౨ৎ Daydreams of Love: pt. 4
IN WHICH,
(Y/N) and Malcolm meet for the first time.
First person POV, use of (Y/N), light swearing.
AN: My writing is literally just rambling.
Planes are basically my own personal hell. Who thought it was a good idea to trust our lives to a giant metal tube, held together by hope and the fact that some sleep-deprived mechanic didn’t forget a bolt at 3 a.m.? Yet here we are, lining up like sheep to get crammed into a flying anxiety coffin.
I suck in a breath and try to melt into the world’s most uncomfortable seat, staring out the window at a whole lot of nothing.
When I was a kid, I’d always pass out on planes, then wake up convinced I’d died and this was the weird limbo before meeting God. The clouds outside looked like some kind of purgatory holding pattern.
The music playing in my ears helps a little, but my nerves are still gnawing at me like they’ve got nothing better to do. I close my eyes, letting the song bleed into my thoughts, and drift into that weird half-sleep where my brain finally shuts up for once.
• ♡ •
“(Y/N)!” I hear Mila’s peppy voice calling out to me. I turn, pulling the headphones out of my ear. “Hey,” I say, my voice distant from what awaited me in a few hours.
As we leave the airport, Kacey grabs my bags and tosses them into the back of the rental. They herd me into the SUV like I’m precious cargo.
“We need to beat traffic,” Kacey says, all business. It’s my first time in New York, but honestly, I’m pretty sure there’s always traffic. Isn’t that the whole point of New York?
“How was the flight?” Mila twists around in her seat, her strawberry blonde hair in one of those braids that looks effortless but would take me three hours, a meltdown, and a YouTube tutorial.
I watch the city blur past, all neon lights and pure chaos.
“I slept through most of it, so… good? I guess?” I mumble, already scrolling through my notes app, which is practically a graveyard for half-baked ideas and unhinged ramblings I’ll probably never finish.
“Just good? God, (Y/N). You really are in your head too much. We are in New York! And you’re about to make a song with Malcolm Todd. This is your dream. So when we get into this cafe, you are going to hold your head up high and be as confident as ever.” Mila says, giving me her usual pep talk. She would give me one just like this one, right before every show or meet-and-greet. She was really the best assistant I could ever ask for.
Once we arrive, we shuffle out of the car, and I instantly get hit with New York air. People weren’t lying—it’s like breathing in pure ambition mixed with a side of car exhaust. Iconic, really.
I trail after Kacey and Mila inside. Kacey’s already on a mission, eyes locked on Matthew like he’s got some kind of people-radar built in. And part of me wouldn't be surprised if he did.
I glance around, seeing no sight of Malcolm. Maybe he was busy and didn't have the time. I wouldn't blame him. Maybe then my nerves could finally catch a break.
“Matthew, hey.”
Fuck me, spoke too soon.
I turn around and there he is, eyes locking with mine. “You must be (Y/N),” he says, flashing a smile that could probably ruin lives.
“Yeah, that’s me. Hope you weren’t expecting someone cooler.” I blurt, awkwardly clasping my hands together. Nice one, (Y/N). Real smooth.
Malcolm laughs, pulling his hands from his leather jacket. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you.” He hugs me, and I freeze for a second before hugging him back, trying to play it cool.
“Is it?” slips out before I can stop myself.
“Yeah, when I heard your music. It felt refreshing, it felt new. I mean, the specific way you choose to let the instruments speak and flow around your voice… It’s captivating to say the least.” I was flattered. Beyond astounded. Malcolm Todd called my music captivating. Right.. Okay.
“You’re just being nice.”
“I could be, or I just know a true musician when I hear one.”
I shake my head, but I can’t hide the smile that is already forming on my lips. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“Agree to disagree.” He nods, all confidence and charm, and honestly, it’s almost enough to make me want to scream into a pillow.
Malcolm Todd really is exactly what he advertises. Or at least, he’s doing a damn good job pretending. “I get help from my friends. You do all the beats and stuff by yourself, no?” He adds.
“I mean, yeah. Though Kacey and Mila are there through every process I do, helping me with ideas and whatnot.” I look at him as I talk, and he’s listening, like, actually listening to me. I’ve done only two songs with other artists in the past, and I’m not entirely sure either of them took the time to listen to any of my songs.
My nerves start to chill out the more we talk. Malcolm’s passionate about his music, and honestly? His music is damn good, so how could he not?
When you’re good at something, you fall in love with it, and there’s nothing like putting something out there for people to vibe with. But for some reason, the way he actually wanted to hear how I wrote my songs, how I came up with ideas, how I managed to pour my exact feelings into a recording—it was a breath of fresh air, to finally talk to someone who wasn’t just in it for the money or the clout, but actually wanted their voice to be heard.
Hoping that someone out there would get it, maybe even feel a little less alone. Music’s all subjective, really, but it’s also the one thing that can pull people together.
So many stories in just one song, depending on who’s listening.
“How come you haven’t signed with any record deals yet?”
“Most record deals want me to change my voice for them, and that’s just not something I’m comfortable with.”
“A musician who knows what she wants. I admire that.”
Malcolm and I claim a tiny round table that looks like it was made for Instagram. The whole place is aggressively cute, like it’s trying to win an award. “Are all New York cafes like this?” I ask, glancing around at the cozy chaos. You can tell people actually live here—really live here. Not just exist.
“Eh, it depends on where you go. Is this your first time being in New York?”
“If you want to count, like, the two seconds I had a layover here, then yes. But if you aren’t, then no.”
Malcolm looks at me like I just admitted I’ve never seen the ocean or something. I take a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth and sugar hit my tongue, and I'm dragged back to reality.
“So, you’ve never actually been in the city.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You’re lucky you have me then, (Y/N). I consider myself a NYC local guide.” He smiles, and I laugh.
“Do you now?” Malcolm nods, looking at me with excited eyes. “Certified.” He says, cooly, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders.