tell your friends

the backstage tension

The static in the green room was standard pre-show chaos-racks of leather jackets, half-eaten catering trays, and Louis trying to balance a plastic cup on Harry's head. I was tucked into the corner of the faded velvet sofa, tuning your acoustic guitar and trying to ignore the way the tour bus air conditioning had left my voice feeling a bit raspier than usual.
"If you tune that top string any tighter, it's going to snap and take my eye out," Liam said, leaning against the doorframe.
You looked up, catching him mid-sip from his water bottle. While the other three were currently engaged in a loud argument over who got the last red Gatorade, Liam was watching me with an intensity that had become a habit over the last few weeks. He pushed off the frame, walking over to sink into the cushion right next to you-closer than he strictly needed to be.
"I know what I'm doing, Payne," I replied, flicking a glance at him before tuning the peg half a hair back. "Focus on your own warm-ups."
"I am," he said softly, his voice dropping below the noise of the room. His eyes traced the curve of your neck where my hair was pinned up, lingering a second too long before meeting your gaze. A slow, faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Just making sure our best singer doesn't sabotage her own instrument before thirty thousand people."
"Best singer, huh? Don't let Zayn hear you say that."
"I'll risk it," Liam murmured, leaning in just enough that I could catch the scent of his cologne over the faint smell of hairspray in the room. His eyes dropped to my lips, then back to yours, entirely unbothered by the chaos surrounding you both. "Besides, somebody's got to look out for you when you're looking like that tonight."
Before you could ask him what that was supposed to mean, Niall yelled your name from across the room, tossing a microphone toward the couch. "Thanks Niall." I walk out and get ready for the pre-show huddle.