The hotel is a complete disaster. Your suitcase is open on the bed, June’s is on the floor, Nova is yelling at Eden because he “stole” her black nail polish, and Salem… Salem isn’t even here.

“Where’s your brother?” you ask, on the verge of losing it, while digging through a sea of black clothes, fishnet stockings, and tangled charger cables. “He left an hour ago,” Eden answers with a shrug, eyeliner smudged. “He said he needed some air.” Air. Right. Of course. Today of all days.

June, desperate, is tearing through the vanity. “I can’t find my eyeliner!” she screams, as if the world were ending. “You have like six,” you reply, but it’s useless. Apparently, each one “has a different purpose.”

Nova appears in the doorway, headphones hanging around her neck, looking like she’s seen the end of the world. “It’s late… way too late.”

The clock reads 8:30. You should’ve left half an hour ago for the stadium, but between lost clothes, shared makeup, and teenage drama, it already feels impossible. But chaos runs in your blood too.

Eden trips over an open suitcase, Nova sits on the floor to fix her eyeliner “because she doesn’t feel right without it,” and June says she won’t go if her hair “doesn’t match the aesthetic.”

And Salem still isn’t answering his phone.

When you finally manage to get everyone down to the lobby, the clock reads 10:45. The stadium is twenty minutes away. The car moves slowly, city lights flashing by like a cruel reminder: you’re late.

You arrive just as the last song ends. The crowd screams, fireworks explode, and you see Frank, tiny from afar, guitar in hand completely unaware of the domestic disaster that just unfolded.

That night, you sneak in through the backstage door. Frank spots you all with his face lighting up, thinking you’d been there the whole time. “Hey, you made it!” he exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug.