out, curled under the sheets, halfway to falling asleep as you tried in vain to stay awake through kisses and murmurs of “I love you.”

Now, the cool night air is whistling through your rolled down window, the engine hums softly as Graham drives, the radio is on but turned down so you can just barely hear the music. He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours over the center console. The closer you get to the beach, the louder the seagulls get, and soon enough he’s parked the car. 

The two of you get out for just a moment to get the top down before climbing back into the car, you opening up the picnic basket. There’s not much in there, just some cold cut sandwiches, potato chips, and two Cokes. Not a fancy dinner by any means, just a simple meal so that the two of you can pretend that everything is normal before Graham has to go back to his grueling pre-tour routine once again. 

“Why did you do all of this?” he asks, unwrapping a turkey sandwich.

“Because I love you,” you say simply, opening a bottle of Coke and taking a sip.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” There’s a soft smile on his face as he says this, nudging you lightly with his shoulder, as if chiding you for messing around.

“I’m not joking,” you say, the two of you switching so that he can have some Coke and you can take a bite of the sandwich. “I love you, so I know how you get when Billy is wearing you down to the bone.”

“You need to stop blaming Billy for everything.”

“You need to stop defending him. I get it, he’s your brother, but it’s clear that his whole schedule is going to lead you and the rest of the band to a very slow and painful death. He’s overworking you, I think everyone can tell except you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re not… you,” you say, struggling a bit to explain. “You usually have an opinion on things, speak up, try to look on the bright side of situations. You’re very much a ‘the glass is half full’ sort of person, and I love that about you, but, now, that’s gone. And it’s not your fault, you’re exhausted and stressed and everything, but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss you. You’re like— a shell of your former self.”

“I think you’re reading too deep into this,” he argues. 

“You’re going to tell your girlfriend, the one person in this world that probably knows you the best, second only to your mother, that I’m reading too deep into this?” you argue. “Graham, I know you. You’re never usually this dull and blah.”

“You think I’m blah?” he challenges, his former playfulness slowly coming back.

“I think Billy makes you blah,” you say. “And I don’t like it. You need a break. Something more than just the two of us sitting here tonight because I know that this isn’t enough.” You trade the sandwich back for the Coke, taking a sip as you continue talking. “You need a proper weekend off from Billy and the band. Maybe a weekend away with your girlfriend?”

“You know I’d love to, but there’s no way Billy would allow it,” he says. “I love you, and I want to give you everything, you know that, but with Daisy running off to Greece to marry his royal highness, now that she’s back Billy’s not letting us off the hook.”

“Who said Billy has to know? We pack, we get a flight to like— France or Italy or somewhere super far away, not tell anyone. We can just vanish for a little bit, enjoy ourselves.”

“Seriously? You know Billy will kill us when we get back.”

“He won’t kill you, he needs a guitarist,” you say with a shrug.

“What about you?”

“Well if he kills me then you won’t play for him.”

Graham laughs, leaning over the console to kiss your cheek. “True enough.”

“So, what do you say?” you ask. “Secret vacation in Europe?”

He sets the half-eaten sandwich back in the picnic basket, washing it down with some Coke. “Secret vacation in Europe,” he agrees, kissing you properly now. 

You ignore the fact that the two of you taste of turkey, mayo, and cheese, instead just letting yourself get lost in his lips. Your fingers twine into his hair as he practically climbs over the console to get closer to you, causing you to laugh and pull away with a bit of struggle. 

“Backseat?” you ask, breathless.

Graham doesn’t even give you a dignified answer, just climbing into the back and waiting very impatiently for you to join. Another laugh escapes you as you join him, getting tugged into his lap as his lips find yours again. Your hands move up under the hem of his shirt as his tongue invades your mouth, his skin warm against your palms. Graham sighs against your mouth, head tilting back as you start trailing kisses down his neck.

“Not here,” he says softly. “Not tonight. I just want to hold you tonight, we can make love properly at home.”

“Make love?” you mumble against his throat, causing a groan to escape him.

“Don’t start,” he says, tugging you up for another kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you say, the words barely leaving your lips before his mouth is on yours again.

You’re not sure when the two of you fall asleep, but you wake up hours later to the sun blaring in your face, Graham still out cold beside you. Seagulls are cawing around you, one even trying to get into your picnic basket. You shoo it away with your foot but make no movement to put the roof back up. You never want to leave this moment, here in his arms with the California sun shining down on you. You’ll deal with seagulls later.

a/n: this one’s short bc there’s not much of an inciting incident that i can yap abt but it’s nice and sweet. i love graham dunne he's my baby aww awwwwwwww

but the stars were her mother's eyes

and the screech of an owl in the tree above

was the sound of a baby's cry.

-The Chord by Carol Ann Duffy

Peace and quiet were two things that Daisy found herself craving while she dissociated from her surroundings. She found herself searching for that sense of serenity that people spoke about in books and films throughout her life. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever felt completely safe in all the years she’d been alive, and she certainly never experienced quiet. She took pills to try to replicate the silence she wanted, but it always left as quickly as it came. It no longer quietened her brain, as her body had become so used to the effects the drugs had.

The Aurora tour had been going well so far. No errors or mishaps like they’d anticipated, only fans screaming until Daisy’s ears went numb and the blaring sound of Graham’s guitar. Despite the fact that she had been waiting for this moment all her life, she felt like something was missing. 

She sat on the tiny ‘couch’ (if you could even call it that) on her tour bus, while everyone around her snorted powder and danced to music at full volume. She wanted to join them. She wanted to ignore the fuzzy feeling in her brain and get high until she passed out. That’s what she usually did anyway. But tonight felt different. Tonight, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but stare mindlessly out the window. The stars blinked back at her, comforting her with their presence.

She couldn’t deal with the noise any longer. She dragged her body off the couch and to the door, welcoming the cold night air that hit her face as she opened it. She stumbled outside and made it five more steps till her body hit the ground with a slam. She wrapped her arms around her legs as a means of comfort, trying her best to ignore the strong urge to stick her thumb in her mouth.

She had everything she wanted, and yet, she was entirely alone. 

“I don’t want to go,” mumbled a stubborn Daisy one sleepless night, head buried deep in Camilla’s arms.

“You’ve worked for this, sweetheart,” Camilla reminded gently, “All you’ve talked about is how much you want to travel the world on tour.”

“I know,” Daisy grumbled, “and I do.”

“But?” Camilla ran her hand through Daisy’s waves.

“But…I’ll miss you,” she frowned, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Oh baby. I’ll be one phone call away. Always. And Billy will be there to keep you company,” Camilla cooed. “Hey, you see those stars?”

Daisy reluctantly looked up and nodded.

“As long as the stars are in the sky, I’ll be with you. I may not be there physically, but I’ll always be watching over you.”Daisy clutched onto her tighter, scared that she’ll disappear from her grasp.

She looked at the stars now, and watched them twinkle and sparkle, lighting up the otherwise black sky. Daisy wanted her mama more than ever.

She didn’t want drugs or parties or even stars. She wanted Cami. Her Cami who made pancakes every morning because sweet food was better than no food, as she always said. Her Cami who tucked her into bed every night with two bedtime stories, a warm bottle of milk and a kiss on the cheek. Her Cami who never treated her like a burden, but like an actual member of their family.

A tear rolled down her cheek that she couldn’t stop if she wanted to. She buried her hands into the dirt to stabilise herself, as it felt like she was falling into the abyss. She had been feeling small all day, all week even, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had gotten so used to regressing every day with Cami by her side, her brain automatically drifted to it when she felt upset. 

Feeling lonely wasn’t a new feeling. She had been lonely all her childhood, only finding comfort through music during her adolescence. She just thought her life had changed since then. She thought she was no longer the girl whose parents despised her and friends who used her status for their own personal gain. It was all a facade. 

Her mind instantly jumped to Cami abandoning her, not wanting to deal with her nonsense anymore. She had an actual child to look after, and not one who reverted to a childlike state because life is hard. 

She buried her face into her muddy hands, rocking back and forth against the pavement. She could hear the music from the trailer. None of them had probably noticed that she’d gone, too busy having the time of their lives.

She whined as she slipped deeper and deeper into her regression. She wanted her stuffed animals. She wanted Cami. 

Suddenly, she was aware of the sound of a trailer door opening and closing.

“Daisy?” Billy’s voice echoed behind her.

Daisy glanced up from her knees to look at him. He was wearing a tracksuit and joggers, like he was ready to run a 5k marathon. Despite his attire and his obvious plan to run a few blocks, he sat down beside her on the harsh pavement, spreading his legs apart.

“What are you doing out here in the dark alone?” he asked, tone softer than usual. When Daisy usually saw him, he had creased eyebrows, clenched fists and he raised his voice like he did every time he was angry, as they bickered profusely. Now it was anything but that. He looked up at the stars like they soothed him as well. Like he could also feel Camilla’s gaze from them.

Daisy studied him with intensity. Her lip wobbled, “I—miss Mama.”

She watched the way Billy’s eyebrows raised, and then softened again.

“Camilla? There’s a payphone a few blocks away if you wanna call her. I was heading that way myself,” he offered.

Daisy shook her head, “not the same.”

“No it isn’t,” he agreed.

Daisy huffed, pouting solemnly. She shoved her hands through the dirt once again, feeling the cool granules against her palm, and letting tiny rocks pass through the gaps of her fingers. Her posture stayed alert, like she thought Camilla would arrive at any moment.

“Hey,” Billy starts. “It’s not so bad. You’ll see her soon.”

“So far away,” Daisy groaned, mumbling grumpily.

Billy snorted, not used to seeing this side of her. Suddenly, he thought of an idea.

“Wanna go for a drive?”

Daisy looked at him with a blank expression. “Don’t be swlly.”

Billy scoffed. “I’m being serious. My trailers empty so let's make use of it.”

“You’ve never driven it.”

“How hard can it be?”

It went silent for a moment, before Daisy nodded her head.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

Daisy nodded again, this time more firmly.

“Kay let’s go!” Billy grinned.

Turns out, driving a massive trailer was a lot different to driving a car. He stalled multiple times before pulling it out of the abandoned car park, causing Daisy to giggle at the sound of the tires skidding, long forgetting the sound of the loud music from her trailer. He quickly got the hang of it and they were soon on the road, making the ridiculously big trailer go as fast as possible. 

“Where do you wanna go?”

“The beach!” Daisy exclaimed with no hesitation.

Billy signalled left, heading towards the ocean.

—

The beach had always been one of Daisy’s favourite places. Growing up, Santa Monica was only a twenty minute drive from her house, so she frequently visited the beach every time the sun welcomed its presence. She’d take a taxi there often when she was a teenager, wanting to get out of that god-forsaken house. She’d laze on the beach writing music about the ocean, and then float above the water, trusting the ocean with her life. Mother nature never let her down, only people did. 

It wasn’t a surprise to her that she still felt that pull to the ocean. It reminded her of her happier days of her childhood. She’d always felt this strong connection to nature. It’s why she wrote an entire song about a river.

Beaches at night were something else entirely. The midnight black sea blended in with the equally dark sky, making it impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began. The sand sparkled in the starlight in the places the sea touched. The moon shone brightly with not a cloud in sight.

Daisy breathed in the salty, fresh air, being overcome with a sense of serenity. She spun around excitedly, feeling the sand beneath her feet and listening to the waves reach to the sky before crashing down against the sand. She could spend the rest of her life here.

After running around the beach, letting out the rest of her energy, she soon crashed, choosing to lay down on the sand instead. The stars looked closer now.

“We should probably head back soon,” Billy said, sitting cross-legged beside her.

“I wanna tell Mama.”

“We can stop at a payphone before we go back,” he suggested.

“I don’t wanna go back,” she huffed.

“I know, but it’s probably best if we try and get some sleep before tomorrow. If you’re grumpy now I’d hate to see you when you have no sleep.”

“‘M not grumpy,” she frowned.

“Sure,” Billy rolled his eyes playfully, “and my name’s not Billy.”

“Fine.”

Daisy shot up, but not before lightly punching Billy on the arm.

“Hey, meanie.”

“You’re the mean one!” Daisy argued back.

“And who drove you to the beach at 3am?” Billy raised an eyebrow.

Daisy huffed in defeat, having her mind set on just one thing. Talking to Cami.

—

They stopped at a random sidewalk to fulfil his promise of letting Daisy call Cami. She had promised Daisy she would try to answer her call no matter what the time was, keeping the house phone next to her bed.

Daisy wasn’t sure she’d pick up now but she held out hope anyway. The ringing tone rang in her ear for at least ten seconds. She kept crossing her fingers tightly that she would answer. As she was about to give up, the sound stopped.

“Hello?” Camilla’s croaky voice filled Daisy’s ears.

“Mama!” she squealed.

Camilla’s voice softened. “Hi Bubba. What you doing up so late?”

“I couldn’t sweep ‘cause I missed you so Billy took me to the beach! ‘Nd it was so fun! I wish you were there as well.”

“I miss you too, Sweetheart. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you. Maybe we can go for a beach day after the tour. Just the two of us. Would you want to do that?”

“Yes! We can do swimmin’ together! ‘Nd then I won’t miss you anymore.”

“I’m looking forward to it then. And I’m looking forward to seeing you perform in a few days.”

“You are?!” Daisy exclaimed.

“Yes baby, I've been counting down the days. I know you’ll be amazing on stage and then I’ll get to see you afterwards and we can finally catch up. It feels like it’s been ages.”

“I miss you a lot,” Daisy’s voice quietened.

“I miss you two, Daisy. Always. But these next few days are gonna fly by and then we’ll see each other. I promise. And I never break my promises,” Camilla swore.

“Okay, Mama.”

Daisy yawned into the phone.

“You get some sleep now, bubba. You’ve earned it.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Sometime on the way back, Daisy’s eyes began to close. She felt safe despite Billy’s still obvious struggle with trying to control the trailer. Daisy’s trailer was quiet when they returned. No party, and no one waiting to tell them off for leaving. No one had noticed a thing.

She was still awake when Billy carried her out of the passenger seat and to the sofa in Billy’s green room. Billy was clueless to this as she had her eyes shut and her breathing was even. He had no idea until he draped a blanket over Daisy and made a move to leave, to which Daisy mumbled out a small “stay”.

“I’m not leaving,” he promised, sitting on the other side of the oval sofa. 

It was quiet. Completely, entirely silent. There weren't any buzzing noises, or loud music, or laughter. There weren't any thoughts loudly circling her mind, telling her she was a burden. She was met with the realisation that it was thoroughly quiet. And she knew, despite it being entirely new, that she felt peace. 

“Oh my god, you’re actually serious about this.”

Warren did not believe your words when you had told him that for his birthday, you would finally get high with him.

You never got high with him, but you seemed fine with him getting high or getting drugged out of his mind. You just didn’t like the hangovers he’d end up with after, and that made you decide that you won’t partake in it, mainly because you always needed to be up and ready to help your parents at their surf shop.

But you finally told your parents you’d be taking the day off, and since you’ve never taken a day off in your life, they were happy to let you have a well-deserved break.

And so here you were, lying in Warren’s bed with his randomly placed toilet, holding a brownie.

“Don’t chicken out now.” Warren grinned, already on his second brownie. “It’s my birthday.”

“I’m not gonna chicken out.” You protested, but you still didn’t put it in your mouth.

This only made Warren laugh, as he took a bite of his brownie. You can already see his red-shot eyes from his consumption of the brownies, and God knows what he’s been taking throughout the day.

You bit your lip before finally putting the brownie in your mouth, taking a small bite of it.

Immediately after, you coughed and spit it out, which only made your boyfriend laugh harder.

“It’s not that bad!” He said, grabbing a napkin to clean up the poor brownie's remains.

“It is so that bad!” You said, chuckling as you put the brownie down. “God, that was horrible!”

Warren threw out the napkin, leaning over you to grab something else. “Okay, okay, let’s try something less bold.” He said, opening a capsule.

He held out a hand that held a red gummy, which made you take it.

“This is gonna taste the same as the brownie.” You said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yes…” Warren said, taking his own gummy, as if to show you it’s not that bad. “But it’s smaller than a whole brownie, so easier to take in.”

At this, you sigh and shake your head.

“You are so lucky that I love you.” You muttered, popping the gummy in your mouth.

You were very tempted to spit it out yet again, but Warren was watching you, looking like he was expecting you to do so, and you were not letting the fucker get the last laugh.

So, you chewed it and swallowed it, but it was clear that it had a bitter taste.

“I need my water,” You coughed, and you hit your chest a few times as you grabbed a water bottle. “How long does it take for it to kick in anyway?”

“Thirty minutes.” Warren shrugged, stealing your water and taking a sip of it. “Might be longer for you since it’s your first time.”

At his words, you raised the other eyebrow. “Is it because I don’t know what to expect?” You asked. “Because you’re my example of it kicking in.”

Warren only handed back your water.

“You’ll feel it,” was all that he said.

You, in fact, did feel it within the hour.

The pair of you were laughing like maniacs, pointing at random shapes that were on the ceiling, talking about anything under the sun. It had even gotten to the point where one of the boys, you couldn’t put his face to remember, came into the room and told the pair of you to shut up.

“Your eyes are red.” Warren finally said when the pair of you calmed down.

He had a little dopey smile on his face, one that you adored.

“My eyes are red?” You asked, giggling from earlier.

“Red-eyed.” Warren confirmed, starting to giggle again, just because you were giggling.

Both of you laughed again, and for a second, you thought another one of the band was going to come and tell the pair of you to shut up, but no one did.

“We’re both red-eyed then.” You said, pointing a finger at his eye. “You’re still red-eyed.”

“Good, we can match.” Warren grinned.

“It feels like the earth is moving.” He continued, his head lolling away from you.

“The earth is always moving.” You said. “Even if we don’t.”

“I forgot you were such a nerd.” Warren groaned, leaning his head back and off the bed.

You flicked his forehead, but you missed his forehead and proceeded to flick his nose. As Warren groans in pain, you begin laughing like a maniac, a grin like a schoolgirl.

“Happy Birthday,” You managed to say between your laughter.

Warren looks at you, rubbing his nose.

“You didn’t have to do this with me.” He said, his face trying to be as serious as he could.

“Yeah, but I wanted to.” You said, shaking your head. “I would’ve done it earlier, but I thought it’d be fun for your birthday.”

He smiles before leaning in and kissing your lips. Granted, it’s very sloppy, but you still reciprocated with a smile. When you both part, the two of you stare at the other’s red eyes, the high from the edibles still kicking in.

This was definitely the best birthday ever for Warren.

And it was definitely worth the massive hangover the pair of you got in the morning.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ warren rojas taglist: @sincerelystarry, @allisluv, @roses-tired, @daisyjonesgf, @emdure, @therealbillystebbins

Some new guys were booked to play the Whisky. A little garage band from Pittsburgh, PA, something called The Six. You’ve never heard of them before but discovering new bands is a part of a job. It’s not an actual part you get paid for, of course, not something in your job description. You get paid for pouring drinks and mixing cocktails, but working somewhere like the Whisky a Go Go means that music is just a part of your life in a way it isn’t for many others. 

You spend your nights here, sometimes you’ll get scheduled for the day, but those hours are a bit slower, surrounded by the haze of smoke and thrumming of music that always lingers in the air here. You love it all, even the shitty parts because this is what you signed up for when you decided to move from your small suburban town in San Diego to LA. You wanted the lights and the music and the drugs, you wanted all of it, and you’ll be damned if you ever take it for granted.

You want your nights to be exactly like this one is now, pouring scotch and watching at The Six play on stage. It’s standard. A group of guys in their 20s; a vocalist, a guitarist, a bassist, and a drummer. The most bare bones a band could be and they’re far from stardom, but it’s the fact that they’re not good that makes them so perfect. This is what LA is, what the Strip is. Shitty bands trying to claw their way to stardom, some are more successful than others, but the Whisky is the first big step to being on a billboard on the PCH.

Their music is good at least. It could use a bit more, it sounds a bit hollow, but for a start-up from the east, they’re good. It helps that the members are quite cute, too. The bassist especially, who you can’t seem to take your eyes off of, to the point where you overfill a glass and end up with a small puddle to wipe up. You don’t expect him to notice you in return, there are a lot of pretty girls in the crowd, definitely some better looking than you. Besides, you’re just a bartender, there’s not much you can do for him unless he wants a free drink. 

You’re proven wrong, however, when he comes over after the band’s set, leaning against the bar on his forearms and saying in a low voice “You were staring.”

You smile wryly. “Was I?”

“I saw you,” he counters. “When we were playing.”

“How did you know I wasn’t staring at one of the other guys?” you ask. 

“Because you turned away when I looked at you.”

You huff. “You’ve got me there, I suppose. What can I get you?”

“A whiskey neat and your number,” he requests.

“Does that line usually work?”

He shrugs. “You tell me, it’s the first time I’ve tried it.”

You don’t respond, just pour him his drink and jot your phone number down on a napkin, handing both over with a smile.

“When do you get off?” he asks, handing over a few bills. 

“Who’s asking?” you reply, realizing now you don’t actually know who this guy is. 

“Eddie,” he says, outstretching his hand over the bar for you to shake.

“Eddie what?” You take his hand, shaking it and holding on just a bit longer than needed. He notices and a light flush creeps onto his cheeks, though he tries to hide it with no success.

“Eddie Roundtree,” he supplies. “Do I get to know your name?”

You introduce yourself with a small laugh. “I get off at eleven, but I don’t think there are many places you can take me that late.”

“Are you kidding? We’re on the Strip, most places are open until six in the morning.”

“Let me correct myself then,” you say. “I don’t think there are any date-worthy places you can take me that late.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he says with a cocky wink before departing. 

You don’t actually expect to see him again. It would be nice, of course, but you’ve had guys hit on you at work all the time. Usually it’s for a free drink, sometimes it’s for sex, which you’re fine with if the guy is cute enough and isn’t super pushy about it. You’ve learned after the first few times to never get your hopes up and never give out free drinks just because some guy tried to flatter you. These guys are nice to smile at and flirt with, but they rarely ever want anything real. You know that now, you’re fine with it, and you expect it.

Needless to say, it was a surprise to see Eddie come back to the bar just as you’re wiping down the counter and tidying stuff up for the next guy who takes over after your shift. He doesn’t order anything, just sits on a barstool and waits for you to finish up. 

When you wash your hands and remove your little apron, he finally stands, asking “Ready to go?”

You raise an eyebrow as you come out from behind the bar. “And where exactly are we going? I hope it’s not out for drinks because I think I’m done with those for now.”

“Dinner,” he answers simply. 

“Dinner? At this hour?” you ask, arching a brow.

“Just trust me,” he urges as the two of you walk into the parking lot, him hailing a taxi for the both of you. 

“The only places open at this hour are 24-hour fast food joints,” you say, climbing into the cab, him following suit behind you. He leans forward, telling the driver the place in hushed tones.

“Where are you taking me that’s such a big secret, huh?” you ask as the car sets off.

“If I tell you it won’t be a secret anymore. Besides, I told you we’re going to dinner,” he says.

You huff but sit back, deciding it’s pointless to try and pry more. The cab eventually pulls up to a somewhat run-down looking house, which causes you to give him an odd look, your brows furrowed. “Are you kidnapping me?”

“This is where I live,” he says, getting out of the car and jogging over to get your door for you.

“So you’re kidnapping me,” you state, taking his hand to step out of the cab.

“I’m not—!” Eddie’s complaints cease when he realizes you’re laughing.

“Taking a girl home on the first date, how bold of you,” you tease.

“Everyone else is getting shitfaced at the Whisky until two in the morning, this is probably the only time I’ll be able to take you back here,” he says.

You make a noise that somewhat communicates “Yeah, fair enough,” as the two of you walk up to the door, Eddie unlocking it and gesturing for you to step in first.

“M’lady.” He gives a grand flourish of his arm, causing you to snort. You glance around the house as you step in; it’s clearly very old but it still looks something like a home. A few knickknacks strewn about, photos of him and the band hung up on the wall, gauzy curtains covering the dirty windows to filter in natural light.

“Nice place,” you remark as you follow him into the kitchen.

“It’s really all thanks to Camila,” he says, then adds more when you give him an odd look. “Billy’s girlfriend. Billy’s our… singer.”

“The guy who kept mouth-fucking the mic today?” you ask, raising a brow as he starts rummaging around the fridge.

“That’s the one,” he snorts. 

“You all live together?”

“It’s all we can afford for now.”

“So…” you say, “what are we doing here?”

“I’m making you dinner,” he says, holding up a jar of tomato sauce. 

“You’re making me dinner?” you restate.

“It’s nothing fancy. We don’t have much, but we have enough for spaghetti. And I can pour out some wine for us, we can have a proper dinner,” he says. “And trust me, my grandmother taught me how to cook so I can make jar sauce taste like a five-course meal.”

“I trust you,” you say, an amused look playing on your face. “Do you want any help though?”

“Only if you want to help,” he assures. “I can either be your personal chef or this could be like a cooking date.”

You smile, moving to the sink to wash your hands. “What do you need me to do, chef?”

Eddie puts a record on as you work, something you don’t recognize but sets a nice tone for your evening together. He unearths some candles from a storage closet, lighting them after dimming the lights while claiming “They’ll set the mood.”

“What’s the mood?” you ask, grating a block of parmesan. 

“Romantic.”

“Really? Romantic?”

“What’s so wrong with romantic?” he asks, pouring two glasses of wine. 

“I’m a stranger, how can that be romantic?”

“You’re a very beautiful stranger,” he counters.

“Still!” you say, “you don’t know me!”

“Sure, we’ve only just met,” he cedes, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I feel this… connection to you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you say.

“Then tell me. Tell me about yourself.”

“You first,” you counter.

“Well, I’m an only child, raised by my grandma since both of my parents work, but they’re still around which is nice,” he says. “That’s why I can cook.” He gestures vaguely to the spaghetti you’ve been making together. “Grandma taught me to be a gentleman and how to make a meal without burning down the kitchen.”

“Well then god bless Grandma Roundtree,” you say with a snort as he plates up the pasta.

“I’m also in a band,” he says, though you know this already. “Used to be rhythm guitar but Billy demoted me to bass after one of our old members left to be a dentist or something.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think bass is much hotter than guitar,” you say.

Eddie’s face reddens, and he’s grateful for the dim candlelight hiding his blush. “Come on, your turn now,” he urges, setting the plates on the dining table and pulling your chair out for you.

You huff, taking your seat with a “Thank you” before stabbing at a meatball with your fork. “I’m not all that interesting.”

“Tell me anyway,” he says.

So you do. You tell her about your family, why you moved to LA, why you decided to get a job as a bartender, what your actual dreams are other than pouring drinks for junkies at the Whisky. Despite having only just met him, it’s easy to talk to Eddie. The words spill from your mouth without a second thought, you’re not scared to tell him anything. You eat the food, which is amazing despite it being frozen meatballs and jar sauce, go through maybe a bottle and a half of wine together, and end up in his bedroom. 

Door shut, blinds closed, you’re pressed against the door as Eddie’s tongue explores your mouth, your hand fumbling for the lock. One of his hands is tangled in your hair, the other on your waist, having creeped under your shirt. His palm is rough and warm against your skin, his grip tight, but not harsh enough to bruise. You finally manage to click the lock shut, a small noise escaping you when he nips at your bottom lip.

You let out a slightly embarrassing squeal when he lifts you by your thighs to carry you to the bed, tossing you down gently as the mattress bounces slightly. Eddie’s on top of you in an instant after shucking off his clothing, carefully helping you with yours too after asking “Are you still okay with this?”

When he gets a nod and a quiet “Yes,” in response, his deft fingers undo the button and zip on your jeans, tugging them down. 

He asks before everything. Asks before he takes off your bra, before he touches you, even if it’s just to hold your waist again. Every time he tries something new, he checks in to make sure you’re still okay. It’s beautiful, it’s everything you could’ve asked for. 

Afterwards, Eddie cleans you up with a gentle hand and damp cloth before helping you into some of his clothes and crawling back into bed with you. His arms wrap around you as if he can’t bear to be far from you for longer than a few minutes, his lips press gentle kisses to your temple and forehead. 

“Was that good?” he asks.

“You ask too many questions,” you murmur, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“Don’t be difficult,” he admonishes jokingly.

“It was,” you say. “It was great. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” he says. “Will you stay?”

“I don’t want to do the walk of shame past your bandmates in the morning,” you say. 

“They won’t judge,” he promises. “They’re not allowed to, they’re much worse.”

You laugh, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

“Good,” he says. “I don’t think I ever want you to go.”

a/n: bruh idfk how to write for men let me write for women again

You love Karen Sirko. You’d marry her if you could. You love how passionate she is about her craft. You love the way she loves you, and the way she’s not ashamed of showing you off to the world, no matter who may insult or shun the two of you. She’s bold and confident and is unapologetically herself, and you love her for it. Yet there is still one thing you hate. 

You hate that she’s so far away.

You’ve been together for a while now, having met when she was on the “AURORA” tour with Daisy Jones and The Six. Being one of the roadies in charge of sound, you made sure she could still be heard over the guitars and drums. You had an appreciation for the keys that she hadn’t really seen in anyone else. You had an appreciation for her. You still do.

It wasn’t weird for her. Karen knew for a while now that she’s interested in both men and women, but also knew a lot of people weren’t as open to the notion of it as she was. Luckily for her, you were one of the ones who were. You paid special attention to her during soundchecks, while most guys in charge of sound really only cared about the guys. You helped her packed up her things after rehearsals and shows, offered to get her a drink afterwards so she could cool down after dealing with the testosterone-laden horde of men she’d had to be around all day. 

One of those nights ended in her taking you back to her hotel room, spending the night together wrapped up in the sheets and each other’s bodies. You tried to keep it casual, but both of you knew it couldn’t ever be just that. You started going out on dates, to dinners disguised as a girls’ night out, walks along the beach where you’d watch the stars together, and she’d tell you about how bright they were when her family would take her to the English countryside over the summer when she was younger. She told you that she’d take you there one day, maybe on a honeymoon if you could ever get married.

You stayed together even after The Six broke up and everyone went their separate ways. You stayed in LA to be a sound engineer at Sound City, working alongside Teddy Price to try and make whatever band appealed to him into the next Daisy Jones & The Six. It never really worked, no duo had the same chemistry as Daisy and Billy, no one’s basslines were as solid as Eddie’s, and rarely would any of these new bands have a keyboardist. 

Your numerous complaints about these rising and falling stars would be recounted to Karen over phonecalls, which you had scheduled throughout the week so that your timezones wouldn’t get too much in the way. Despite your careful scheduling, it still wasn’t great. 

You understand why Karen left. She’s always wanted to be a star, always loved the roaring crowds, the swarm of fans waiting for the tour bus at each hotel and venue, vying for her autograph. You know she has dreams bigger than everyone. You also know, despite her refusal to actually say it, that she missed her home. She went to the states for a better shot at getting big on the rock scene, but after everything with The Six, you know she needed to go back to her roots, to something familiar to her. You understand why Karen had to go back to London as much as she understands why you had to stay in LA. 

You didn’t want to make her stay with you, not if she didn’t truly want to. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you were the one that tore the woman you love away from her dreams. She told you about her and Graham, how everything was great with them for a little while, but she didn’t want the same domestic nuclear life that he did. She wants excitement, travel, the life of a rockstar she’s always dreamed of. And you want that for her too. As much as you want to be selfish, you won’t let yourself. 

She still knows of your grievances though. You miss your girlfriend, and you’re not afraid to make it shown. It’s night like these, where you’re up at 2am, talking to her before she heads out for the day, lamenting the loss of her beside you in bed. 

Tonight is different though. Maybe it’s because you’re nearing your one year anniversary of being long distance, or maybe it’s the stress coming from the way the new band you’re working with is constantly bickering with each other in the studio. Whatever it is, it makes you miss her a bit more than usual. Unfortunately, a bit more is just what you needed to be pushed past your tipping point. 

“I can’t do this anymore Kare,” you say as soon as she picks up, not even bothering to greet her properly.

“Do what?” comes her soft voice through the line. She only ever uses this tone with you, when she knows you need her comfort instead of her witty replies. 

“I— I don’t know—” You try to not cry, it would be stupid to do so for no reason. “Work’s just been hell and I can’t even come home to my girlfriend because you’re on the other side of the world and I love you— I love you so much but—” Your words catch in your throat as you let out a choked sob, still trying to hold back tears. 

“But what?” she asks, and you can tell, even over the phone, that she’s waiting for you to continue with bated breath.

“I love you,” you say again.

“I love you too, but you’re really scaring me here baby,” she says softly, like she’s coaxing a kitten from a corner. 

You take a deep breath, exhaling slowly to steel yourself. “Sometimes… it doesn’t even feel like I’m in a relationship. We’re both busy, we live so far away, I mean we haven’t been on a proper date in a year. You never have time to fly to LA and I never have time to visit you in London and work and everything already sucks— not being able to come home to you just makes it worse. I love you, Karen. I wanted to make this work so badly but I’m not— this doesn’t make me happy.”

“Our situation doesn’t make you happy or I don’t make you happy?” she asks, a bit too slowly, her tone too even, as if trying to not snap and yell.

“You make me the happiest girl in the world. But with you being so far away and both of us being so busy all the time, it’s not like either of us get much of a chance to make each other happy,” you say. “I don’t want to break up but I don’t want to be stuck like this forever.”

“What are you saying?” You know Karen isn’t stupid. You both know exactly what you’re saying. Only, neither of you want to accept it. 

“I’m saying… I think we should break up,” you say finally. “You should find someone in London, I’ll find someone here, people who we can truly be happy with.”

“Do you really think anyone else would make me as happy as you do?” she asks.

“Maybe if they lived on the same block as you, sure!” you say.

“Do you think there’s someone out there that can make you happier than I do?” is her next question.

“I think anyone could make me happy as long as I got to wake up next to them every morning and fall asleep beside them every night. And you— you have dreams. You have a career, you have a home. And that home isn’t here, Kare. I can’t wake up with you every morning and I can’t fall asleep in your arms every night and that— that is the opposite of happy.”

“So this is it, then? This is it for us?”

“I don’t want it to be,” you say. “But I can’t live on like this any longer. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she says.

“Goodbye, Karen.”

You don’t get an answer in return, other than the low hum of the dying line. You groan, basically slamming the phone back onto the receiver, flopping back on your bed. It’s not as if this was a rash decision, you’ve been mulling over it for a week now. You’ve dreamt about this exact situation, every single one of them with a different outcome. None of your dreams could prepare you for how much the real thing would hurt.

Karen Sirko has fucked up. Even she’s aware of that. She’s listened to you complain about the distance between the two of you night after night, she’s helped you do the math to calculate the time and money it would cost for you to visit her, she’s been there for all of it. Yet, somehow, she was still blind to the fraying ties of your relationship. Blind to how your calls would be cut shorter than usual, to how exhausted you seemed whenever you’d call her. 

She thought you were just tired from work, that you needed more sleep. She never once thought that it could be because of her. She didn’t pay enough attention to you and now she’s losing you, and she’s at a loss. 

Acting rashly, barely thinking, she calls for a red-eye to Los Angeles that night. Wandering about her bedroom, she haphazardly throws clothes into an overnight bag, dialing to call one of her bandmates to explain where she’s going, that she doesn’t know when she’s coming back, and to relay the message to the rest of them. The flight isn’t until late, she has hours to mull over her decision. 

She doesn’t think about it much though, going through the motions of the day as if she’s on autopilot before she heads for the airport. You’re her only priority, she needs to get to you, to talk to you and reason with you. She needs to fix things. 

She’s anxious the whole way there. It’s not as if it’s a short flight. Twelve hours from London to LA, she wouldn’t get there until the afternoon. She drinks more champagne than she should, trying to knock herself out for most of the flight. The sleep doesn’t bring her much respite, however, as she’s taken over with fitful dreams. 

Dreams where you don’t open the door when she goes to your apartment. Ones where you do answer, if only to slam the door in her face upon seeing it’s her. Ones where she finds you and sees you with another person, happy in a way she could never make you. She failed you. If she can’t fix things between the two of you, she’ll never forgive herself for it. 

It’s 5am when Karen arrives at your apartment. 5:30 when she finally knocks on your door, having waited on the sidewalk outside the complex for half an hour, debating on if she should just call it quits and go home instead. She’s come all this way, she won’t go until she gets to talk to you face to face. 

Her knuckles rap against the wood of your front door and she counts the seconds it takes for you to answer. When you do, and she sees your face, with the dried tear streaks and your puffy red eyes, it takes all she has in her to not collapse right there. You’re tired, with sleepy eyes and mussed up hair. Maybe she had woken you up.

“Karen,” you say, your voice hoarse as if you had been straining it. She barely hears when you say her name, her ears ringing and she feels numb to everything except the sight of you, right there in front of her, so close but still so far.

She says your name, or, at least, she tries. She thinks it comes out sort of choked and strangled, like a shot doe crying out before it dies. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, not yet letting her in.

“I’m here for you,” she says. “For us.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s more of a statement than a question. “There is no us, Karen. Not anymore.”

“Look, I know I fucked up, but you can’t give up on our relationship that easily,” she says. “Please— just let me in?”

You scoff but step aside so she can enter. Karen stands by the living room couch, unsure if she can sit. You stand by the door, just watching her with almost scrutinizing eyes. It’s these little looks you give that makes her love you so much, the way you pay so much attention to detail, the way you pay so much attention to her, even if it does make her feel like a bug beneath a microscope. The way your eyes squint a bit, the slight furrow in your brow, and the frown that tugs at your lip when you’re focused. 

“I’ll move back to LA,” she says. “We can live together, go on dates and such, be in an actual relationship like you want.”

“You know I can’t ask you to give up your career like that—” you say.

“And you won’t be. You’re not asking because I’m the one suggesting it,” she insists.

“You love being a musician!”

“I love you more,” she says. 

“You’ll still make music,” you say quickly, crossing over to her. “I can’t be with you and live with you knowing that you had to give up your dreams because of me. You’ll make music and go on tours and stuff but… you’ll come home to me.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, finally sitting down on the couch, you sinking down besides her. “I’ve been away from you for so long already—”

“But it’ll be different this time, right?” you ask. “Because this time you’ll come home. I’ll know for sure when I’ll get to see you again. We’ll get to see each other almost every day, but you’ll still get to do what you love. I’m not going to force you to stay in one place, especially if that’s the opposite of what you want.”

Karen smiles, then laughs, pulling you close and burying her face in your hair. “This is why I love you so much,” she murmurs. 

“I love you,” you say, tears spilling again, even though you thought you had cried them all out last night. 

“I can’t believe I almost lost you,” she says. “I can’t believe I was so stupid and selfish—”

“You aren’t stupid—” you try to argue.

“But I was. You were suffering in this relationship and I couldn’t even see it.”

“You’re here now,” you say. “And you’re staying.” And that’s enough.

a/n: rip karen sirko, you would've loved stateside by pinkpantheress

Being on tour is mostly great. The screaming crowds, signing autographs for fans, getting to travel across the country with your friends. It’s amazing. It’s a dream that you never thought you’d get to have. But it’s also incredibly stressful, and it doesn’t help that Billy thinks he has the right to tell all of you what to do just because he’s the frontman. You’ll listen to Teddy and Rod, hell, you’ll listen to Daisy because at least she tries to be nice about it. But according to Billy, whatever he says has to go, no matter what.

Everything becomes a bit easier whenever Camila visits. The air gets a bit lighter, the tension moving around the group lifts, everyone can speak a bit more freely without the fear of lashing out or getting lashed out at. You want to attribute it to the way Camila could calm a hurricane if she tried, but really it’s probably because of Julia. No one wants to subject a child to yelling and screaming, no one wants someone so young and innocent to see the vices her dad and “aunties” and “uncles” fall back on when stressed. It’s an unspoken agreement among the band that whenever she’s around, you’ll be perfect angels. If not for each other, then for her. 

It affects Billy the most. Not just because it’s still quite hard for him to overcome his chain-smoking habits, but because he wants to try the most for his daughter. Because of this, he practically becomes a different person whenever Camila and Julia visit. He stays civil with Camila; despite their divorce a year prior, they’ve still stayed close as friends, and he tries to co-parent with her as best as possible despite being on the road so often. It’s probably the lack of time he gets with his daughter that makes him so much more amenable when she’s around. 

She’s here now. Both Julia and Camila are here, of course, visiting the band in New York so that Julia can spend some time with her dad and Camila can see her friends for a bit. It’s late at night, and you’re all together, and for the first time on this tour, it’s not for anything band related. You’re in Daisy and Karen’s shared hotel room, sharing Chinese food among yourself, just chatting and getting to enjoy life without the looming pressure of Billy’s wrath hanging over all of you. Billy’s sat with Daisy on her bed, cracking open fortune cookies like wishbones and genuinely looking carefree and relaxed for once in his life. 

You’re on the floor, listening to an animated Julia talk about everything and nothing, in that way little kids do. “And then Mama and I went to the park, and then I met this boy, and his name was Jack, and he had this dog, and the dog was giant, like Clifford, but not red, this dog was a fire dog—”

You cut her off with an amused laugh. “A fire dog?”

“Yeah! The big white ones with all the spots!”

“A dalmatian,” Camila clarifies.

“Uh-huh,” Julia’s head bobs up and down in a nod. “A dam-ay-shun. And then we threw sticks for the dam-ay-shun to play fetch, and then Jack asked if I had pets, and I told him I want a kitty but Mama says no.”

“You know it’s because your abuelo is allergic,” Camila says gently. “Once we have a house of our own we can get a cat.”

“But what if we get one without hair?” Julia asks.

Graham speaks up now, deciding to give Julia a little fun fact about her father. “Your dad is scared of hairless cats.”

She lets out a big dramatic gasp, turning to Billy who is in the process of chucking a pillow at Graham’s head. “You’re scared of kitties?” Julia asks, in complete shock.

“I’m not scared—”

“My grandma fostered a hairless cat when we were young and you wouldn’t let Graham come over to my place for a month because you thought it would attack him,” Eddie argues.

“I was ten!”

“So you’re saying that you would go to the shelter right now and get your daughter a hairless cat if she asked?” you ask. 

“I— well—” Billy just huffs, defeated. “They look like raw chickens.”

Julia laughs, standing to run over to her dad. “It’s okay daddy. I was scared of the dam-ay-shun too, but then I played with it and it was really nice! So maybe if you play with a hairless kitty it’ll be really nice to you and you won’t be scared anymore!”

Billy hoists Julia up into his arms, letting her settle into his lap. “Maybe you’re right. How about this? When tour is over, you can stay with me in L.A. for a bit and we can go get a kitty together. That way you can have a cat some of the time but we won’t have to worry about your abuelo’s allergies.” 

“Really?” Julia asks, eyes wide and filled with excitement.

“Really,” he says with a nod. 

Julia beams, giving Billy a big kiss on the cheek before running back to Camila. “Did you hear that, Mama? Daddy’s gonna get me a kitty!”

Camila laughs, holding her daughter close. “I did, I just hope he has enough time to actually take care of it.”

Billy gives an affronted look but doesn’t argue, probably because she’s right. She usually is. 

You smile, rummaging in your bag a bit before standing and moving over to Camila and Julia. “Here. It’s not a real kitty but I saw it in a store and thought you’d like it,” you say, giving Julia a stuffed cat you had found a few days ago, when Camila had called to tell you she would be visiting, and that Julia had a new obsession with getting a cat. 

Julia gasps, eagerly taking the stuffed animal and giving you a big hug. “Thank you!” she beams. “I’m gonna name it…” she seems to really ponder the name, before deciding on “Oreo! Because it’s black and white!” She toddles off again, unable to sit still, to show off Oreo to everyone else.

Camila smiles, scootching a bit closer to you to rest her head on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “Hopefully this’ll get her mind off of a real cat for a bit.”

“Of course,” you say. “It’s nice to see her this happy. It’s been so long, and she’s so big now.”

“Mhm. It really does pass by in a blink,” she says. “I’ve missed you.”

You smile. “I missed you too. Billy’s cancelling rehearsal tomorrow, do you want to go out for lunch? Just us this time, no one else. I’m sure Billy can watch over Julia.”

She looks up at you, her smile even bigger than yours, though you didn’t think that was possible. “I’d love that,” she says earnestly.

You’d only be in New York for three days after Camila’s initial arrival, with the concert on the final night before leaving to Portland, Maine, the morning after. That’s when Camila would take Julia back to Pittsburgh and you’d have to say your goodbyes. You and Camila agreed to have lunch together each day, with breakfast in the morning right before you have to part ways. You thought you’d be able to do it, that you’d get to spend some time with her. And you did, for a bit. 

You had lunch together the first day, as promised, and you were planning to have lunch again, but it was like a switch flipped. Billy became Billy again. Not fully, of course; he’s still a bit softer around the edges than usual because of Julia’s constant presence around him, but it’s clear her impact on him has been diminishing as time passes. When she’s not there, he’s back to his old self. Demanding, snappy, exhaustion peeking through. When she is, he keeps his reprimands in whisper-yells for when she’s distracted and you’re far enough away.

Needless to say, it’s getting to everyone. You told yourself it wouldn’t get to you but it has anyway. You’ve become short with everyone, Billy especially, but you can’t stop yourself from snapping at everyone else too. You went to breakfast with Camila and cancelled on her, barely giving her an explanation when she asks why. You can’t bring yourself to apologize, no matter how desperately you want to, instead just replaying the events of yesterday morning over and over again in your head. 

“I can’t have lunch today,” you say apologetically. “Billy’s making us do an extra rehearsal to make up the one we missed yesterday because he gave us a day off.”

“Can’t you tell him you have plans? He’ll probably let you off if he knows they’re with me,” she says.

You scoff. “Just because you’re his ex-wife doesn’t mean you get that many privileges,” you say, stabbing at your French toast with a bit more force than necessary.

“Excuse me?” A frown spreads across her face, and you feel a little pang in your chest. You never wanted to make her upset, you just couldn’t help it. Your mouth has always been too fast for your head, and it only got worse whenever you were upset.

“What?” you ask. “We all know he only gets soft because of Julia. Maybe if I told him I had a playdate with her then he’d let me off, but you’re just his ex. Maybe an ex he’s still hung up on, but he doesn’t miss you enough to let me off the hook from rehearsal just so we can go to happy hour and drink mimosas.” You cringe internally at your bitter tone. It’s never been intended for her, your anger is always at Billy and occasionally Eddie, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from redirecting it to whoever’s closest.

The rest of the band is used to it. Daisy, Karen, Graham, and Warren don’t take it seriously, they know you don’t mean it. They just leave you alone for a bit until you cool off, you apologize, hug it out, and everything is fine. But Camila isn’t apart of the band, she hasn’t been around you when you get like this, she doesn’t know that you don’t agree with the words that come out of your mouth. She just thinks you mean it. 

Her lips press together, as if she’s trying to not cry. She stands up abruptly, her chair making an ugly scraping noise against the restaurant tiles. Without another word, she just turns to leave. You want to call her back but your words get stuck in your throat. You’re left there alone with two plates of unfinished food and a tab to pay off yourself.

Billy should probably feel bad for being so harsh on everyone, but he wants the show to be perfect. This would be the first concert Julia would get to see and he wanted his daughter to see her dad in action. He’ll apologize after, on the road to Maine; if he remembers to apologize that is. Right now, the band is the farthest thing on his mind as he plays with Julia in his hotel room. 

He’s got a stuffed bear in his hands, puppeting around as he chases the new stuffed cat that you had gifted Julia the other day. Julia giggles as he makes the bear roar and then pounce on the cat, her laughter turning into squeals of delight as Billy drops the bear to start tickling her. When she starts pushing his hands away, he stops, pulling her close instead.

The two lay there for a bit, with some labored breathing from Julia due to the tickle fight, Billy just enjoying the time he gets to have with his daughter. He’s excited for when she’s older and she can come on tour with him properly, so they won’t have to be so far apart, but he’s still incredibly grateful he still gets to see her grow up despite not living with her mother anymore. 

The silence is broken when Julia peers up at Billy and states “Mama and other Mama are fighting. I think.”

“Other Mama?” His brows furrow in confusion. “Who is other Mama? Daisy?” He and Daisy have been close since the divorce between him and Camila was settled and they agreed to stay on good terms, but they haven’t put a label on it quite yet. He knows Julia loves Daisy, but for her to be other Mama might be a step too far.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not Daisy Jones. Other Mama. Uhhh…” she thinks for a moment, then holds up the stuffed cat. “This!”

“The woman who gave you that?” he asks. 

She nods. “Yeah. She sends me and Mama gifts in the mail. And she writes Mama letters with hearts in them. And she and Mama hold hands like you and Daisy Jones.”

Billy isn’t shocked by this news. He’s oblivious to a lot of things, and isn’t the smartest guy in the world, but he knew there was something going on between the two of you. He’s not quite sure how it works with two girls, or what it would mean for his and Camila’s co-parenting arrangement, or what it would mean for Julia, but he’s not against it. 

Sure it’s odd to see his ex-wife with another woman, but surely she feels the same seeing him with Daisy, and those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Really, he’s not even sure if you and Camila have made anything official, or if you’re in a weird grey area like him and Daisy. Whatever’s going on between the two of you, if Julia notices something wrong then the two of you definitely need help. Maybe not from him, but he thinks he should give it a shot anyway.

“Why do you think they’re fighting?” he asks.

“‘Cuz Mama came home from breakfast all sad yesterday. And when I asked her what’s wrong, she said she had a fight with someone. And when I saw other Mama when you and Daisy Jones and Uncle Graham and Uncle Eddie and Uncle Warren and Auntie Karen are practicing, she said hi to me but didn’t say hi to Mama. And Mama wouldn’t let me talk to other Mama.”

Billy blinks a few times, struggling a bit to keep up with her storytelling, but manages to figure it out. “Do you want me to do something about it?” he asks.

“Maybe. I don’t like seeing Mama and other Mama sad. They were happy together.”

“How about I take you to go out with your mama and Aunt Karen and I’ll go talk to… other Mama.” 

Julia’s face lights up and she nods eagerly. “Yes! Auntie Karen always buys me candy!”

Billy huffs a laugh, getting up out of bed to put shoes on and get Julia in her coat. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best, alright?”

She nods again. “Okay!”

You’re curled in bed, an untouched cold sandwich on the nightstand. You tried to eat lunch but didn’t have much of an appetite. Maybe you should just sleep, set the alarm clock on the nightstand for 5:45, before you have to leave for a last minute rehearsal and soundcheck before the concert. 

Your plans to sleep and possibly never wake up are interrupted, however, by a knock at the door. With an annoyed grumble, you stand to answer it, prepared to tell whoever is on the other side to go away. When you see that it’s no one else but the main target of your loathing, Billy Dunne himself. 

You’re about to slam the door in his face and he seems to sense it as he sticks his foot in the doorframe and says “You need to fix things with Camila.” It’s a sentence so bizarre that it genuinely causes you to pause in your tracks.

“What?” you ask, blinking at him.

“Can I come in?”

You hesitate, thinking that nothing good could come from you and Billy, probably two of the most hotheaded people in The Six, being in a room together without anyone to mediate. You step aside to let him in anyway, your curiosity and confusion taking over. 

“You need to fix things with Camila,” he says again as soon as you shut the door. “Something is clearly going on between the two of you and it’s not anything good.”

“There’s nothing going on between us—”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” he says sharply. “Even Julia knows it. She’s the one that told me the two of you are fighting. She doesn’t know why but wants me to fix it.”

“So that’s why you’re here then? Because of your daughter.”

“Partially. I told her I’d try and figure our why you and Cami are fighting, but it’s also because…” it’s his turn to hesitate now.

“Because?”

“I still care a lot for Camila. Of course I do. We were together for a while and it was great, we have a daughter together. Sure, we couldn’t make a marriage work, but I still love her. Maybe not as a wife anymore but as a friend. Sure, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to keeping women happy, but I know what it looks like when relationships go to shit because of work and the band.”

“You do realize that that’s your fault,” you say bitterly.

He huffs but admits defeat. “Yeah. And I’m sorry for pushing so hard, and I should probably apologize to the rest of the band too, but that’s not the point here. The point is that Camila’s been hurt a lot in the past. I should know, I’m the one that hurt her. I’m so lucky that her and I are on good terms now, butI don’t think we were ever meant to be together. You are her are. You need to fix things with her before she gets hurt again because she doesn’t deserve something like that happening to her twice.”

“And you don’t care that we’re both women? That Julia might end up with three moms?”

Billy pauses, giving you an odd look. “Three?”

“Daisy,” you say simply. 

“Daisy… I don’t know what’s happening with me and Daisy. She’s not what we’re talking about right now, and neither is Julia. Right now the important thing is that Cami is happy and that you’re the person that makes her happy. I couldn’t give her what she wanted, I couldn’t give her what she needed, unless you count a daughter. But I’ve seen the two of you together, I hear the way Julia talks about you. She compared you and Cami to me and Daisy, she called you her other mama when Daisy is still just Daisy. Both of them love you and I’m sure you love them, don’t you?”

You sigh, back pressing against the closed door and head tilting back to thump against it. “When did you get so wise, Billy?”

“Since my four year old daughter’s knocked some sense into me,” he says with a laugh. 

“I’ll go talk to Camila,” you say. “Is she in her room?”

“She took Julia out with Karen earlier but I think they should be coming back about now.”

You nod, removing yourself from the wall to tug on your shoes. “You really think we can make it work?” you ask.

“I think she really does love you. And if she knows you love her too, you could make anything work.”

She wasn’t there. Either that or she was ignoring you when you knocked, but if she were there you would’ve heard Julia from behind the door. You waited. Maybe she’d come back and you’d catch her in the hallway, then you could apologize and tell her how you feel. She didn’t come back soon enough, though, and you had to go or you’d be late for soundcheck. Despite Billy actually acting like a friend earlier, you knew it was only temporary, and being late would only get you an earful from him.

So you left. 

You go through a quick rehearsal of your more difficult songs, make sure everything sounds okay, and the show starts. It ends just as quickly, the concert goes by in a blur, you hardly remember any of it. The sounds of the fans cheering are muffled, as if there’s cotton stuffed in your ears. Your fingers dance over the strings of your bass with practiced ease, but it’s all just muscle memory; your heart isn’t in it.

You know everyone can tell; even Eddie leaned over between songs and asked if you wanted him to take over bass for a bit. You just shake your head in response, wanting to see the show through. As you play, your eyes keep scanning the crowd. It’s a stadium, packed with hundreds, if not thousands, of people, but you could spot her from a mile away. 

It doesn’t matter how many people are around, it’s like she’s a beacon. A magnet, always pulling you closer and closer. Being apart from Camila makes you feel as if a part of you is missing, and it’s worse now that you’re fighting. You see her right by the barricade, Julia in her arms. The small girl has headphones over her ears and stars in her eyes as she cheers for her dad and Daisy. As you watch her and Camila, Julia locks eyes with you and her whole face lights up as she waves. 

You smile, briefly pausing your playing to wave back, your eyes drifting up to Camila as you do so. You know she’s avoiding your gaze, her eyes are fixed pointedly on Daisy and Billy singing together in the front. You try and hide your wince, instead just redirecting your attention back to Julia, who’s clapping along and squealing and cheering. Your head clears a bit, your energy and love for the music returning. Even if Cami won’t look at you, Julia will. You’ll play for her, make this the best concert she’ll ever go to. 

For a brief second, a thought flashes through your head. That maybe this is why Billy was so harsh lately. This is the first of his concerts that his daughter will see. His daughter, who he clearly cares about a lot. He wanted the show to be perfect for her, of course he did. And though Julia isn’t yours, you want the same. It’s weird to feel a sort of kinship with Billy Dunne of all people, but you get it. You know that if you were him, you’d be the same way. 

As soon as the show is over, you’re off. You don’t stay for the encore, instead just bequeathing your bass to Eddie, who glances over to where Camila is leaving to take a sleepy Julia back to the hotel, and nods in understanding. You race to the front of the venue, trying to catch Camila before she can catch a cab, and you finally manage to do so. 

Julia isn’t quite asleep yet and immediately brightens up when she sees you, reaching out for you to hold her as she calls out your name. You oblige, taking her from Camila’s arms and gently pinching her cheek.

“Did you like the show?” you ask.

“Yeah!” she says with an eager nod. “I wan’-ed to learn guitar like Daddy, but now I wanna learn the one with four strings that you play! And I wanna sing like Daisy Jones!”

“You’re going to be better than all of us one day,” you say. “Give The Six a run for our money.”

Julia giggles, resting her head on your shoulder as the excitement from seeing you wears off again and sleep makes its return. 

You look up at Camila, who is watching the two of you with weary eyes. “Can we talk?” you ask softly.

Her lips press together for a second before she responds, hailing a cab over. “After I put Julia to bed.”

The drive back to the hotel is tense, the two of you staying uncomfortably silent to not wake Julia, who’s been returned to her mother’s arms. When you finally arrive at the hotel, taking the elevator up to the floor the band’s claimed for yourselves, you watch as Camila changes her daughter into her pajamas and tucks her into bed with a kiss on her forehead before tugging you into the bathroom so you can talk without waking Julia. 

“What?” she asks, tone quiet but still sharp.

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaning back against the closed door. “For being such a bitch to you the other day. And for not apologizing sooner. And for needing Billy to knock some sense into me before I finally got the nerves to talk to you. It’s hard for me to control my anger sometimes and it gets worse during tour because of the band and everything but that’s absolutely no excuse because you didn’t do anything.” You pause, as if you expect a response, but continue talking when you get nothing. “You didn’t deserve my anger. And I honestly don’t think I deserve your forgiveness but I’m asking for it anyway because…” your words trail off as you start chewing on your bottom lip. 

“Because?” She looks at you expectantly, her gaze nearly withering. 

“Because I love you,” you say. “I love you in a way that we’re not allowed to love. I love you in the way a man is supposed to love a woman, and I know you don’t love me back in that way—”

“When did I ever say that?” she asks, cutting you off. “I care for you a lot. And I see the way you are with Julia and she adores you. I’ve never really thought of the possibility of me liking women but with you… with you I don’t have to think about it. It comes so easily when I’m with you. And I really thought that that was how you felt too until you… snapped at me for no reason. I didn’t understand why or what happened, I thought you loved me—”

“I do—”

“If you loved me then you wouldn’t have done that!”

“I know!” you say, taking a step closer to her. “I know and I’m sorry. But I can’t change the past, Cami. What I can do, though, is make sure we still have a future. I want to have a future with you. No matter how difficult it’ll be, even if I have to see a shrink or something for my anger, I’ll do it because I love you. Please, Camila. I love you. And I love Julia. I want to be there for the both of you, but you need to let me try.”

She looks down at the floor, avoiding your gaze. You catch the glint of tears in her eyes, though, and know it’s because she’s trying to not cry. “I love you,” she says after a few seconds of silence that feels like hours. “But I don’t want to get hurt again.” You know she’s not just talking about you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. All I want is to love you and to make you happy. Will you let me try?” you ask. 

Camila looks back up at you, tears streaming down her face despite her efforts. “Yes.”

You let out a noise that’s between a sob and laughter. “Really?”

“Really,” she says, a breathless laugh escaping her lips. “You… you make me happy. And I don’t want to lose you.”

You move forward again, taking her into your arms. “I love you so much, Camila Alvarez,” you say softly. “And I promise I will try to become a better woman, for you and for your daughter.”

“I love you too,” she says, and you know that this will be your forever. That she is your forever.

a/n: boy wdym over 4k words what possessed me 😦 i love yuri!!! anyway this is literally not edited whatsoever bc i was not going to edit 4k words so sorry if there are like 50 typos and a million run on sentences

You weren’t mad at all. Nope, nope. You were completely fine.

You opened the bottle of vodka on your coffee table and basically downed half of it in seconds.

Okay, maybe you were a little upset.

One glance at the magazine that lay on your coffee table made you take another large gulp of the vodka you were holding.

DAISY JONES & BILLY DUNNE? AFFAIR IN THE WORKS?

With a huff, you put down the vodka bottle, a little too hard, but grab the magazine and glare at it one more time before ripping it up.

She wanted to move on that fast? Well, okay, she can. But not without you biting back.

You stormed over to the phone and immediately called Teddy Price, who, funnily enough, was also the producer for Daisy’s band. No, you were not going to think about her when she clearly moved on from you that fast.

She doesn’t deserve to be on your mind.

Teddy picks up on the third ring, and you don’t give him a chance to even scold you for how late it is and how he needed to sleep.

“Can you book me in the studio in the morning?” You said, your voice slightly slurred - the vodka wasn’t the only thing you’ve drunk since you saw the article.

There was silence on the other side, and then he said your name and spoke again.

“Are you drunk?”

“So, what if I am?” You said moodily, grabbing a beer that you had abandoned hours earlier. “I wanna get into the studio as soon as possible.”

With a sigh and a beat of silence, Teddy takes a moment before giving you another sigh.

“Be there at nine.”

You beamed as you hung up, not giving the poor man another word as you finished the beer, and then grabbed your notebook with the half-written lyrics you had started until you had gotten the article from your roommate.

You didn’t waste any time and began writing down, and despite being drunk, it was pretty legible for a song, and that was all you cared for. You might be overreacting, but you've always learned from the best that the best way to get your emotions out is to write them down.

And you didn’t even care if she heard this or not.

When you came to the studio at exactly nine in the morning, taking multiple headache pills and downing them in a glass of water that Tony had given you when he had noticed your state.

“Well,” Teddy said, walking in behind you. “What was so important that you wanted to get here as soon as possible?”

All you did was hand Teddy your notebook, and it took him a minute to get the slightly messy writing down, but then he chuckled.

“You sure?” He asked, giving you a knowing look.

“I don’t care if she hears.” You said simply, grabbing the headphones. “I want this out. I want them to hear what I have to say.”

Teddy usually wasn’t a fan of drama between his artists, but he had to admit, it was a damn good song.

So, you were in the booth within five minutes and were already starting to sing, and you had to admit, you had let all your anger out for this, anger that you’ve held ever since you saw it.

The article title DAISY JONES & BILLY DUNNE? AFFAIR IN THE WORKS? kept ringing in your head, which only made you angrier, and which only made you sing the best you ever had in your opinion. 

Though you didn’t realize who was listening from the door.

“Daisy, come on,” Billy said, looking annoyed. “What’s got you standing here?”

“It’s her,” Daisy said, leaning closer to the door. “She’s here.”

“And?”

“I missed her voice,” Daisy said, looking rather forlorn.

But then, Billy’s ears perked up, and his eyes slightly widened as he heard the lyrics from the other side of the door.

“Remember when you swore to God I was the only

Person who ever got you? Well, screw that and screw you

You will never have to hurt the way you know that I do!”

“Daisy…” Billy said, looking towards the redhead. “I think she’s-”

“Shut up!” Daisy hissed, not caring about Billy trying to pull her away, or when Karen came over to get her into the studio.

“Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy

Not me, if you ever cared to ask

Good for you, you're doing great out there without me, baby

God, I wish that I could do that!”

Daisy didn’t leave her place, not even when Billy or Karen tried to say something. She just missed your voice.

She regrets the way things ended, how bad it was, and how depressed she was for weeks. She wanted you back, but she didn’t want to look like an obsessed ex. So, she tried to move on.

But no matter what, she wanted you.

“Daisy, she’s singing about you!” Billy finally said, making Daisy snap out of it and look at him.

“No, no, she’s not.” Daisy denied, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t do that, my girl wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, she’s not your girl anymore,” Billy said, giving her a look. “And I can’t believe that I’m the one saying this, but this is just sad.”

Daisy gave Billy a glowering look.

“Shut up, you don’t know anything about her and me!” She said defensively, folding her arms and pouting like a petulant child.

‘Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy

Not me, if you ever cared to ask

Good for you, you're doing great out there without me, baby!

Like a damn sociopath!”

Billy only gestured to the door as the lyrics kept going, giving her a glowering look back.

“She’s singing about you!” Billy snapped, looking at the others who stood there. “C’mon, guys, I’m not the only one reaching out here!”

Karen did give a noncommittal shrug. “I mean, it’s not just a coincidence that she’s here today, just hours after that stupid article came out.”

“But Billy and I aren’t having an affair!” Daisy protested, looking more and more upset.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that,” Eddie piped up, giving her a look. “Women…”

Karen punched his shoulder at the muttered words. “Ignore him. But he’s right, she doesn’t know that you and Billy aren’t having an affair.”

Daisy went fully silent at that, and she looked at the door once again.

“I…but she wouldn’t…” Daisy tried again, looking heartbroken.

“Let’s go,” Billy said, tilting his head towards their studio. “Just leave her be, Daisy.”

The rest of the band nodded and started to walk away. But Daisy hesitated and let the others walk away, looking at the door where your voice rang out.

She missed you so much. She didn’t want things to end the way they did. But you seemed angry enough to write a song about her. With a sigh, she hesitated to follow the others, but then, she did something risky.

She grabbed the door handle, and she quietly opened the door.

She just wanted to see you.

See you one last time.

When she poked her head in, it wasn’t long until your eyes met.

She gave you a smile, but you only gave her narrowed eyes. It seemed to break the last bit of hope that she had of getting you back. 

With another smile, albeit sad, she watched as you put your heart and soul into the song, but she didn’t miss the way you watched her and sang the words, as if you were directly saying them to her.

“I've lost my mind, I've spent the night

Crying on the floor of my bathroom

But you're so unaffected, I really don't get it

But I guess good for you!”

Daisy shut the door after that, and her eyes slightly watered as you finished the song with the words that only broke her more before she walked away to join the others.

“Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ daisy jones taglist: @sincerelystarry, @allisluv, @roses-tired, @daisyjonesgf, @emdure, @therealbillystebbins

Nightmares weren’t a new thing to Daisy. She’d had her fair share of them throughout her life, starting when she was a child. 

Back then, it was usually about monsters hiding under her bed and clowns chasing after her. She’d wake up panting, already crying, frantically clutching her stuffed animals for protection as she knew her parents wouldn’t do anything. As she got older, her nightmares became more personal. She’d dream about losing her loved ones and losing the band and dying alone with nothing to her name. It was different in other ways too. After a nightmare, Daisy would walk through the corridor, holding her bunny plushie for company, until she reached Billy and Camilla’s bedroom. She’d stand in the doorway till Camilla woke up, having a natural sense for her presence. 

Camilla made her feel better, tailoring to her every need. If Daisy couldn’t fall back asleep, she’d bring her to the living room and sit with her, watching cartoons and drinking hot chocolate until her eyes eventually closed. Otherwise, Daisy lay in between them, soaking up the extra warmth. Camilla would run her hands through her hair and whisper gentle reminders into her ear to get her to fall back asleep, forgetting all about her bad dream. 

She felt so safe lying in her arms, hearing Camilla’s heartbeat against her ear.

As a child, Daisy used to dream about feeling safe one day, as she tiptoed through her childhood house knowing if she made even a slight noise she would get screamed at. It’s how she used to fall asleep. She’d dream of an older, confident Margaret  Daisy. Someone who lived in a big house with people who loved her and didn’t live in fear in her own home.

She had those things now, and she promised herself to never take it for granted. People could leave as quickly as they came.

Sometimes, even now, she felt herself waiting. Waiting for Camilla to get fed up with her, leaving her on her own again.

She anticipated that one day, she’d search for her, and she wouldn’t be able to find her. That she’d just be another face in the crowd, someone who could say they knew the great Daisy Jones.

Daisy looked everywhere; at her house, at the beach, in supermarkets and cinemas and every house she could think of. She walked for miles, calling her name, but she was gone. She was nowhere, disappeared without a trace, too far away for her grasp. Just another face in the crowd.

Daisy woke up shaking, sweat lining her entire skin. She gulped a breath of air, but quickly coughed and spluttered it back out. She gripped her neck as she forced herself to breathe. In and out. Just like Camilla taught her. 

It wasn’t real. It was just a nightmare.

She wrapped her bunnie in her arms, tightly pressing her to her chest as her breathing slowed. She wiped the tears that had fallen away, using her bunnie’s fur. 

The first thing Daisy noticed was the loud, booming music she could hear from outside her room, and the unfamiliar voices laughing and chatting. None of the voices sounded like Camilla.

The next thing she noticed was that she was still crying. More tears had accumulated on her cheeks now, and they didn’t seem to be stopping.

She had two decisions: stay crying in her room feeling nothing but terrified or search for Camilla. 

She hesitated at first, but soon ripped the covers off her and left her bedroom with Bunnie.

She winced as she opened the door, being met with the bright, fluorescent lights. She padded through the corridor and stumbled down the stairs till the music was so loud it hurt. She was met with a crowd of people, taking up the whole kitchen and living room. She watched as strangers danced with one another and chugged beer from plastic cups. It was then that she remembered the night's previous events.

She remembered Camilla tucking her into bed earlier than usual because there was going to be a party. She remembered she was wearing her most fanciest dress and perfume that smelled like roses.

Looking around now, she couldn’t spot the fancy dress or her long, brown hair anywhere. Daisy faltered, clueless as to where she could be. She anxiously tried to filter through the crowds of people but she felt like a baby deer with her shaky legs. Her mission to find Camilla came to a halt when she bumped into someone.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” the man shouted angrily, before his eyes widened. “No fucking way. Daisy Jones? Hah! My kids love you, can I get your autograph!”

Daisy blinked up at him, frozen in place, not entirely sure what this random man wanted. He eagerly handed her a pen and paper, so Daisy scribbled a few incoherent lines to get him to leave her alone.

“Yo cheers! My kids are gonna love this!”

“Have you seen Milla?” she asked, fiddling with Bunnie, but he’d already gone.

Daisy sighed, but continued her journey. 

She looked through the swarm of people and was thoroughly convinced Camilla wasn’t here, so she made her way outside. 

If she thought inside was bad, outside was even worse. She didn’t even think she’d met this many people in her whole life. At least this time, when she looked out to the crowd of people, she saw a familiar face.

Graham spotted her at the same time she spotted him, and he made her way over.

“Daisy!” he greeted, voice high pitched, “what are you doing up so late!”

“Had bad dream. Tryna find Milla.”

“Ahh I think I saw her here somewhere. She was handing out drinks last time I checked. I’ll go help you look,” he offered.

Daisy went back inside the house, now holding Graham’s hand that wasn’t holding Bunnie. He led her to the end of the living room so they could see the whole downstairs.

“I swear I saw her—”

Graham was cut off by the room becoming completely pitch black. The sound of the music was replaced with gasps and shouts. Daisy stood still and powerless, tears reappearing in her eyes, clueless to what was going on. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t find Camilla and who all these people were and why they were in her house and everything felt so big she didn’t understand it. Graham’s hand was no longer in hers, so she was completely, utterly alone.

Her knees buckled, her body slamming onto the floor. She buried her head in between her knees, her cries turning into sobs. Camilla was really gone. It wasn’t just a nightmare, she really had abandoned her. Bunnie was the only thing she had left. She rocked back and forth as a means to self soothe. She had no other choice but to soothe herself. She was stupid to think Camilla was any different. Everyone leaves in the end.

The lights flicked on, causing an eruption of cheers. Daisy's head shot up, taking in her surroundings now. 

There were significantly less people now, with just a few clusters left. Looking out at the crowd of people, she saw her.

There in all her glory was Camilla, still in her pretty dress, smiling at the group of people she was currently talking to. Daisy had always admired how she could speak so effortlessly. She had the ability to light up the whole room, to which Daisy usually did the opposite. 

Daisy watched the moment Camilla spotted her, making eye contact from across the room. She immediately excused herself and crossed the room.

“Daisy! I had no idea you were up, how long have you been sitting here for?” Camilla asked, sitting next to her on the floor.

Daisy sniffed. “I've been trying to find you for ages but you were nowhere. I found you'd left me.”

She curled into herself, not yet feeling the relief of that statement not being true.

“Oh, bub. I'm so sorry darling I had no idea you were awake. I would never leave you. Did you have a bad dream?” She cooed.

Daisy nodded.

Camilla rubbed soothing circles against her cheek. 

“You nd Billy nd everyone had jus gone,” she frowned.

“That must've been so scary. You're so brave for coming to find me.”

Daisy leaped into Camilla's lap, shaking as she wrapped her arms tightly around her. Camilla held her tighter, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head. 

Billy appeared after a few minutes of lying in Camilla's grasp.

“Is she alright?” Billy asked, concern present in his voice.

“She'll be okay. Do me a favour and get the last few people out.”

“‘Course.”

The two of them stayed there until everyone had filtered out, leaving just the band. Daisy had started to doze off in her lap.

“I'm sorry to wake you sweetheart but I think it's best if we move to somewhere comfier, don't you think?”

Daisy groaned, but complied, standing up with Camilla's help.

They made their way to Camilla's bedroom. Daisy automatically took her spot in the bed that she'd claimed as her own. Camilla laid down next to her, tucking her and Daisy under the covers.

“Don't leave,” Daisy whispered, clutching onto her like she'd disappear at any moment.

“I'm not going anywhere, baby. I promise,” she assured, bundling her up in blankets. 

Daisy's thumb entered her mouth, a gesture that she only did when completely relaxed. She let Bunnie fall from her arms as she drifted out of consciousness, no longer needing anything to protect her.