Title: the stars are burning out
Playlist: Daylight- Maroon5, Headlights on the Highway- Ron Pope
Warnings: major fluff and stuff.
Disclaimer: Nope.
Month One
..
The last night before he leaves is quiet, sticky, and hot, not unusual for summer in Miami.
Why does it have to be this way? She wonders. She finally gets to be with Austin and everything's finally going perfectly and suddenly he gets to go on a worldwide tour.
Sometimes it feels like the universe is working against her.
Saying goodbye was hard.
He'd wanted her to come with him to the airport but they both knew that would have been a terrifying, emotional public mess.
So they'd done it today, in the practice room, at the piano.
Few words had been said. Few words were appropriate for the situation.
"Just kiss me before you go." She'd whispered, tinkering at the keys and he'd been happy to oblige.
She wiped at the tears on her cheeks and closed her eyes.
"I'm really going to miss you."
He'd tucked her hair back behind her ear and sighed.
"I know. I'm going to miss you, too. But it's only going to be six months, Al."
She scoffed spitefully. "Yeah, only six months. Easy. Simple."
He'd stayed silent after that (after all, she was the one who usually took care of his words), instead wrapping his arms around her tiny frame and letting her sob into his chest.
"Only seven months." She repeated.
/
At one am, she gets a tap on her window.
"Ally. Alls, it's me."
She peers through her blinds to see her popstar boyfriend balancing on a conveniently placed tree limb below her window, his blonde hair shining almost ironically under the moonlight.
"Can I come in?"
She laughs. "Sure, if you can get the screen off of my window."
To her surprise, he rips it off easily, and subsequently drops it into her backyard.
After helping him climb through the window and onto her bed, she sticks her head out and looks at it, lying limply in a bed of grass.
"If my dad asks, I'll just say it must have fallen." She shrugs.
He chuckles. "That should work."
They sit crosslegged on her bed for a moment, staring each other in the eyes but not saying anything.
She bites her lips and laughs awkwardly.
"So um… any particular reason you're here?"
He laughs and hangs his head.
"I wasn't ready to say goodbye to you." He says, grabbing her hand.
Her eyes begin to well up with tears.
"Oh."
"Thanks."
For the first time since they'd met, she didn't know what to say.
Part of her wants to scold him for sneaking over here in the middle of the night (but he'd never been one to follow the rules, anyways.)
Part of her wants to break down and cry and throw a temper tantrum because she was just starting to acclimate herself to the fact that she wasn't going to see him until March and here he was, ruining her life and her plans again in the most wonderful of ways.
But the majority of her just wants to kiss him and hold him close and tell him to stay.
So she does.
She puts the comforter over the both of their legs and cuddles as close as possible to his chest, wanting to absorb all of the warmth she possibly could and store it away in reserves for the next six months.
He wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face into her hair. It smells like cinnamon vanilla.
This, this feeling of warmth, this feeling of just being with him invigorates every part of her body and her heart feels like it's on fire and even the mere thought of not having him around for the majority of this next year feels like ice down her spine.
"Don't leave." She squeaks, more pitifully than she would have liked.
"I have to."
She squeezes her eyes shut. "I know."
She doesn't say anything after that. She's fallen asleep, which he can't manage to do.
Instead he lays there, with her in his arms, stroking her hair and trying to intake as much of her essence as he can.
Morning comes too quickly, and soon the break of dawn streams sunlight through her blinds.
Gingerly, he unweaves his limbs from Ally's.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, he leans down and kisses her temple.
"Bye, Ally."
He escapes back out the window, leaving his heart behind.
/
Month Two
Sometimes, she sends him songs.
"It's almost like we're together!" She exclaims enthusiastically, though they both know it's nothing like being together.
But, though he calls and texts and emails her every day, sometimes he responds with long letters that make his hand hurt and look like chicken scratch compared to her neat cursive, but it's sentimental and she loves them anyways.
Ally,
You would not believe this tour bus. It's amazing. Though I don't really enjoy being thrown out of bed on sharp turns, haha.
No, actually it's not funny.
I/We really do have amazing fans, Alls. Some of them even make fan signs for you.
(I normally make sure to give them autographs first.)
People are so sweet, I swear. I think it's a good learning experience for me, y'know, to go out and see the world, meet different people. It sort of makes you realize how small and insignificant Florida, in the grand scheme of things.
Whoa, didn't mean to go philosophical on ya there.
But it turns out no matter how many people I meet, I can't stop thinking about you.
Anyways, I really miss you, Ally.
(I love you.) See you soon.
Austin
And then sometimes, she responds, attaching a long note to the song and somehow, it smells a little bit like her.
Or maybe he's just imagining things.
Austin,
You can just say you love me, I won't mind.
Hi.
God, I'd give anything to be on that tour bus with you. Even if it meant falling out of bed.
Better than high school.
See, the thing is, I think I've been around you for so long that I'd forgotten what I was like before you.
Turns out, I sucked.
I literally have three friends at that damn school. And now it's down to two, since you're not here.
I guess it doesn't matter to people that I'm you're songwriter, if you're not here. Not when I'm really still just meek little Ally Dawson.
Long story short, I really (love) miss you. Please be home soon.
xo, Ally
Ally Marie Dawson,
I don't give a fuck about those idiots. You shouldn't, either.
I don't care if it doesn't matter to them that you're my songwriter, cause it means a whole fucking hell of a lot to me.
You're the most wonderful person in the world. They wish they knew you.
But if it makes you feel any better, I didn't have very many friends before Double Take came out.
At least, none of them were real.
But you're real, Ally, and I think that's one of the best qualities a person can have.
So don't forget that, Alls.
(I do love you though.
I don't think I can say it right now though.)
Austin
/
Month Three
London is more rainy then Florida in the summertime, but yet there's a large swarm of fans waiting outside the arena, screaming his name, their signs soggy as their hair but they're still smiling.
That means a lot to him, actually. He'd always wanted to be a singer, but he'd never realized how amazing it felt just to be able to put a smile on someone's face.
Do I really have that effect on people? He wonders. It seems like a lot of power for one seventeen-year-old guy.
So he decides to do everything in his power to live up to that.
In Sydney, he meets two little girls who look an awful lot like younger versions of Trish and Ally.
The mini-Trish comes up to him first, loud and confident.
"Can you sign my CD?"
Her mother nudges her. "Say please."
"Please?"
He laughs. "Of course. What's your name?"
"Madison."
He quickly scrawls out his generic Shoot for the stars! Love, Austin Moon on the back of her CD case, and then looks over at mini-Ally.
She clings shyly to her mother's skirt and buries her face in it.
"It's okay, baby, you can go over there." Her mother tells her reassuringly, but she doesn't loosen her grip.
He smiles. "It's okay. I don't bite."
Keeping a tight grip on her mother's hand, she slowly inches her way towards him.
"She's a huge fan of you and Ally. Matter of fact, she wrote you a song."
He tries to suppress his laughter at the irony of it all as the mom presses a piece of paper in his hand.
"I will definitely read that later. Did you want anything signed?" He asks, taking out his Sharpie.
Her mom hands him a purple notebook.
"It's her songbook. She won't say it, but I know it would mean the world to her if her idol signed it."
He takes it eagerly. "And what's your name, sweetheart?"
"Alison." She squeaks.
Figures.
Instead of his generic inscription, he takes his time writing out a message to mini-Ally.
Ali,
You may not realize this, but you're going to do amazing things someday.
I know it.
Never give up, okay? You're amazing, and I believe in you.
Love, Austin
(and Ally)
/
Ally,
You are not going to believe this. Today at the Sydney show, I met this incredible little writer who, I swear to God, looks like you ten years ago.
Her name is Alison. (DON'T TELL ME YOU DON'T SEE THE COINCIDENCE)
AND SHE WRITES SONGS.
I DON'T KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS THESE THINGS I'M FEELING.
ALLY I AM FREAKING OUT I MET THE PAST YOU AND I ADORE HER.
SHE WROTE US A SONG (See attached)I can't tell if seeing her made me more sad or less sad that I'm so far away from you.Someday I'm coming back to Australia and taking you with me and you're going to meet yourself okay?
Okay.
(Love) Miss you,
Austin
/
Month Four
Four down, two to go. Ally fills him in on how Dez had escorted both herself and Trish to the Winter Formal and how apparently their two best friends had paired off and she'd officially become the third wheel.
Sometimes he hates missing so much of senior year. It's like missing a rite of passage.
Of course, when he tells her this, she's quick to remind him that he's the one meeting amazing seven-year-olds in exotic continents and they're the ones stuck in what she calls "boring old Miami" and he calls home.
Maybe I'd like to have an adventure, too, did you ever think of that? She asks at one point.
Clearly, the girl is having a severe case of Senioritis.
Or maybe she just misses him.
He can't tell anymore.
Then do something adventurous! He tells her. Have fun! Take Dez and Trish with you, I don't know. Just don't do anything stupid, okay?
Stupid is not in my vocabulary.
And she's not lying. She does everything one-hundred percent right, actually.
Turns out it's the ziplining place that doesn't.
So, her rite of passage or moment of adventure or whatever lands her in a coma with five broken limbs and he's halfway across the globe when it happens.
Maybe there was something to her old Goody Two-Shoes attitude, after all.
I love you, he writes, one hundred times, over and over because god damnit, he does and now he's afraid she won't get to read it, anyways.
He does a New Year's Eve performance in Manila, and no matter how friendly and loving the natives are (and they are, very much so), it sucks and he feels like he sucks and now it doesn't fucking matter how much of the world he's gotten to see, because she is his world now and God, what the hell is he going to do if she goes?
His mother tells him not to worry, Ally's going to be fine, but you need to make an appearance at the party so that people don't start talk.
Five, four, three, two, one!
Everyone laughs and screams and celebrates jubilantly and his mother leans over and pecks him on the cheek, but he stays silent and stoic.
Happy fucking New Year's to him.
/
Month Five
Near the end of January (the twenty-seventh, he remembers it vividly), he gets a new letter from Ally.
Her handwriting is shakier than normal (which is to be expected, considering her writing hand is broken), and it's short, only a few words long, but it makes him the happiest he's been in a long while.
Austin
I love you, too.
Ally
/
Month Six
For the last leg of the tour, they're on the west coast of the US, and after all those months of foreign languages and foods and cultures, it's actually quite nice to be somewhere familiar.
"Thank you, Pasadena!" He yells, and the auditorium erupts into applause.
He makes public appearances and goes to events and interviews and photoshoots and it's certainly a charmed life, but he always feels his best when he's back on the tour bus, talking to Ally.
Her right hand (her dominant one) is still in a sling until next month, so he calls.
"Hey."
"Hey, Austin."
It's nice to hear her voice.
"Feeling any better?"
She snorts. "Oh, you know, same old, same old. How's Hollywood treating you?"
He smiles. "It's great, of course. But it'd be better if you were here with me."
He hears her give a discontented sigh. "Yeah, same here. But you know, we can't all be rockstars. Some of us actually have to go to school like normal people and deal with the wonderful caste system of Marino High."
"Which I assume you are at the top of?" He teases.
"Oh, definitely. But in all seriousness, being your girlfriend apparently has earned me a spot at the popular kid's table. It was a hard offer to refuse, but, you know.."
"You don't like those girls."
"Not one bit."
They both laugh, and for some reason, life just feels really good for both of them right then. Sure, she might have some broken bones and he might have flashbulbs in her eyes wherever he went, but that was okay, right? They had each other.
"You know, it's only six days until I see you again. You're coming to the Valentine's dance, right?"
He glances over at the calendar taped to the side of his bunk bed. "I'm counting down the hours."
He swears he can hear her smile.
"Good. Look, I have to go, but I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Okay. Love you."
"Love you too."
Still feels good to hear that.
/
"He said he'd be here." She sobs, her mascara running down her face.
Trish frowns sympathetically. "You know it's not his fault, Ally. The tour bus broke down. I know he'd give anything to be here if he could."
Actually, his bus was fine, and it was probably on it's way back to Starr Records by now. He'd just wanted to surprise her.
"Ally, look. Even if he's not going to be there, Dez and I are, and us three are going to dance the night away, okay? Besides, you've survived six months without seeing him. What's one more?"
"Torture." She grumbles under her breath.
Trish sighs. "Don't be like that. Now come on and let me help you wipe your face off. You're a mess."
/
He shows up to the dance as quietly as possible, wearing a hat and sunglasses with his tux so not to attract a crowd.
She's sitting by herself on a bleacher, sipping punch.
"Excuse me miss, mind if I sit next to you?" He asks, smiling.
"Sure, but-" She looks up and squeals, throwing her arms around his neck.
"You're such a jerk!" She yells happily.
"But you love it."
"I do." She nods, kissing him.
And it feels like home.
A/N: Oh holy lord what even is this.
I guess it can be read as a prequel to all the wrong things on fire but I actually was proud of that and this feels like I'm tarnishing it.
Glag. Can we discuss how much I hate this and hate myself for even writing it?
IT'S SO CHEESY AND CLICHÉ AND EW.
OH YEAH DEDICATED TO MY BEST FRIEND TONI CAUSE FOR SOME REASON SHE THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO WRITE IT WELL.
HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR 2, 698 WORDS OF SUCK, QUI.
Have a nice day, y'all.