Louis feels the familiar queasy feeling these meetings always leave in the pit of his stomach. "Engagement," he mutters with a thinly veiled hint of bitterness, the word leaving a vile taste in his mouth. "We're talking about a low-brow awards banquet, Sadie. We've been doing this for half our lives at this point. Surely this vacuum is a bit worn out by now."
"On the contrary, Louis," she counters, looking directly at him. "The vacuum, as you call it, is your most valuable asset. This iced out, no contact narrative, it's what keeps the fans dissecting every lyric, every interview, and keeps you both trending on socials. Frankly, it sells. Tickets, magazines and merch, it all skyrockets when we build it up. We need to lean into the illusion of distance. We want frosty looks and cold shoulders. If the press asks about the other, the answer is a polite, empty pivot. You aren't friends, aren't enemies. You're simply… nothing. Just two individuals existing in the same industry on completely independent trajectories, no reason for your worlds to overlap."
Written for the song The Spark and @howdidigethereficfest