Tone Deaf

Chapter Eight

Author's Note:

*bursts in after over a year of hiatus*

HEY GUYS. It's been a while, I know. I have no excuses tbh. Hope this chapter somewhat makes up for it.

(Also, wattpad's whole format changed! I'm confused! How do I change boldface/italic/underline stuff in here? I'm like an old person trying to use emojis, help!)

xx,

Quinn

Kyle:

"Tay hates me." Devon says, casually, taking a massive bite of his hamburger as we walk down the strip. 

We just left Razor, where I'd had a meeting with Adriana, my new PR manager, and Devon had been recording more demos. 

On the way over here, Tay called to ask what I was doing and when she heard I was with Devon, she supplied a quick goodbye and hung up.

"She doesn't hate you, she just..." I don't exactly know what to say, and Devon takes his opportunity to give me a pointed look. 

It would have much more power if he weren't mid-chew and if he didn't have mustard on the side of his mouth.

I sigh. "Okay, maybe she hates you a little."

"Told you." He mumbles through a full mouth.

"Give her time." I say, even though I know that once Tay has decided something, especially how she feels about someone, she will never change her mind.

Devon chuckles. "It's okay, I don't need her to like me."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "I thought you needed everyone to like you."

He gives me a look. "Seriously, did you just always think I was a sad teenager sitting in my room writing songs, hoping one day the world would love me?"

I pause. "Yes."

He whacks me on the shoulder and I laugh.

Devon and I have been hanging out a lot recently. Usually it's after his studio sessions at Razor, because I practically live there now and we almost always are leaving at the same time. 

But there have been a few times where it hasn't just been out of practicality, and that's still strange to me. I guess it's just weird accepting that we're kind of friends now, given our years of hating each other from afar.

In my defense, though—and I guess his, too—we'd never met. I had no idea what he was like, and now it's pretty clear to me that I had him all wrong. 

He's a little immature, sure, but mostly because he's a fucking goofball and he knows it. He plays around with everything, finds humor in every situation, I have no idea how he does it and I've never really seen anything quite like it. Now that I actually know him, I think he's pretty cool.

"Hi! Oh my gosh, I'm sorry, we were just—is it okay if—could we get a picture with you?"

It's two teenage girls, maybe about fifteen or sixteen, who have just approached us. I'm a little thrown off—because I have still not gotten used to people wanting my autograph or wanting pictures with me. I know it's been, like, six years, but honestly, can anybody get used to that?

Clearly the answer is yes, because Devon is handling it like a pro.

"Absolutely, how do you wanna take it?" he's giving them that smile, the one he has on all the billboards, the one in all his red carpet pictures.