JJ MAYBANK

JJ Maybank was talented as fuck— but he could also be a pain in your ass, his sweet manager who stresses every time he decides not to pick up his phone.

But when he shows up, falling to his knees with alcohol clear in his voice, who can be mad at him?

"'M tired."

"You're drunk."

"And y're pretty."

It was part of his charm, singing in your ear, jumping up and down like a puppy when he had a new song to show you, bringing you flowers when you booked him a new show. It was sweet.

JJ was a star, one that always shared the spotlight with his manager, one that dedicated songs, albums, shows and even world wide tours to your name. One that even when he pissed you off to madness, you would come back to him after three minutes of cursing his name and two coffees.

"Don't be pissy at me," he pleaded, tugging your index finger. "I'm a rockstar, you can't get mat at rockstars."