౨ৎ Daydreams of Love: pt. 3
IN WHICH,
(Y/N) is going to New York?!
none. First person POV, Use of (Y/N)
AN: i’m already not liking this.
My whole apartment smells like cookies, the kind of warm, sugary scent that makes you want to eat the air. I’m spinning around the kitchen, singing way too loud to whatever’s blasting from the TV, trying to keep myself from just ripping the oven door open and burning my mouth. I’m mid-dance, voice echoing off the cabinets, when the music dies, and my phone starts buzzing on the counter, killing my vibe.
“Kacey, what’s up?” I answer.
“(Y/N), you’re flying out to New York on Sunday.” Kacey’s voice is all business, but my brain short-circuits. I scrunch up my face, totally lost. “Wait, what? Why so sudden?” My mind is running a marathon, tripping over every possible reason, but none of them stick because, honestly, if something big was happening, Mila would’ve spilled already.
“You know how that interview you did recently gained attention. Well… Malcolm Todd’s manager and I—”
“Wait, wait. Malcolm Todd wants to make a song with me? As in, we’re going to make a song together. Malcolm Todd and I are making a song… together.”
Honestly, saying I’m excited and nervous is the biggest understatement ever. My brain is glitching. This cannot be real life. Kacey’s laughing at me while I’m just sitting here, silently losing my mind. “Kace, are you messing with me right now?”
“No, (Y/N). I’m not. This is real and good for your career. Even talking about Malcolm Todd helped you gain numerous new listeners.” He says, reassuring my nerves.
I drag in a shaky breath, fingers tangled in my hair, and then—bam. The sharp, traitorous smell of burnt sugar slaps me in the face, yanking me straight out of my little fantasy. I swear under my breath, bolt to the oven, and yank out a tray of what used to be cookies. Now they’re just sad, black hockey pucks. Perfect.
“Is everything okay?” Kacey asks, to which I groan. “No, I burnt my cookies!”
I hear his laughter, coming through the speaker of my phone. “You’ll survive.”
“I doubt it.” I pout, snatch my phone, and escape to the balcony, letting the night air cool me off. Kacey launches into full-on manager mode, rattling off, “Sunday, flight at 8AM. Mila and I will already be there when you land. I’ll send you the rest.” He’s all business, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at how bossy he sounds.
“Ay, ay, captain.” I hum, leaning back against the chair, the night wind blowing in soft waves.
“Oh—and (Y/N). You have nothing to worry about, okay? This is an amazing opportunity. Plus, you could learn a few things from Malcolm, too.” Kacey says, in a slightly softer tone than before. “Yeah, I know. Just scared I’m going to mess this up, and ruin everything we’ve built.” I swallow, tapping my finger against the metal arm of the chair.
“You won’t mess this up, I promise. Just go in there with ideas you’ve had, which I know isn’t hard for you. Your ear for music is a gift (Y/N). Just because you’re making a song with Malcolm Todd doesn’t mean you have to change your voice, just to appeal to him and what you think he wants. It took you this long to finally find your signature sound, don’t lose it now.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to get all mushy. “Thanks, Kacey. Seriously, I’d be a disaster without you.” And it’s true. He’s the one who drags me out of my creative graveyard when I’m convinced I suck or my brain just refuses to work. He’ll force me outside, make me talk, or do something weird just to shake me up. He always says burnout isn’t the end, it just means you have to go hunting for new sparks.
“Of course, (Y/N). It’s also kind of my job to keep you in check.” He chuckles, and I laugh too. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what managers are for, or something like that.”
“Exactly. Okay, feelings aside. 8AM Sunday, don’t miss your flight.”
The rest of the night is just me, windows wide open, waving away the ghost of burnt cookies. Eventually, I end up at my piano, lights low, city sounds drifting in. My fingers hover over the keys, searching for something that feels like right now. I close my eyes and let the music spill out, letting the piano say everything I can’t.
