Starstruck

Part 19

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sentiments of sadness, two mentions of death, implications of smut

Historical Inaccuracies: N/A

Word Count: 7.5k (i'm so sorry)

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Western United States, 1976

Something was wrong with Heather.

She'd been quiet for weeks now, but only in very subtle ways that added to the unease roiling in your stomach.

One of the things that bothered you the most was that she didn't laugh at your jokes anymore. There was not a smile for your puns, no acknowledgement of the comment you'd made specifically in the effort of making her laugh, and it was enough to unsettle you to the point of chewing your lip and wringing your hands when she entered a room because dammit, she hardly even looked at you.

You attempted to take her shopping with you, the day after you'd torn a massive hole in one of your sweaters and Freddie had thrown his credit card at you because, "We cannot have you representing us like that, Y/N."

"Freddie, no one knows who I am."

"Yet," he'd said. "Just wait until the press get wind of you, darling. They'll never let you alone again."

But Heather had declined your offer, and so you'd gone off on your own whilst the band and crew had prepared for another long day. You'd been moody when you'd left for the nearby shopping centre, but then Brian had caught your arm and wished you luck on your shopping trip, kissed you softly, and promised you a candlelit dinner when schedules allowed.

You'd forgotten about everything else after that.

You had spent the shopping trip daydreaming of the promised date, and wondering whether you'd packed anything particularly pretty to wear. You'd ended up buying a dress as well as a replacement sweater, and Freddie had beamed when you'd returned with two purchases in place of one.

Heather had only smiled. Or rather, she'd grimaced. Even when you tried to get her to gush over fashion the way she had done when you were teenagers, she said nothing, just smiled that tight-lipped smile.

You had first met Heather at a concert and been fast friends, and despite the fact that you lived in Surrey and she in the North, your letter correspondence was never lacking, and the two of you often met up halfway between your homes.

From a young age, you and Heather had dreamed of moving away from home, of finding a flat to share, as a duo or with a whole household of others. You wanted a place to call your own, away from the confines of the people who'd known you for too long to allow you to become anything other than what they'd always imagined you to be

Heather's homelife had never been the best, and though you did not envy her for that, you envied the ease she bore in any situation. By far, out of anyone you knew, Heather had faced the worst, between the death of her brother and the gradual crumble of her parent's marriage, followed by financial turmoil and a whole slew of other calamities that would have been enough on their own, let alone in combination with everything else. She'd had everything thrown at her, she really had, but she'd come out of it a hero, fighting tooth and nail to keep her head above the waters of her sorrow.

You envied that. Her resolve. If ever there was anyone who led by example, it was Heather, and whenever the world became too much, you thought of Heather and her resolve. In turn, she'd always trusted you with her secrets, and you'd always been the first person to receive her news, good or bad. You'd been the first person she'd come running to when she'd been promoted to her impressively independent position in the fashion industry— not her beloved mother, not your housemate Kate who also worked in fashion. You.