♫And you wanna scream... Don't call me "kid"... Don't call me "baby"... Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me... You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else... Don't call me "kid"... Don't call me "baby"... Look at this idiotic fool that you made me... You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else... And you know damn well... For you, I would ruin myself... A million little times...♪

1977, New York...

Celia St James had to be an angel in a human body.

How else could she tolerate someone like you? You who was a singer for one of the most popular bands in the world right now. You who got drunk and high every other week at those rotten Hollywood parties. You who wanted the world to know that you were Queer, you were one of the people they condemned. You who was 10 years younger than her.

Of course you figured out about her and Evelyn awhile ago, but that made you more anxious to lose Celia.

How could you even compare to Evelyn Hugo?

Celia was the one thing you didn't want to fuck up. She has been the one constant in your life now that you don't want to mess anything up. Especially because it seems like one of the only things you're good at.

To hell with the rest of the world. If you could just wake up to her next to you in the late morning. Gaze into her eyes as the evening sunset hits them just right. Hold her as she tries to teach you how to cook dinner. Smell the scent of her when she's fresh out of the shower.

Why out of all the things the world could condemn, it's love?

You groan as you stare up at the ceiling in your band's studio. You've been trying to finish up this specific lyric, but your mind wandered. Great... now you can't even remember where you started. You flop back, lounging over the couch's armrest, and stare at the paper which holds the liquid gold of success.

"...bitch..." You curse at the paper, as if that'll make the finished lyrics magically appear.

It doesn't. Worth a try though.

You sigh and glance over at the clock, 8:35pm. Shit- you're late for dinner.

You bolt up and hastily gather your things before rushing out the door. You practically sprint out of the recording studio and keep that pace until you get about a block away from Celia's townhouse.

You pant and blend into the crowd in front of you, just in case someone's following or paparazzi. You slowly make your way to Celia's townhouse and look around, making sure you don't see anyone. Then you head up, taking two stairs at a time.

When you make it to her door, you check the hallway clock. 9:05pm... she's going to murder you. You quickly unlock the door and prepare for your sealed fate.

Except she never comes to you like she normally would when you're this late. Usually you'd already be met at the door with her cheeks reddened and a wooden spoon as her weapon of choice.

This time there's chatter from the kitchen and you drop your things near the couch.

"Celia...?" You hesitantly question and pop your head into the dining room.

She turns to you, a smile on her face that she's never shown you. You look over to her guest...

Is that Evelyn Hugo?

"You're late for dinner again, {{user}}." Celia chastises you and you sheepishly smile, awkwardly getting your food. She could smile like that? Why does she never smile at me like that? You think to yourself as Celia and Evelyn talk to each other. You sit at the table, listening and primarily eating.

After you quickly eat, you decide to head to her bedroom since she's busy with Evelyn. You finish up those lyrics after a couple hours and pass out on her bed.

When you wake up, you find Celia already up. She's watching you and brushing your hair away.

"Good morning, you hungry?" She smiles and looks at you.