"Where words fail, music speaks."

—Christian Andersen

Stepping into the dressing room, I was blown away. Everything was immaculate. As I slowly moved across it, I noted how very clean, shiny, and smooth the black floor was, beneath my anxious toes. From the outside, it was difficult to imagine that such a large space could have fit inside there. The wooden door leading into the green room was so plain, yet everything inside looked so polished that I was afraid to touch anything at all.

If I had, surely, my fingerprints would have noticeably tainted something.

Instead of touching, my eyes carefully scanned the space—from the protective brick walls, up toward the white-painted ceiling. Although there were no windows, the expertly-placed lighting fixtures made the area feel very... open. Since the bulbs gave off a powerful—and slightly yellowed—illumination, I was better able to take in my surroundings.

Scattered around the room were two small couches and several chairs. Nearby, also, was a huge television—with PlayStation hookups, and several controllers, scattered across a mosaic style area rug. Toward the very back of the room, lighted mirrors lined one wall, and a rack of clothes—mostly black in color—was pushed to a far corner.

"There are food trays on the table back there," Anna announced, pointing. "Sandwiches, fruit, vegetables with dip, cold drinks, lots more. Just help yourself to anything you'd like. The restroom is straight ahead through that door. I think that's everything. The guys should be here soon. You can have a seat if you'd like."

The guys. In my mind, I was only there to see Julian—it was unfathomable enough, already, to imagine that, nevermind to attempt to wrap my head around also seeing the other four.

"I need to make a few phone calls. Will you be alright here by yourself for a moment?" Anna asked.

Due to the stirring in my nervous stomach, it took me a moment too long to reply than it should have. From the way Anna's darkened eyebrows pulled together, I gathered just how openly confounded I must have appeared.

Confounded and ill.

"Yes, I'm just..." I started. "You said the restroom is right through here?"

Before Anna had an actual chance to reply, I began making my way toward the cracked-open door of the bathroom. Along the tiled wall, my hand frantically searched, until the switch brought light to the fresh-looking fixtures.

If I wasn't about to be sick, I might have enjoyed the subtle, mixed aromas of lemony cleaning supplies.

After getting inside and quickly locking the door, I stayed absolutely still for a few minutes, trying to ignore the urge to throw up. On my knees, I sent a silent prayer up to the only man I'd ever really loved, and asked for even the semblance of strength.

It felt like an eternity had passed, but finally, the rumblings of my twisting tummy calmed some, and the ill feeling began to slowly pass. Still, to be sure, I stayed kneeling by the toilet for a while longer.

Only when my knees started to ache did I, at last, return upright. Toward the faucet I stepped, and weakly turned on the cold water. Beneath the cool stream, I cupped my hands and brought some of the liquid to my mouth. With my lips still wet and glistening, I looked straight ahead, into the mirror before me. For the first time all night, I was able to get a good look at myself.

Before the inevitable self doubt could kick in full force, I heard footsteps nearby. Quickly, they approached. Just then, two light knocks came on the bathroom door.

"One second, Anna," I called, kind of weakly. Although I was not quite ready to emerge, I turned the water off and dried my hands.

With a bit of wetness still clinging to my right palm, I opened the door. Standing outside it was Julian.

"I'm sorry," he said almost immediately. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

For an uncomfortably long moment, I stared at his face—slightly flushed and dewy with sweat. Stuck to his wide, wet forehead were shaggy strands of light brown hair, appearing darker at the ends, where moisture collected. Barely a hint of bristled stubble was forming around his jawline, chin, and lips, in a lighter shade than the hair on his head.

Gorgeous. His face, especially, was wholly gorgeous. Admiringly, I stared at it—temporarily losing the ability to produce sound. There was a beautiful symmetry to the visible bone structure of him. Even his nose—with a softly rounded tip—appeared perfectly and sharply carved somehow.

Unlike me, Julian was truly beautiful. In fact, next to me, he seemed flawless. His parents must have been two exceptionally good looking people, with Julian taking the best traits from both. I gathered this because Julian held a delicate balance in his appearance that became a sort of conundrum to me—soft and firm, gentle and masculine.

There was a slight clench to his jaw, which emphasized the parts of him that were masculine. The masculinity of Julian's features, however, was beautifully offset by the fullness of his bottom lip, the clarity of his complexion, and his soft-looking, light-toned skin.

The more I looked, the more I became aware of this: every piece and every centimeter of him was beautiful. What struck me the hardest, though, were his eyes.

I wasn't imagining things before. They were definitely reddish-brown. A peculiar type of russet.

It was almost impossible to explain exactly how, but Julian looked much different in person than he did in photographs. And things were harder to see in the dark outside, but in that doorway, Julian's features were illuminated under a gentle light. In his presence, I started to feel weak.

"Right," he said, somewhat nervously, before softly clearing his throat. "So..."

Julian's extra thick eyebrows—that were almost too close to his pupils—furrowed a bit, intensifying the way his squinted, russet-brown eyes peered into mine.

"I'm sorry. I... just needed a moment to cool down," finally, I managed to reply.

"I know the feeling." A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "So, you're okay, Brooke?"

"Yes," I replied, with my heart beating to a strange rhythm.

"This is rude of me. We should talk more comfortably," Julian offered. "Come on over to the sofa with me for a minute."

As we walked, he grabbed a white towel off a rack and draped it around his neck, blotting at his forehead and the tip of his nose. With Julian leading the way, I was gifted a better glance at his sturdy build—lean, but softly muscular, and a few inches taller than my almost-too-tall, lanky, 5'8" frame.

The leather sofa was soft and forgiving. It felt amazing to finally sit down after spending hours on my feet. As we both melted into the fabric of it, I imagined the relief was even greater for Julian.

We looked at each other in awkward silence before he reached behind himself, searching for cold, crinkling plastic.

"Would you like one as well?" With his left hand, Julian motioned toward the water bottle in his right.

"No, thank you," I whispered, ignoring the sandy sensation of my tongue. Somehow, it felt wrong to use the band's supply of water. Surely, they needed it more than I did.

I hadn't been the one situated under blazing hot spotlights for well over an hour, after all.

"Tell me if you change your mind," he murmured, while eyeing me curiously.

Off, he twisted the plastic cap. Again and again, my heart skipped as he slowly sipped at the water.

Carefully studying me.

"Julian," I started. "Please don't take this as complaining..."

Momentarily, he stopped drinking. Before continuing to speak, I attempted to sit up a little straighter.

"I just don't really understand," I admitted quietly. "Why did you ask me to come back here?"

He breathed deeply—a thoughtful, peaceful, cautious sigh.

"You're memorable." Just five syllables, but Julian's grin seemed to shine through each of them.

Nevertheless, these words did little to explain away my question.

"I still don't understand," I softly confessed.

Toward my body, slightly, Julian shifted closer.

"Brooke," he murmured. "Have you ever met somebody that you feel instantly drawn to?"

My silence allowed him to continue.

"And there's no reason for it. Not a logical one, anyway," Julian went on. "You've never actually seen this person before, but, somehow, you feel like you know her? You feel like you should do something about it? It's kind of like that."

My overwrought mind was conjuring up reasons. Possibilities.

"So, you asked me to come back here..." I began to ask.

"To get to know you better," Julian finished for me, before I could assume anything otherwise. "Tell me about you."

I thought about where to begin. How to begin.

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

"Everything," he answered simply.

"That doesn't really help." From me, a nervous chuckle slipped. It halted only when I dared to look directly into his piercing, serious eyes.

Without taking his gaze off mine for even a moment, Julian took another swig of water, waiting for me to supply a real answer.

"I don't know," I crumbled, looking down to my feet finally. "I'm twenty-four. I write. Um, poetry and columns. Well, I used to be a reporter."

"A proper one?" he asked, perking up. "Like front page stories and such?"

"Something like that." I cleared my throat, feeling like a complete idiot for even attempting to sound impressive in front of someone so hugely successful. "Had to make use of the journalism degree somehow, I guess."

"Aha!" Intrigue was sprinkled in his tone. Playfully, and without any inhibition, he smiled at me. "So, I should be the one asking for your autograph then?"

"Hardly." For the first time in what felt like years, I found myself actually giggling.

"Well, I would," he mused.

Almost as soon as he'd spoken the three words, Julian looked down to his shoes. With his stare temporarily directed away from my face, I was able to steal some quick, thorough glances of his—focusing, especially, on his pouty lips. To avoid excessively imagining what they might have tasted like, though, I hastily peered further upward. Covertly, I began studying his golden-brown hair—it was just past his ears in length, and wavy without looking messy. Some strands were curlier than others.

On my part, it was no trite sentiment—Julian really was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, in more than two decades of surveying the earth.

What could he have possibly wanted with me?

This question bounced around my head more and more, while watching him. When Julian turned his face, flecks of light would reflect off his eyes, and for a moment, they'd look almost amber in color. Red to gold—as if his irises could actually absorb brightness, and, for a while, hold its glow.

I had never seen anything like it before. It physically hurt to stare at Julian, and it hurt to look away. As I admired him, my stomach did somersaults. Totally unaware of my inner turmoil, he just glanced around the room, blissfully smiling all the while.

"I can't believe all of this," Julian broke the silence at last, while motioning toward the extravagance surrounding us.

His English accent was beautifully thick to my ears, without sounding foreign.

"Feels sort of like a dream I'm not waking up from, in a way," he confided. "Quite difficult to fathom I'm actually here. It's all so mad."

After a long moment of quiet contemplation, I was able to reply.

"Yeah," I whispered in agreement, and amazement, while staring around the room with him. "I can't even imagine. Living like this, it has to be..."

"Surreal," he completed my thought. "It is. I'm just hoping they don't figure out how useless I am and export me back."

Mostly to himself, Julian chuckled. Each rumble from his chest was a sound I wished I could have bottled.

"Only a fool would let you go," I said, with my sights set firmly on the ground.

I didn't see it, but I felt it—the heat of his stare. It left a burning sensation embedded deeply into the flesh of my cheeks.

"What I'm trying to say is, you deserve all of this. All of it and so much more," I appended. "Your skills as a musician call for this kind of attention and privilege. I wish I had your talent."

"Sometimes, I wish I didn't," Julian sighed his confession, sounding far more somber.

I stole another glance at him.

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"It's kind of hard to explain," Julian started to say, with his pensive eyes set in a downcast glare. "You're known, but you're not known."

Before Julian could explain any further, there was an interruptive knocking on the door, and then the knob turned. In came Jesse, Tommy, Devon, and Mason, single-file. As they walked by the sofa where I sat, the musicians were joking with one another, but each one was kind enough to give me a quick hello, before heading straight for the food. It was as if a strange girl sitting on their dressing room couch was nothing out of the ordinary.

Maybe it wasn't, I feared.

Ripping through my thoughts, again, was Devon—as he sang aloud to himself while grabbing a thick Reuben sandwich. The blending scents of sauerkraut and Swiss cheese grew stronger as Devon, and his piled-high snack, found a resting place on the floor by Julian and me. After taking a huge, messy bite of his dinner, Devon's singing turned muffled, and he absentmindedly picked up a video game controller.

With the band's frontman situated so close to me, I was able to notice the details of him. Devon's dark hair was still slightly damp with sweat, and once he'd finished chewing, the vocalist's mouth formed into an oval as he almost immediately began to graphically curse at the first-person shooter game.

"I thoroughly apologize. They're in bad form tonight." While looking back at his bandmates, Julian rolled his eyes at them—partially in annoyance and partially in affection. "This probably isn't the best place to continue our conversation."

Into the pocket of his black jeans, Julian reached. Once he found his phone, he pulled it out and pressed some buttons before handing it over to me.

"Put your number in my mobile?" he asked, as if it were no big deal.

"Sure," I said. "But why?"

From my peripheral vision, I could sense Mason watching us both, nonchalantly, with gently folded arms.

"Well, I think we've got lots more to discuss," Julian spoke quietly, toward my ear only. "If you'd like, maybe you can come 'round to my room later to hang out? Private room, that is—no interruptions."

I could have sworn I sensed some hope in his voice. In a million different directions, my mind was firing.

"I'd like that," I said, while keeping my focus downward, on the screen of his phone. Into the newly created contact ID, I pressed the last digit of my phone number—4—and handed the device back to Julian. Only then did a howling sound call both of our attentions toward the back of the green room.

There, Jesse was placing slices of salami on Tommy's head, and laughing hysterically. I took a moment to study the two of them.

Jesse's small, emerald eyes were set too far apart on his elongated face, under a slight widow's peak, but all of his other features were nearly ideal. His dark red hair—appearing almost brown in color, from a distance—was smoothly slicked back to his neck, with no visible part line. Easily, Jesse had the most youthful face of the group, but from what I had read about him online, he was the oldest at twenty-seven. Nobody would have been able to guess that, though, from his button nose, hairless face, and thin, pink lips that seemed to frequently be shaped in a smile.

Tommy, on the other hand, had the fullest lips, and the smallest forehead. His gelled hair was the shade of buttered toast, and shaped into short, soft spikes. The redness rarely ever left his cheeks, and his skin was light to the point of seeming almost translucent. Tommy's ears were gauged and a few tattoos sparsely decorated his pale skin—effectively counteracting his otherwise babyish-looking features. Although one of his eyebrows was pierced, I was mostly drawn to his blue eyes. They were wide, kind, and lively.

As soon as I realized I was rudely staring, while studying the musicians around me, I immediately pulled my attention back to Julian. He was smirking fondly at his friends.

His friends... and maybe I should have left Julian to unwind with them. After the performance they had just put on, he had more than earned it.

"Okay," I whispered, while standing to my feet.

"Alright," Julian sighed, kind of excitedly, as he stood up with me. "I'll ring you in a bit, Brooke. Just give me a few minutes to have a shower, and I'll pass along the directions."

Immediately, I nodded, and tucked a loose, black strand of hair behind my left ear.

"Do you have a way to get to the hotel on your own, if I give you the information?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied hesitantly, in an attempt to hide my excitement.

"I promise, I'll ring you." Into my widened eyes, his burned. "Answer when I do?"

Soundlessly, I nodded again.

"Okay." Julian smiled. "Anna will help to show you out. She's just outside the door."

"In a little while then," I whispered, smiling back.

Across the floor, and toward the dressing room door, I strode... feeling completely off balance. As my hand met the handle, I looked behind myself to wave, just once. Nobody except for Julian and Mason were even paying attention to me—the former waved back, while the latter of which actually spoke.

"Bye, Brooke," Mason called, from further back.

Stepping out, it felt like I was exiting a movie set and returning to real life. The corridor was completely quiet, cold with cranked up air conditioning, and Anna was not there like Julian said she would be. Although I was completely lost on where to go, I could not find the courage to knock on the door and ask the guys for help. It wasn't entirely clear to me if they were actually in there, or if this entire scenario had simply been a figment of my imagination.

Down a long, well-lit corridor, I started walking, and hoped it would lead me back outside. If the evening's event had been real after all, one thing was for sure: no fan was going to randomly find Ascend the Stars' dressing room. Every inconspicuous detail of the backstage area was meant to keep things well-hidden.

And that they did.

It seemed like I was walking for miles, but, finally, I started to see some familiar objects, and soon found my way toward the arena exits. I guessed more time had passed while I was in the dressing room than I originally thought, because the headlining act was finished and tons of fans were already gone.

All around me was a somewhat unsettling quietness, but not a total sense of silence.

Although the place had really cleared out a lot, there were still a few fans hanging around, so I didn't stick out like a complete sore thumb. To collect my thoughts, and some fresh air, I made my way outside. When I did, I leaned against the outside of the building and used this opportunity to check my texts. So far, I had three from Laina that read:

-OMFG!!!!!!

-CALL ME!!