A/N: This is a rewrite of my first fanfiction under the title Rosette Records, which is an entirely too-cliche fanfiction concept, but I owe it to myself, and to my first followers to finish it, even if they don't read it. Updates should be quick, though probably short, and this story will be incredibly cliche, but hopefully not so much so that it's too much to read.

My apologies to my Homestuck followers if you stumbled onto this; I'm working on that.

Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this, especially for the mess it is.

Ciao for now!
~Webs

If there was one thing that could be said about Amu, was that she hates clubs. She hates the too-loud music, and the overcrowded dancefloors, and the wolf-whistling boys, and the girls that bathe in the attention. She hates even more that clubs are her only in.

Amu takes a deep breath to steel herself before pushing herself through the doors to Midnight Hours, a club pretty close to her own home, though she despises how... well, dark everything is. But now, it's her only in, having spent the entirety of the night looking for an all-ages club that would let her a chance at performing. After a rather angry call from her father, telling her this is the last one, or he'd be out to pick her up himself, she swallows down the bile in her throat at the prospect of actually associating herself with this place. If she doesn't get this, she'd promised to give up singing completely, and stick to her studies instead.

What a protective mama bird, she thinks briskly to herself as she pushes herself past the first group of shouting teens by the doors, her eyes immediately falling on a... very attractive blonde girl, perkily surrounded by a gaggle of boys all vying for her attention. Amu feels a prick of jealousy, but as soon as a boy turns around to whistle at her as well, she ducks down and pulls at her plaid hat to hide her face as she scurries past, sticking out her tongue hidden behind her aforementioned hat.

Making sure her bright pink guitar case doesn't hit any of the tables or people, she makes her way quickly to the stage, where she recognizes the golden-haired manager from some magazine she'd been studying the night previously. She can't help the small smile that graces her lips at how cute he looks, even as he seems a bit upset at the band who's arguing with him. She ducks under some college-student's arm and stops a couple feet away from the manager (Hotori?), wishing she could hear what they're arguing about, but can't over the babble of the people in the club, so waits for them to finish before butting in.

It takes a minute for him to even notice she's there, eyes falling on Amu with a touch of disdain, and turns around to look at his clipboard before she can even say anything. "Sorry, fifteen and up," he says a bit snippily, causing Amu's frown to tighten as she grabs his shoulder to turn him back around.

"I am!" she shouts over the din, shoving her ID into his hands and trying to come across as assertive. Hotori looks over the ID, then back down at Amu, before inhaling a sigh. "Please, can I just do one song?" Hotori's eyes study her for another long few minutes, before he sighs again.

"If the crowd doesn't like you, you're out!" A wave of relief splashes over her, her heart rate picking up in excitement and nerves; 'figures it's the last place she tries that gives her a shot.

She perks more when Hotori signals for her to follow to a back room, immediately trotting after him through the crowds. She's of course nervous that, well, Hotori has more nefarious purposes for calling her back here, but there'd been hardly a complaint about the food here, so she can't imagine that something'll actually happen.

Amu ducks into the back room, presumably meant for the actual band members, filled with plushy black couches and a full-on fridge, and looks up at Hotori expectantly. The gold-blonde runs a harried hand through his hair with yet another sigh, looking Amu up and down again.

"Okay, you're cute kid, but you're not the first to want a go at this. Try not to let it get to you if you're not ready, alright?" Amu barely gives him time to finish before she's protesting with,

"I am ready! Look, I've got the music and everything." She yanks out several copies of a song she'd written herself out of her bag, something she'd spent far too long copying down earlier that day, and she shoves them at Hotori.

He makes a small sound of surprise and shuffles through the papers, raising an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't recognize this."

"Well, I hope not," Amu grumbles. "I wrote it myself." A perfectly-shaped blonde eyebrow shoots up Hotori's forehead as he regards her in a different light than before. "Will the band mind if they have to read while playing?"

"I shouldn't think so, as they do it every other night. However, are you certain you know what you're doing, Miss...?"

"Hinamori Amu," she answers with a bit of a quip to her voice, frowning again. "Yes, I know what I'm doing. Please, this is the only... shot I'll have at this." Hotori doesn't take nearly as long to respond this time, of course sighing again, but nodding.

"Go get ready while I talk to the band; you have ten minutes." Trying not to act too excited, Amu lets a small grin loose and bows quickly with rapid thanks, before spinning around and leaving the room to make her way back to the entrance; as quiet as the room before was, perfect for tuning and warming up, it was stifling, and Amu much prefers the cold air, pushing back through the doors and plopping down on the ground against the wall.

With the cool breeze blowing through her hair, she feels as she should be calmer, but her excitement only grows as she pulls out her pink phone and flips it open. She scrolls through her contacts to her mother's number, before pressing the button and tugging at her lip with her teeth while Amu waits for her to pick up.

"Honey? Is everything alright?" her mother is immediately saying, sounding ready to leave the house and pick her up.

"No, no, I got it! Hotori's letting me perform!" Her demeanor changes in a second, her mother starting to squeal happily, being the one of her two parents to actually support her wish to make a career out of her music.

"Oh, that's great, sweetie! What song are you doing?" Amu starts biting at her lip again to keep down her smile as she fidgets with the straps of her guitar case.

"My lastest. He's passing out the music now." She could hear her beaming as she congratulates her again. "Well, I guess fifteen time's the charm?"

"You know what they say, dear: If you don't succeed try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try, try—"

"Mom?"

"Try, try, try—"

"Mom!"

"Try, try, again!" Amu rolls her eyes as her mother giggles on the other end, tugging at her ponytale as she waits for her to calm down.

"I should get ready now. I don't have long."

"Oh, of course. I'll tell your father, yes?"

"Yeah, if you wouldn't mind." Amu smiles a little bit, taking a deep breath to calm herself again. "Okay, I've gotta go now. I'll see you later tonight, okay?"

"I'll see you later, honey. Break a leg!" Before Amu could question the strange wish, something that sounds vaguely American?, her mother hangs up and leaves Amu a bit disgruntled.

Well, I hope the band can read the sheet music, she thinks to herself as she unlatches her case and pulls out her brilliantly-pink electric guitar. AS she becomes caught up in tuning it, and going through a few vocal exercises, she doesn't see the blue-haired boy far above her sitting on a windowsill.

But he sees her.

A/N: Next chapter is from Ikuto's perspective, and will probably be shorter.

~Webs