RECORDS ◈ FINN WOLFHARD

2 | Coupon For 2

Y/N

_

NOTHING BEATS waking up from a good night's sleep, and knowing you're going to get your butt kicked.

Actually, I take that back, there are alot of things better than that. But unfortunately, none of those 'better' things applied to me. I spent the night in the attic of Rinks, sleeping on an inflatable mattress hidden in the stacks of vintage records.

Finn said he usually stayed in the space whenever he had to work late nights. It was comfortable, but it didn't last long.

Well, that's because I woke up to 207 messages from Jane, asking where the hell I was. Not to mention the messages from my bandmates, the messages from my mother, the messages from father, and just ugh. Messages.

Swiping into my phone, I clicked on my driver's contact, and waited for the dial to start ringing. He answered almost instantaneously.

"Hey, Henry," I yawned, stumbling onto my feet, "can you come pick me up?"

He didn't sound amused through the phone, "Jane's been looking for you."

"I know."

"Send me your location, and I'll be on my way."

"Thanks, Pal," I sighed, hanging up.

Grabbing my sweater up from the floor, I pulled it around my shoulders, and let out a puff of cold air. Jeez, it was frickin' cold in Vancouver. Deflating the mattress, I rolled it back up and tucked it into the corner it belonged in.

Clambering down the stairs, I passed by the stacks of records, raising my arms up into the air above me.

"Gooooooodbye!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, straining out every vowel, "see ya' never, Rink Records!"

Even though the store provided me shelter, and some temporary peace, I didn't expect myself to ever go back. Once I stepped outside of that door, I was back to my usual life: [y/n] [l/n], the indie-pop artist.

The life where I was about to get yelled at by my manager.

"Where the HELL have you been?" Jane exclaimed, storming down the stadium hallway.

As soon as Henry dropped me off at the stage door, I got hit with this. I deserved it, honestly. I really did. I skimped out on my responsibilities, for a few hours of temporary solace.

I even let a stranger poke a needle through my ear! Damn, I was a reckless teen last night.

"I took a vacation day," I smiled sickly, "what did I miss?"

Jane didn't find that joke funny. She took a moment to make herself calm, but I could still see a vein almost popping out of her head. Fun.

"Do you know how much damage control I had to do last night?" she hissed, "covering up for missing the interview, and ditching your bandmates onstage!"

"The show was over, Jane."

"None of that matters!"

"Neither did my broken eardrum either, apparently," I spat out, "I'm tired of you denouncing my actual problems, just because Vanity Fair wanted to see me take a lie detector test!"

She opened her mouth to say something, but she knew I was right. Obviously, she wasn't going to admit it, so like the typical person she was, she changed the conversation.

"You have rehearsal for your final show here," she huffed, pointing towards the stage, "don't keep them waiting any longer."

Narrowing my eyes, I brushed past her, storming onto the stage.