Whatever happens in regard to Made in the AM the lads are going to be fine. The war is getting pretty obvious and may start spilling into the streets any day now. I’m sure Simon THINKS he made1D, but none of us fell in love with Harry because he’s “adorably slow” or Liam because he “always has the latest hair style.” (Were they even trying?) We fell in love with a group of boys doing stupid stuff on twit-cam or video diaries. A group of irrepressible, rowdy boys who wormed their way into our hearts. We connected with THEM not some ridiculous PR image. They really connect with their audience - and that’s more important than anything in their business. The music has to be good, but they don’t have to be the worlds best singers, or have the best staging - any of it. Four lads who can make such a strong connection to a whole stadium - or even over a YouTube video cannot be ruined by Simon Cowell. They’ve been going over his head since the X-Factor, even if they didn’t realize it. Simon didn’t make 1D, the lads did.
Oh, hello! I’m not surprised if anyone had given up on me; I had just about given up on myself. This chapter pretty much accomplishes what I intended, and it feels fairly finished, so I’m just going to post it! (There will be more to the story, though, in case that was unclear.) The style is a little odd, there are flashback bits that I’m not sure are 100% clear and effective, but blahblahblah. I know. Too much preamble.
Here are the previous installments, should anyone want to catch up or refresh your memory:
Last bit of business: I merged a couple of tag lists, because a couple of people hadn’t made it onto the last fic I posted. If you don’t want to be informed in future, feel free to opt out (I won’t be sad, I swear!) And if you’re not listed and want to be tagged when I write something (hopefully more frequently than once a month in future), let me know.
Finn caught his reflection in the supermarket’s sliding glass doors, and started at the blonde shock on his head. He still wasn’t used to being re-bleached. He hurried inside to do a quick shop before heading home. On his way, he reflected that things had quickly gone back to their version of normal after the momentary tension that seemed to surround the hair dyeing evening a couple days ago. Of course, normal also included Rae feeling like crap every day she worked at Flaps.
He pushed the door to the flat open with the hand that had turned the key in the lock, his other hand gripped onto three carrier bags full of shopping. The droning voice of John McCrea filled the flat. Rae was in a duvet cocoon on the sofa, simultaneously singing along to Cake and watching French & Saunders DVDs, telly volume on low. She’d watched them so often, she had most of the sketches memorized. There was a pile of soggy teabags on the plate next to Rae’s favorite mug.
“Oh, dear,” Finn said aloud. “Rough day?” He recognized the signs of over-coping.