at first, everything is exactly like neil dreamed. the call comes, and the way he shakes, the grin stretching across his face. it’s impossible not to get swept up in it. galaxy records wants them. a huge deal. the band erupts in cheers, charlie laughing, bez and topher high-fiving, wyatt clapping neil on the back so hard he nearly falls over. neil pulls you into a hug, whispering against your hair, “we did it… we actually did it.” for a while, it’s perfect. late nights writing songs in the studio, you leaning against the fridge while neil strums something new, the world outside fading into nothing. everything feels alive and electric.

but then, slowly, the first cracks appear. neil changes. not overnight, not blatantly, but enough that you notice. he’s dressing differently, talking differently, and suddenly the meetings, the interviews, the cameras. they’re all him now. “it’s just business, babe. don’t worry about it,” he says every time you bring it up, that same charming grin masking a growing distance. the easy, warm neil you fell for is fading behind a persona that’s all ego and ambition.

one night, after rehearsal, it all comes to a head. you’ve been holding it in, letting the frustration coil tighter and tighter, and finally, you can’t anymore.

neil freezes mid-strum, the room suddenly quiet except for the hum of amps and the scent of old coffee after you confront him. “that’s not fair,” he says, voice tight, defensive. “i’m just thinking about the band, our future. you don’t get it.”

you argue back.

he lowers his hands, silent, and then it comes. “maybe… maybe you should go.”

and you do.

you walk out with your chest tight, your heart heavier than you knew it could be. the band calls after you, neil’s voice somewhere in the mix, but you don’t turn. the distance feels unbearable, but necessary. weeks pass. texts go ignored. calls unanswered. you bury yourself in work, friends, anything that keeps the ache from spreading.

then one night, a knock at the door. you open it, half-expecting anyone but him. neil stands there, hair messy, jacket hanging off his shoulders, eyes full of the same light they always had for you. “hey,” he says quietly, almost afraid. “can we talk?”