Saying a quick hello to Maureen as they passed in the hall, Keely took a deep gulp from her hot chocolate – yes, she was switching it up – as she headed straight for studio C, another disposable mug in her other hand.

Shoving the black door open with her hip, she paused when she found the control room empty, a small smile blooming on her mouth. But that smile quickly switched into a from as she remembered the last time that she'd found the studio empty. Moving hastily forward, she peered through the pane of glass into the sound booth. Her smile came back when she saw the microphones set up inside the booth.

It was a very good thing that he was somewhere in UAE – probably making a pot of coffee even though one of them always brought coffee with them, the boy was addicted to it – because Keely possessed no way of breaking it his apartment at that point in time. After all, she wasn't the one who knew how to pick locks.

Dropping her bag along with the cups onto the table at the back of the room, Keely flung herself into one of the chairs, rolling it hurriedly forward to the soundboard. Seth had never actually told her specifically not to touch the board, in fact she'd even moved a few dials without him even saying a word. But she could clearly see him slapping Colton in the back of the head for touching the intercom button, not to mention him and Marco beginning to shove each other for the same thing, though it was more playful fighting that time. Yet she found everything with those three boys hard to take seriously lately, at least when the three were together.

Feeling a bit like a child trying to steal from the cookie jar, Keely ran her fingers along the board. Yes, Seth was teaching her about it little by little, but she'd love to know as much about it as he did, it simply fascinated her.

That was an idea, she mused, if Rachael the evil witch ended up to be right about her album flopping, maybe she could become a producer, because she would never sell out her music, it meant too much to her. Yeah, producing didn't sound bad at all. Maybe even if her album did well she could be a producer too, Seth did it and managed to be an artist too, to be fair he barely slept, but she could do it too.

The door swung open with an echoing bang, causing Keely to jump violently in the chair.

Hastily, she shoved herself away from the board, shooting her hands up in the air as the chair hit the table with a solid thud. “I wasn't touching the board!” she proclaimed quickly.

“No that's – what? I don't care. Rebel, look at this!”

Blinking in confusion, Keely tugged her chair towards him. He was smiling hugely, the dimple in his left cheek in full form, his eyes shining with no sign of that darkness she'd become accustomed to. He was holding out a folded up newspaper for her.

She snatched it from his hands, sending him a bewildered look, but he didn't even seem to notice. Before she could look at it though, Seth spoke, seemingly unable to hold it in.

“You're number thirteen.”

Her confusion was just building, and she felt her nose crinkle slightly as she looked up at him, letting the newspaper fall to her side. She was number thirteen? Number thirteen what? “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Number thirteen,” he smiled as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, holding out his arms slightly as if hoping it would force her into understanding. “For You is number thirteen on the music charts.”

Keely's mind went blank, and she just gaped up at him, her eyes wide, “What?”

“After only being released for three weeks, your song is number thirteen on the New York music charts,” he said, the smile still on his face.

The smile pushed itself onto her mouth without her even so much as noticing, still in a state that had passed over confusion and was hovering over shocked. What do you say to that? What could you say to that? Especially when moments before you were thinking that some evil bitch might be right about your music, and you were already pondering what to do if you're album dropped. For You was number thirteen on the charts. For You was on the charts. Her song was not only on the charts, but it was on bloody number thirteen.

“Oh my god!” she gasped in lack of knowing what to say, but needing to say something. She'd never really been this bad for lack of words before, she was a song writer after all, words just came naturally to her, even when she'd heard the song on the radio the first time she hadn't been even close to this stupidly mute.

Without thinking, she launched herself at him. It seemed to be a habit of hers whenever something enormous happened for her.

Whatever, he liked to wake her up for some reason, she could hug him randomly at moments like this. The thought passed through her mind hurriedly, and Keely barely noticed.

Her arms were tight as a vice around his neck having flung herself up to his full height, her toes not even touching the ground. She might have fallen down had he not caught her immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

The smile stretching across her mouth almost painfully, Keely buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply. The thought of him smelling nice fled from her mind almost as quickly as the previous thought, she just wanted to feel the moment, this was the first time she had ever felt something like that, and she wanted to savour the moment. The smooth leather of his jacket was soft beneath her chin as she smiled, wondering if the smile would be able to come off even in the next few days. It seemed impossible with what she was feeling at that moment.

She couldn't care less if she was acting like a fool, plastering herself to his hard chest that way, too deeply intrenched in the thoughts about her song just being on the charts. How could she have been that much of an idiot to listen to Rachael Gosling about anything, even for just the barest moment in almost a positive sense? Nothing that came out of that girl's mouth was real.

When he didn't let go, she looked over his shoulder, holding up the folded newspaper so she could look at it. Sure enough, between number twelve and fourteen was written For You by Keely Staub in neat black lettering.

Dropping her arms from his neck, Keely dropped to her converse shoes on the ground, Seth's arms loosening from her waist.

Not looking at him, she cradled the newspaper between her two hands looking down at it and not even moving away an inch. The top of the paper was brushing his grey t-shirt and the bottom scraping over her blue plaid shirt that was two sizes too big.

“I'm number thirteen,” she breathed, finally looking up so she could smile up at him.

“People don't always listen to shit music.”

Giving a slight hysterical chuckle, Keely looked back down at the paper, covering her mouth with one hand. Finally she moved away absentmindedly, strolling towards the soundboard and then back towards him again, only to begin pacing.

“C'mon, rebel,” said Seth as if he was fighting laughter, but she still didn't look at him. “Go warm up,” he continued, gripping her shoulders from before and directing her gently towards the door to the sound booth. “We're doing the vocals for Under Pressure today,” he informed her, reaching around her and snagging away the newspaper.

Frowning slightly, Keely twisted around slightly to look at him, the gold eyes shining. “I thought we were going to do vocals for-”

“No,” he interrupted, “We've put off the vocals for long enough, it's time to finish the song.”

Thoughtfully, Keely sat alone in the control room, watching into the sound booth. Seth was fixing the microphone for his height as he kind of towered over her, as well as fixing the stand that held the sheet music.

She couldn't believe that all this time, she'd never seen Seth record a vocal track, not to mention she'd never been alone in the control room while he recorded before.

Yes, she'd seen him record, but he was always playing the guitar or the keyboard, plus Marco and Colton would always be with her. She just couldn't believe it, how could she have missed it? Over all the time she'd spent in New York City, she'd spent at least three quarters of it locked in the studio with Seth, whether they were writing songs, recording or mixing for the new NSR album or hers. And over that time, they'd become each others co-writers, her name would be on half of the songs on their upcoming album, and so would Seth's for every song on her album, except the few covers. They would always use Marco and Colton for input, but the two boys weren't really as into song writing as they were.

So how on earth, after all this time, had she never seen him lay down vocals in the studio?

A thought popped into her mind as she watched him pull the headphones from where they'd been hanging on the stand and slip them over his hair, musing his messy hair even more as he stepped up to the mic. All the times she'd sung with him, while writing songs, practising or just fooling around, she'd never seen him sing without a guitar or piano.

Sure, sometimes he wouldn't be playing said guitar and piano, but he'd half a guitar in his hands, attached to him by the guitar strap, the guitar sitting is his lap or he'd be sitting behind the piano.

He sent her a nod through the glass.

Hastily Keely jumped forward, pressing the button he'd instructed her would start the music. Instantly music swelled inside the the control room, the bass pumping through loudly. But then a fuzzy sound screeched through the room momentarily before the music started again.

“Ow, fuck!” Seth exclaimed loudly, ripping the headphones off his ears, falling back a step from the mic.

With wide eyes, she leaned forward, pressing down on the intercom. “What was that?”

“Feedback,” he explained, slipping the headphones over his ears again and tapping on them pointedly.

“Oh, shit, I'm so sorry,” she apologized sheepishly. She'd had feedback a few times when Marco had been her producer, not anytime lately, but she remembered it hurt like hell when it screamed through your head.

He just shook his head easily, stepping back to the microphone stand. “Don't worry about it, rebel, just don't blow out my eardrums next time, I kind of need them for the gig. Okay, just restart the music, I showed you how before.”

Nodding hastily, she did exactly what he said, letting the music restart, though this time with no feedback.

But all sheepishness soon fled from her mind, as she looked through the glass pane to see him, his foot already tapping to keep time.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Keely saw her cell phone flashing with a call, but she didn't even look at who was calling, just declined the call easily. She could care less about whoever was calling her at the moment, the curiosity was building strongly in her chest. She didn't know why, but she wanted to see him sing without a guitar, she couldn't even imagine what it would like.

But as the song went by, she didn't know whether she should laugh or shake her head, so she did both.

He was holding his hands perfectly as if there was really a guitar in his hands. Keely supposed a person could call it air guitar, but she just couldn't consider it so, not when his fingers were making the exact movements he would have been doing had there been an actually instrument in his hands. His fingers matching the sound of the recorded guitar flooding through the room around her.

Her own recorded voice kicked in, and after waiting a few beats, counting time with his foot, Seth began to sing too, not so much as missing a chord on his invisible guitar.

Shaking her head, Keely leaned forward, ignoring another call flashing across her cell thoughtlessly as she propped her elbows on the edge of the board, cupping her chin in her hands. It would probably be easy to hate someone who was just so talented, where was the justice in one person being so musically gifted as he was? He could play the guitar almost better than anyone she'd seen, he was an incredible pianist, he had a great voice, not to mention Marco and Colton had informed her that the cello and violin in the warehouse were his and he'd taught himself how to play them, and was now working on learning how to play the drums.

It just wasn't fair.

In the end Keely just did as Seth told her, since she was more sure in him knowing what was the best take, he had produced more than a few good albums before. He'd cut off in the middle of a take some times and tell her to replay the backing, and other times he'd sing until the end of the song, but get her to restart it anyways.

After almost a straight hour of that, Seth finally told her that was the take, dropping his headphones upon the stand.

“Go find Brett,” he ordered, moving the microphone down.

Confused, Keely felt her brow furrow as she pressed on the intercom. “What?”

“We need to sing it together before we can finally mix the track for the final take, and we need someone on the controls,” he explained, not looking over at her.

Sighing she shoved herself from the seat, pushing away from the soundboard. It didn't take long to find Brett, the first place she looked for him – the kitchen – was where she found him, talking to one of his R and B artists.

“Keely!” he exclaimed seeing her, looking over the girl's shoulder.

Sending him a nod, Keely stopped moving before she could breach the kitchen, shoving her hands and rocking back onto her heels.

“You and Seth are ready to record?”

“Yup,” she answered easily, “He's just fixing the mic right now.”

He sent her a quick nod, looking back to his artist. “I don't want to use that mic for that single, it's going to make it sound tinny, not soul, we'll figure it out tomorrow, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, he slipped out from the girl's claws, and made his way to Keely. Not bothering to wait for the guy, she hastily turned on her heel and made her way back to her habitual studio.

Brett let out a whistle when he got into the studio. “Man, I miss this studio, you got the good one.”

Leaning against the door between he studio and the control room, Seth snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, wearing that familiar cocky smirk that didn't even touch his eyes. “You're only getting to use this studio when I'm on tour.”

Shaking his head lightly, Brett clapped Seth on the shoulder before making his way to the board. “I still don't know how you got this studio, I have seniority.”

“But I'm better,” answered Seth without a hint of modesty.

Keely rolled her eyes, she hadn't forgotten about the egotistical, cocky, smug version of Mr Seth Ryan.

“C'mon, rebel,” said Seth. When she tipped her head up to him, she scowled at his knowing expression, she wouldn't doubt he'd known what she was thinking. Without further ado, he grabbed her by the hand, tugging her into the studio.

“Do I have to tie your shoe laces too?” he asked, smirking as he fit a pair of headphones onto her head.

Even though she knew it was childish, Keely stuck her tongue out at him, she couldn't help herself. He chuckled, brushing back a lock of hair that the headphones had shoved forward into her face, and tucking it behind her ear. Ignoring the feeling of her stomach dropping out, she pointedly turned away from him, fixing herself in front of the microphone.

“You ready, Ryan?” asked she when he didn't follow her example, glancing over her shoulder.

Although his expression had been blank, her quickly put on a smirk and shoved his own headphones over his ears.

Keely burst out laughing at the face Seth pulled when his note was flat.

“Could you two handle yourselves for like a minute?” asked Brett wearily from the control booth. “You almost had it that time.”

“I'm sorry,” said Keely in response, but she couldn't help the fact that her voice was shaking with laughter. She liked it when Seth was being silly, almost as much as she did when they were talking about music without arguing, and she couldn't help herself from laughing at him. It was almost as if he was drunk, except without the stumbling tendencies.

Brett just glared at her through the window.

Biting down on her lip, Keely tried for a serious expression. “Seriously Brett, this will be the track, okay?”

Seth arched an eyebrow at her from the other side of the mic when she turned back, and Keely could feel herself smirking at him as the music started. But since she felt Brett was ready to murder them soon, she kept herself from laughing.

Singing the beginning, ““Mm ba ba de”,” Seth decided to make the face again, and she couldn't help it, she started laughing again, throwing her head back.

“Guys!” Brett complained.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Keely gasped between laughs, turning towards the window and holding her hands out towards the control room. “I swear, we,” she elbowed Seth in the stomach for effect, “Will get it this time.”

That time, her words proved to be true, they finally ran through the song without a hitch.

“Finally!” proclaimed Brett from the studio, holding his hands up the air. “I'm done! I've been doing this for hours with Seth either saying it wasn't right or you giggling. I am done!”

As he fled from the control room, Keely started laughing at his back again.

“Hey, rebel, you're a little fan girl of Tyler Collins, right?”

That got her laughter to cut off abruptly, and she turned to glare at him. “I think Tyler Collins is a really good artist, that doesn't make me a fan girl.”

Despite her glaring and sharp words, the smirk didn't leave his face, in fact her looked quite unfazed by it, apparently that didn't have an effect on him anymore. Reaching behind him with one hand, Seth reached into the back pocket of the faded jeans that hung appealing from his hips without being too loose or too tight.

Blinking in bewilderment at her thoughts, Keely pulled her mind away from that subject, instead focusing on the slips of paper that he'd pulled out of his back pocket. “Then I guess you don't want to go see him tomorrow night.”

Keely blinked, then exclaimed giddily, “He's coming to New York?”

“Yeah,” grinned Seth broadly, “For one night only and the show is sold out, I just managed to get two tickets.”

“Are they backstage?!”

He grimaced, “Backstage? You'd want to go backstage? That's like the most boring part of being a rock star, I never knew why people always want to go back there. It's not like we keep twenty hookers with a buffet of drugs and alcohol back there, all it is changing into sweatpants and hanging around until the tour bus comes.”

That was a rude shock, but Keely didn't linger too long on it, she snatched the tickets from his hands hastily, looking down at what they said. He was playing a smaller venue than usual, a small theatre with only a couple hundred seats instead of the stadiums he usually played.

“Do we get to meet him?” she asked in a rush, her voice hurrying in her excitement.

Seth rolled his eyes, “I'm his producer, he's not going to say no to me.”

Chewing on her lip as her mouth stretched wide into a smile she'd already worn that day, she tipped her head up to him. “You got me a ticket to go see Tyler Collins?”

“Well, if you don't want to go-”