cara mia || tommyinnit

viii

The festival was nuts. Festivals were always that way, and this was no different. She had spent practice scrolling through Twitter, checking up on the MCYT crew as they finished their work at the convention. Chiara would kill to have been there. She knew it'd be a fuck ton better than the hellhole that is the music industry, but she couldn't do anything.

The silver lining was that they'd be here today, and she'd hoped to knock into them the same way they joked about in the group chat. On the other side, she highly doubted they would be going to her show. They went to Cavetown, they'd stay for Wilbur, and past that, she knew they couldn't care less about anyone else.

Security appeared at the entrance of her tent, wearing all black and a complex headpiece that she knew was extremely unnecessary. "Someone's here to see you," she spoke, a voice so rustic it made her eyes widen.

"Yeah, sure. They can come in," she allowed without asking who it was. It could've been a crazed fan or Justin Bieber, but her nerves relaxed once she saw Wilbur come in with a smile.

"Hi, Ara," he greeted as he walked through. "Or should I say 'ChiChi?' "

She painfully laughed. "God, no. ChiChi's... someone else. Ara's the one you know best."

"Well, I think if it came down to ChiChi or Ara," he said with his hands moving up and down like a scale, "I like them both. And so will everyone else. Including..." he finger-drummed the chair she sat on. "The SMP!"

"Will, they're coming for you. They don't even know me."

"Yeah, but you're performing with our session for Perfume, and they'll see you then," he added. "They love you as Ara, babe, they'll love you no matter what."

They watched from a crevice in the tent, people lining up at the front. The entrance was a sketchy parking lot leading to the venue, and cars had already lined the past 10 blocks and counting. Chiara never thought these things were a big deal. As she scrolled through Twitter under the hashtag #ShakyKnees23, a good amount of them were talking about how they'd "sell their souls" for ChiChi or "let her run them over." She stopped letting that shit get to her head years ago, but still, it didn't mean it stopped getting to her in general. Everyone held her on this high pedestal, and she was always afraid a single, tiny mistake would knock her down to the bottom.

"Hey," Wilbur snapped, waving a hand in her face. "They've been calling your name for sound check." She blinked profusely. His face grew worrisome. "You okay?"

"Ah, yeah. Sure," she said, and they both knew she meant anything but.

—🂠🃑🃁🂱🂡—

Tommy scrolled through his phone as they travelled through the venue. Only a few people had spotted them and said high, but not enough to create an ambush which is what they had been trying to avoid.

He felt stupid for ignoring her just because he was "jealous"— if jealous was even the right word. More like Out-Of-Anyone-He-Wanted-To-See-What-She-Looked-Like-The-Most-But-He-Respected-Her-Privacy-But-Then-Out-Of-Nowhere-Wilbur-Just-Gets-Too-See-Her-In-Person-Like-Its-Nothing? Yeah. That's how he felt.

He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't excited to see Wilbur perform. For everyone else, not so much. He was hoping to catch ChiChi, but if the crowds were too big, he figured the group wouldn't be that upset about missing it.

They followed the timetable and got there a few minutes before it was supposed to start. Thanks to Wilbur, they had special edition passes that not only let them backstage but let them in their own personal section of the audience. Niki, Karl, and Sapnap talked in awe at how loud and electrifying the event was while the rest guided them through the crowds of people. Security escorted them through this long tunnel leading to the lower half of the stage where they had been setting up. Wilbur met them halfway and hugged each one tightly.