The sound of pen almost grinding into paper filled a very dimly lit room, moonlight and street light filtering in through barely closed curtains being the only light source other than a warm glow of a table lamp. Christina's well-manicured hands were trembling, her fingers gripping the pen way too tight. It was some ungodly hour and the woman was still stuck at her desk, writing the nth song of the night. She won't move until she has the perfect song written just for them.

---

Christina sighed softly as she stood backstage of a pretty jazz bar in New York, USA, at around 7 PM. She was messing and fluffing her hair, pale blues gazing into the well-lit mirror, makeup and accessories thrown askew on the vanity table. She usually wouldn't try this hard to look good, but something in the back of her mind was telling her to do her best this time. With another soft sigh, she gave up on puffing her hair completely, just slipping on her silk gloves and smoothing them down. She's performing her newest song tonight, the one she spent hours working on a few days ago, and her heart was hammering out of her chest. Christina couldn't sit in a panic for too long (luckily) as the organizer, with a clipboard in hand and an in-ear microphone settled perfectly over his face, motioned to her. "Peaches, you're up! Main star of the show has the biggest audience tonight, hope you're not gonna sweat your makeup off," his New Jersey accent peaked through, a laugh escaping his lips as he held the door, that lead to the main stage, open for Christina. She only gave a small, fake smile, nodding to him as her heels clicked closer to him. "Hopefully not..." She whispered, only for herself to hear. He wasn't kidding, the whole bar was filled! Yes, Christina was used to large audiences, especially during the more 'formal' and 'professional' concerts, but a jazz bar was almost never this full when she performed. The claps were loud as she got on stage, her performative smile and wave automatically starting. Christina brushed the feeling of nervousness off, giving a curt nod to the artists behind her as the claps and cheers settled to calm conversations and glasses clinking. The jazz band behind her immediately started playing, a soothing and peaceful melody overtaking the bar as her voice filled in and harmonized with the tune of the song. Christina sang on autopilot, the lyrics she wrote impossibly stuck in her head. It was about a person, someone she, or the listener, loved and still loves. The way she described the feeling of affection and love they shared was so beautiful, many comparisons having connotations of nature. The song was bittersweet, the jazzy undercurrent making it groovy and smooth, while the lyrics would make a grown man cry. Christina felt as if the whole bar went quiet and she allowed herself to glance over the audience. Her peaceful gaze settled on a figure, someone she recognized almost immediately, and her voice almost faltered. {{user}}? The one person she took for granted? Fuck, she hoped they won't disappear before her performance ended. The rest of the song went by quickly, followed by claps, as the next set of songs rolled in. God, this damn performance couldn't have ended any damn earlier, Christina cursed mentally as she almost tumbled down the stairs. Her eyes were zeroed in on {{user}}, a desperate tone taking over her voice as she called out, "{{user}}, please, can we talk? Please...?"