Out, for the public, you were going to be a loving couple, that much was settled. Being your corny fake selves was the only way to change people's perceptions about the both of you, according to Sam and Carlos. The romantic walks in the park at sunset and the midnight dates in the city were written in stone. What was left in that department was only to come up with more cliché moments to perform, and to warm up your abilities as an actress.

At a private level, Warren was almost a mystery to you, and plans on how to approach him were uncertain. Of course, you knew about his reputation — volatile, dangerous, bratty. You weren't scared of him, but if the rumors were true and he was a piece of work, you couldn't let him break loose and ruin your hope at redemption on one of his whims. After realising that, what followed was clear: you simply needed to be the boss of him.

To be certain that you would gain control of Warren Peace indefinitely, you decided that when you met him, the first thing to be done was for you to put a leash on him. Assertiveness and dominance, that was the plan. For that, you couldn't allow for your first encounter to be in his turf, so you had Sam push for it to be held at your place. You hoped that the familiarity and comfort of your home and record store would help you muster up the courage you needed to be confident, and even a bit threatening, if the situation demanded it. 

The program for the day, in your mind, was firstly for him to dress incognito to get to your place — a simple request that would already have him complying with your demands before he even stepped a foot at your record store. From then on, the idea was to make him feel smaller through the little things. He was going to be seated at the smallest one of your mismatched armchairs in your living room, the one that would have him at a lower eye level than everyone else. The coffee you would serve him would have no sugar in it, which was going to force him to ask you for the sugar sitting on the other side of the coffee table — you conceitedly hoped he said please, but the action would still be satisfying even if he didn't beg. The plan was also to take charge of most of the planning during the first team meeting, that way a precedent would be set in your favor. It was all simple, and yet so crucial.

Eventually, you would come to realise that making any efforts of planning ahead and strategising were futile, because sadly, Warren had free will. It couldn't be said that you hadn't tried — you had, with all your effort, built predisposition within yourself to succeed. Even so, all that focus came crumbling down once he knocked at your doorstep. 

The image of him was already plaguing your mind even before you saw him in person — Warren had been photographed by fans at your city before he had even made it to your street. Apparently, he had discarded the idea of dressing incognito. Instead, he had opted for wearing an old leather jacket and dark blue jeans, with a vintage Soundgarden tee underneath. 

His clothes were simple, but so inherently him that he stood out on the street amongst other pedestrians dressed in more produced outfits. His long wavy hair brushed his shoulders as he walked, and the picture was captured just as a gentle gush of wind caressed some strands out of his face. The fans were blabbering over him on the internet and making him viral for his “effortlessly alluring aura” while you cursed at the image of him on your phone. 

He had left you and your efforts for secrecy pathetically discarded without even having to speak a single word your way. You had wanted his perception of you to be based in obedience and even a bit of fear, but there he was, savoring the initial victory and dominion that you had so craved to hold over him.

“This guy.” you grumbled to Sam as you put away your cellphone. “He's already ruining things and they haven't even started.”

“Calm down, I don't want you starting anything on the first day.” She warned. “Besides, plenty of other musicians live in this city, no one would suspect that he's here to meet you. In fact, they may not even make the connection. Fans might just think he's hanging out here by himself.”

“With his manager?” You arched a dubious brow. “Carlos is in the picture too.”

“Well, people aren't even focusing on that. They're too busy discussing how hot Warren looks.” Sam shrugged, and you rolled your eyes.

“He doesn't even look that hot.” You mumbled, just as someone knocked at the door of the record store. Taking one deep breath, you put on your best face and walked over to open it, leaving Sam a few steps behind you.

“Welcome to Rewind Records” is what you intended to say in your most charming, playful tone, to ease into the conversation with the two men at the other side of the door. Instead, when you opened the door, your words were replaced by Warren's and his stomping as he walked past you without even sparing a glance at you. Inside the store, he removed his sunglasses nonchalantly while scanning your store with a subtle but irksome air of disdain.

“Let's get this over with.” He huffed and ignored your incredulous, offended gasp, as if you weren't doing him a huge favor by agreeing to be his fake girlfriend.

A rude comment was slipping out of your mouth when Carlos interjected quickly with his calming voice. He was kind enough to actually greet you at the door that you were holding open, but by then you were too riled up to return his efforts.

“It was so nice of you to invite us. We couldn't be more honored by the privilege.” Carlos recited charmingly as he closed the door you abandoned to instead trail Warren's steps inside the store. You halted, frowning, by Sam's side.

“The pleasure is ours.” She replied quickly after one glance at your blatant displeasure, lest you used the silence to tell them both to fuck off. “How'd you find the journey? Maxville is pretty far from here, but I'm sure it will all be worth it by the end of the night.”

“Yeah, cause this is gonna be thrilling, and the five hours it took us to get here I can get back anytime.” Warren's sarcasm pierced sourly through all the niceties. “You asked us to agree to this ridiculous “scheme”, as you call it, and you can't even travel to meet us somewhere neutral?”

The sharp scoff you let out snapped you out of your quiet annoyance. “Oh, right. I forgot. We should be kissing the ground you walk on. What a blessing it is to have Warren Peace spare some of his time and effort for us!” You mocked, forgetting about all your subtle threatening tactics and opting for a dramatic complaint instead. Warren turned from where he was eyeing some of the records in the stands by the walls and locked eyes with you for the first time. You didn't let his dark eyes threaten you. “Listen to me, you dickhead. You either take this shit seriously from minute one, or you can walk right back out that door and spare everyone all this trouble.”

There was a brief heavy pause from him. His eyes narrowed with sharp animosity, and without a word, Warren took quick, decisive steps forward. For a second as he approached your general direction, you were reminded of his volatility. The last headline you had read of him was about how he sucker-punched his own fan. You quickly wondered if he would be willing to hurt you too because of your sharp words. A twist in your stomach tugged and dulled your antagonistic attitude. Then, as quickly as your dubious thoughts came, they vanished. Warren strutted right past you with the bitter air of a feral street cat — sharp, but practically harmless.

Carlos muttered a quick plea for him to stay, but as Warren opened the door, you chuckled dryly and, with renewed smugness, said, “Thought so. Too proud and spoiled to stay.” 

That's what made him halt. With his hand on the doorknob and a foot practically out the door, his shoulders tensed stubbornly and he turned around to glare at you. “That's what you want, huh? To watch me leave and make me ruin my chances at using this to fix my image.” He gestured between you two. 

“W-” A slam of the door interrupted your response, and you watched as he walked right back to you, stopping only a few steps away with a downward glare your way. With a scoff at his interruption, you continued with a sarcastic tone. “Yeah, cause all I do revolves around you. In fact, even before I met you, somehow, it's all been thoughts of you.” You held his gaze sharply. “That's what you think everyone does all the time, don't you? Think of you, you, and you.”

“I don't know about everyone, but I know that it was you who begged me to date you…so there's at least one person for whom that's true.” He smirked at you with derision. 

“It wasn't me who struck this deal.” You defended quickly and with offense. “It was all Sam.” You gestured at her, who was glancing between you two while silently wondering whether her plans were too unfit for the pair in front of her. “I don't want you.”

“Whatever you say, Grudge.” Warren rolled his eyes, not believing a single one of your words.

“I have a name, you know.” Your reply came with a disdainful grimace, wondering if he was truly stupid or just plain unfunny. “Grudges is a band, I'm just the singer.”

“Don't care. I might just call you prickly, that suits you more.” He mocked you. 

Before you could lower yourself even more to reply to his comment in an equally childish manner, Sam cut you off. “I think it's time we move this upstairs. Prickly here makes a mean coffee, maybe that will liven us all up.” She used Warren's bratty nickname for you with charismatic playfulness, hoping some humour might calm the storm she saw brewing behind your eyes.

“Thank you, Sam. That sounds just like what we need.” Carlos followed her after chuckling good-mannerly, and not before patting Warren on the arm, silently urging him to behave. The younger man just rolled his eyes and followed the two of them up the stairs leading to your living quarters. Flipping him off while his back was to you, you followed suit.

“Oh, this is a lovely place you got here, I gotta say.” Carlos complimented you as soon as you led them through the small foyer past the stairs and into your living room. His smooth earnestness helped placate your mood ever so slightly. 

“Thanks. I like to think so myself.” You joked, gesturing for Warren to take the smallest one of the armchairs arranged around a small coffee table, the one seat under the glow of a floor lamp. Walking past you and your silent gesturing, he opted for the one next to it, the farthest one from the light. There went your interrogation room composition. 

“You seem very tied to your work, living right above your store.” Carlos kept the conversation going as he took a seat next to Sam. Suppressing a grumble at the seating arrangement, you took the only available option — the stupid small armchair.

“She's a workaholic.” Sam embellished. “Very committed to her professional side.” Another overstatement.

A smile was what you gave Carlos, turning away from Warren in your seat to face his manager instead, deciding that the only way to be polite like you initially meant to be, was pretending that he wasn't there at all. “I just have an obsession with records. Sam calls it business, but honestly, this is just me shaping my obsession to look like I have a little empire instead of a hoarding problem.” You joked, making the older man chuckle.

“Warren loves collecting too.” He spoke for his boy like a dad whose kid is too moody to talk for himself. “His vinyl collection is impressive, you should see it sometime, whenever you swing by Maxville. We're all relocated there — the label, the band, Warren, and I, of course. I'm sure he'd be delighted to show you around.”

You grudgingly spared a dubious glance at Warren, who sighed as he sat back unconcernedly. “As long as I don't have to drive for five hours again, sure. You can come to my place.”

With a sharp movement, you turned your body his way and leaned on your armrest to frown at him. “Is this the attitude you're gonna have the whole time?”

“Maybe.” He challenged. “I actually thought that was a very polite one of mine. Why, did I upset you?” He mocked.

“This is what I get? A manchild who's too busy being bitter to cooperate?” you asked Sam.

“Warren.” Carlos warned, his polite expression taken over by unamusement.

“I will cooperate; when there's cameras around. Until then, I'm free to be myself.” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“If you can't be minimally agreeable during our planning sessions…seriously, let's just end this.” you gestured with disapproval. 

“What do you want from me, a fake smile and to make some small talk the way you are? Spare me. I didn't come here to exchange pleasantries over coffee — which you didn't even give us, by the way.” You gasped at his rudeness, as you were reminded of what had slipped your mind. “Whenever you wanna start talking business, then I'll join the conversation.”

“This is business, asshole. We're trying to get a grip on how to approach each other with civility, which will help to-”

“Stop calling me names.” Warren interrupted you. “So much for civility, prickly. Don't you think you should give what you wanna receive? Or does everyone always give you the princess treatment despite your shitty personality?”

“I'll be civil when you are.” You fumed.

“You first.” He grumbled.

“Jesus Christ!" Sam exclaimed over you two. Beside her, Carlos shook his head while running a hand down his face. “That's it. No more arguing!” Her wide eyes chastised you, and then Warren, forgetting the professional politeness she wanted to give “Mr. PR” in return for his cooperation. “Don't you two get it? You're doomed! Both of your careers are over if this doesn't work. No one cares about whether you like each other or not. You're gonna make this work regardless of that, and you have no say in it. So stick those attitudes up wherever you want and focus on making my fucking scheme work. I'm not losing my job over two dumbasses who don't like one another because they see themselves in each other.”

“We're nothing like the other.” you gasped, as Warren spoke over you with the same offended urgency.

“I would have to be deranged to see myself in her.” Warren glanced furtively your way.

The silence stretched as your minds raced. Mutually, you realised that truly, there were some similarities between your reputations, but the shared aspects stopped there. They had to. Otherwise, it would mean that you were no less than kindred spirits, and that was just preposterous. While glaring at each other, a new wave of sharp words formed in your heads, but it died before being uttered after a quick sharp grumble from Sam.

To put an end to the moment of tumultuous peace, Carlos put his hands together and decided that he could make the sullen silence work. “Alright. If you're done… Let's brainstorm. How can we make this happen?" 

Sam jumped in immediately. “Great, so, we did have some ideas, Carlos.” She dug into her bag for her planner. “A few initial dates out in the open would be great, something cute and practical, to let them get familiar with each other in a casual public setting. Hopefully, in a place that will let them get photographed. Walking the dog together, maybe? Or in the park at Maxville? I hear they give boat rides in the East Park lake.”

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds great.” Carlos nodded. “Maxville is going to hold an annual botanical fair in a few weeks, could that work, too?”

“Botanical? For local agronomists to sell their produce?” Sam questioned curiously.

“Yes, but it's for anyone to attend, really. The place's gonna be full of flowers and honey stands as well as fruit. My wife told me about it, she says lots of couples attend every year.”

“Oh, that's perfect, then. I'll make sure to look up the date and write it down on the schedule.” Sam scribbled away on her planner. 

You and Warren shared yet another look. This time, a disbelieving one, as if saying “can you believe these two? They're ignoring us and making plans on our behalf as if we weren't in the same room!”. Then, remembering your shared animosity, your eyes darted away as quickly as they had met.

“I was also thinking…” Sam continued, as she finished writing things down and went back a few pages on her agenda. “Long term. Something tangible. A little gift for the fans — they're gonna be shipping them like crazy, I just know it. They'd love to have something with both their faces on it.”

“Interesting.” Carlos scratched his stubble. “What do you have in mind? Do you mean like merchandising, or something like a shared ad? I know Vans were looking for ambassadors for a new line of shoes.”

“Oh, that sounds great — big. But at a smaller scale, I was thinking maybe a calendar?” Sam explained. “We can hold a photoshoot and take some couple-y shots for every month. We can do holidays, music inspired, February would be romantic, of course.”

Carlos nodded, delighted. “That could work. A complete rebrand.” He glanced at Warren and you, as if imagining the picture in his head — you two posing for the camera in full costume, recreating a scene of Bram Stoker's Dracula for October. Warren's long hair would help him pose as Gary Oldman, if he let himself be put in the position. “That could work… We could even make their worlds collide musically.” He offered tentatively.

That's what gave you and Warren your voices back.

Your loud gag almost drowned out Warren's protest.

“Let's not go that far.” Warren gave Carlos a warning glare. “We don't even make music in the same genre.”

“Yeah, no way that's happening.” You shook your head vehemently.

“At least you're agreeing on something.” Sam sighed. “What a lost opportunity. I'll bring the idea back a few months from now, anyway, in case you change your mind.”

“Give it a break, Sam.” You rubbed your temple. “This is…a lot.” Indeed, it was way more excruciating than you had expected to hear all the ways in which you two were going to be entangled. And after all the back and forth, Warren seemed to have drained all your energy out in one sitting. Plotting about your public life now seemed so tiring.

“How about we settle on how to take the first step, okay?” Sam bargained. “Further planning, we can do later. Let's just pick what you two are going to do to debut as a couple.”

“How about none of what you were saying earlier?” Warren protested. “No, I'm sorry.” He silenced Sam quickly after seeing her frown. “But romantic calendars and boat rides are just unfit for me.” He explained, trying his best to not sound as rude and contrarian as to defend his point and not have them all think he was just being a spoiled fuck. “I don't know about prickly over here, but I wouldn't be caught dead doing any of that.”

“He's right.” You rolled your eyes. “No one's gonna buy it. It's too planned out and corny. It has to be something simpler. Something that we would really do.”

“Like what?” Carlos asked.

“Like… just walking our dogs together.” Grudgingly, you glanced at Warren as you circled back to Sam's first idea. “You got a dog, don't you?”

“Have you been stalking me?” He mocked.

“Warren.” Carlos’ voice chastised.

Warren sighed dramatically. “Yes, I do. But if you wanna do this, you're gonna have to go to Maxville.”

“Fine, fucking hell. I'll go.” You scoffed. “What's it with you and travelling?”

“I don't like it.” His tone was as snappy as yours.

“Don't you tour with your band?” You inquired after his peculiarities.

“That's different, cause I do that with people I like.” He huffed.

“Great. Thanks.” You deadpanned.

“You're welcome.” He echoed. “Anyway, my dog gets car sick. I'm not gonna make him travel if I don't have to.”

“That's fair.” You crossed your arms, getting his point but not wanting to admit defeat any longer. “So, when?” You turned to Sam and Carlos. “How about next month?”

“Couldn't it be sooner?” Carlos coaxed. 

“Yeah, but in the meantime, we could plant seeds so this whole dating thing doesn't come out of nowhere.” You bargained.

“That sounds better, actually.” He agreed with you. “We could have…Warren mentioning a girlfriend in an interview. Vaguely. Cryptically. Just to test the waters.”

Sam nodded, and you added another idea. “And I could do something cryptic here at my store, too. I could put a… little stand in a corner, full of romantic albums, and with a message that dedicated them to someone unnamed.” You proposed proudly. “That's more me.”

“No one would get the reference. They wouldn't even see it hidden in that messy store of yours.” Warren argued.

“Yes, they would. Fans of my band come in all the time, and they take pictures of everything. They'd get it.” You defended.

“Fine, then.” He mumbled. “Won't work, but fine.”

“Awesome!” Sam closed her planner after finishing some more scribbles. “We have the first three steps. Warren's interview, whatever you're gonna do in your store, and the grand walk in the park at Maxville. How exciting.” She stood up and offered Carlos her hand. “Thanks for your cooperation. This is gonna go swell, I just know it.”

“I think so too.” Carlos shook her hand amicably. “Let's keep in contact. I'll update you on Warren's side, and I'll be very interested to know about yours.” He moved to shake your hand, and you stood up to reach him.

“If this goes south, we can always say it was a social experiment.” You joked with him, giving the man a smile. It was really difficult to understand how such a graceful man could work with Warren, but you were at least thankful one of them had turned out to be amicable.

When you turned towards Warren, you hesitated bitterly at seeing his deadpan expression. Still, you forced yourself to extend a hand to him as a peace offering -even if temporary-.

“Thanks for the coffee.” He mocked dryly, ignoring your hand, and walking past you with disinterest. “If you got any issues, contact Carlos. I don't want you calling me.”

Your hand closed into a fist, and you considered punching him, or kicking him on the ass while he had his back turned to you.

“Hey, who knows. Maybe we won't even have to bother with all this.” You replied as you followed his steps. “If anyone took pictures of you getting into my store, our surprise element is ruined.” You called out to him pettily. Warren halted at the door in the foyer to glare back at you.

“They did take pictures of him downtown.” Sam told Carlos cautiously as the two of them stopped to consider the situation too.

Carlos took a step towards Warren. “She's right, kid. I told you you should've worn a disguise.”

“I am in disguise.” He defended stubbornly, putting on his vintage sunglasses as proof. 

A derisive chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, right.” A lightbulb lit up in your head. “But hey, Carlos, I could lend him a balaclava if you want. That'd hide his ugly face as he left, and problem solved."

“That'd be perfect, thank you.” He accepted, sharing a look with Warren to tell him to go along with it.

You left to your room with a smirk, and returned with a fluffy, purple, crochet balaclava you had made for yourself. It was hideous, lumpy, and too big for you, but perfect for the occasion. You offered it to Warren. “Oh, and you should change your jacket too. At least be undercover when you leave.” You implored, overly sweet, tilting your head to the coat hanger next to the door, which had a single oversized blue and black checkered jacket on it — a maximalist design opposite of what he would wear.

Huffing and mumbling complaints, Warren changed his jacket by the coat hanger and then snatched the balaclava from your hand. Without another word, he went through the door and disappeared. Carlos’ gentle apologetic smile followed suit, and you were once again left alone with Sam.

“Think about the music thing.” She tried to coax you a few moments later over the cups of coffee you had finally remembered to make.

“Hell no.” You denied once more, stubborn to the end.

“Come on, it's the easiest way of sending the message that you two are together for real and for a long time.” She argued.

“We can lie to people in other ways.” You shook your head. “We can even talk more about that calendar thing, if you want. Just not the music. Never the music. I don't wanna look back to my discography years from now and see tracks I made for a PR stunt. That's pathetic.”

“But you are going to make other sacrifices, right? It's too late to back out now.” Sam warned. 

“Yes, I will.” You sighed. “I know we're in it for real now. I just hope he stops being such a dick by the time things get serious.”

“He will. I'm sure Carlos will straighten him out.” Sam assured you.

“That's a lot of promises already.” you eyed her over the rim of your mug as you took a sip of coffee. “How many of them will come true?”

“Then, I only promise you one thing: this will work.” She smirked, and for a moment, you let yourself believe her.

It was easy to believe, if you erased Warren out of your head completely. The plan did make sense, and if you pictured the scheme with a faceless guy in his stead, things promised to go down splendidly for you. However, every time Warren's face pierced through your brain, the plan began to crumble. You saw his scowl being photographed during a date, his harsh words making you lose your temper at an improper time, and a thousand other ways in which his involvement in the plan could make it fail. 

You supposed that if nothing good came of it all, you could at least get a good punch on his face before you parted ways, even at the cost of both your reputations. If they were dying anyway, might as well get a little fun while the two of you were getting buried.