For the first time in his life, Tucker Pillsbury is nervous. His foot has been tapping against the ground anxiously for almost half an hour now, and the slowly increasing noise from the crowd definitely isn’t helping. This is stupid. He’s performed in concerts, done sold-out shows a million times before. He shouldn’t be hiding out in the green room, waiting apprehensively for someone to tell him it’s time to get on stage.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s more than grateful for the opportunity. He used to listen to your songs in his old apartment, wishing he wrote each and every one of them. He has more than a few unreleased songs that are so clearly inspired by yours, they might as well be tributes.

He’s always been obsessed with your lyricism — how easily you put everything he’s ever felt into words — and don’t even get him started on the musicality of your songs. He could write pages on pages about how much he your music. He nearly jumped for fucking joy when he got a call from his manager telling him you were interested in him opening for your tour.

And more than that, he’s gained a friend, too. You might seriously be the funniest person he’s ever met. It’s like you’re the exact same as him. And he swears to god, he’s never felt more blessed in his life.

But he’s performing an unreleased album to an audience of your adoring fans who barely even know who he is, and who will definitely end up talking over his entire set. Which, in his opinion, is worth freaking out over.

The only time he looks up from the ground is when he hears footsteps approaching, and you make your way to the couch across from him, looking ten times more composed than he does. Why wouldn’t you? Every single person in this venue knows all the lyrics to all your songs off by heart. He’s just the fairly unknown opener.

He’s also being ridiculous. He knows that, too. You chose him for a reason. You obviously think his music is good — something he still can’t quite wrap his head around — and that your fans will like it, too. He just wishes that was enough to settle the nerves racking through his body right now.

The only thing he’s been able to focus on for the past hour is all the ways he could mess up or embarrass himself onstage. Surely, if you saw him mess the opening night of your tour up that badly, you’d realise you made a mistake and ask someone else to open, right?

Clearly, you can tell he’s stressing, because you give him a slightly teasing, yet reassuring smile that soothes his nerves the slightest bit. The sound of the pre-show playlist pounds through the speakers, muffled through the walls, and the familiarity relaxes the tension in his shoulders just enough to feel comfortable about the fact that he’s opening for the first show of your whole tour, and—

Oh, god. The realisation has only just hit him now. He’s opening for the first show of your whole entire tour. Now he’s really, truly freaking out.