Something About Us

They slowly approached the karaoke machine, the poignant melody of "Flower" filling the humid night air. A sense of hushed anticipation settled over them as they drew closer.

"I don't see or hear a lot of people singing this song in public," Dave commented, his voice a low murmur, his eyes fixed on the silhouette behind the dense foliage.

"Me neither," Henry agreed, his brow furrowed in intrigue.

They were now directly behind the singer, the soft, warm glow of the string lights illuminating her profile, revealing the familiar curve of her cheek, the gentle slope of her shoulder.

"Oh wow, it's Heather," Jesse whispered, his eyes widening in surprise. "I didn't know she could sing?" He turned to Rhys, his expression a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

"I didn't know, either," Rhys replied, his voice laced with a genuine note of surprise. His gaze lingered on Heather, his heart pounding with a strange mix of emotions.

"You're right, she kind of sounds like me when singing," Eugene agreed, her eyes widening slightly, a flicker of admiration in their depths.

Rhys, intrigued and compelled by an unknown force, pulled out his phone and began filming Heather's performance, capturing Eugene's reaction as well. Eugene smiled, her eyes softening as she listened to Heather's heartfelt rendition of her own song. When the song ended, they all clapped, the sound echoing through the quiet night, a sharp contrast to the soft melody that had just faded.

Heather, startled by the sudden applause, whirled around, her eyes widening as she saw Rhys, the guys, and Eugene standing behind her. A blush, hot and bright, crept up her cheeks, staining them a delicate shade of crimson.

Oh my god. Eugene's here, Heather thought, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. Eugene was her favorite singer, her idol, and she had been singing her song, "Flower," hoping no one was listening. The plants obscuring her from view had been a welcome shield, a flimsy veil of privacy.

"Wow, Heather! Your voice sounds great!" Emmett exclaimed, his eyes filled with genuine admiration.

Rhys stopped filming, slipping his phone back into his pocket, his gaze lingering on Heather, his expression unreadable.

"Thanks," Heather mumbled, her gaze darting away, her cheeks still burning. "I should head back to our room. I'm still feeling a little dizzy." She tried to slip past them, her heart pounding in her chest, her anxiety rising with each passing second.

"Nooo~ Can you sing one more song? Just one more~" Henry pleaded, his eyes wide and pleading, his voice laced with a playful whine.

Oh no. I don't like singing in front of other people. And Eugene's here. I have to go…, Heather thought, her anxiety spiraling.

"Since you've been singing Eugene's songs, can you sing a duet?" Henry asked, his voice laced with hopeful anticipation. "Pwetty pwease." He gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, his expression a comical mix of pleading and charm.

"How could I... I... I'm not nearly as good as her when it comes to singing..." Heather said, her voice barely a whisper, her gaze fixed on the ground. She bowed her head, trying to avoid their gazes, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"You were great," Eugene said, her voice warm and sincere, her eyes filled with genuine admiration. "I really loved your voice, you know. And I'd love to sing with you." She grabbed the other microphone from the table, preventing Heather from escaping, her eyes twinkling with playful determination.

Hours later, back in their room, Heather was utterly exhausted. She lifted the comforter and slid under, her body sinking into the soft mattress, her eyelids heavy. "Ugh... So sleepy..." she mumbled, her voice thick with fatigue. "Lights off, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Rhys said, chuckling softly. He turned off the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. When he turned back, Heather was already fast asleep, her breathing deep and even. "Well, that was fast," he murmured, shaking his head. He went to his side of the bed and fell asleep, his mind still replaying Heather's voice.

The next day was filled with laughter and fun, a mix of games, karaoke, and swimming. On the last day, they all decided to relax, enjoying the quiet moments before they had to return home, a sense of melancholy hanging in the air.

When they arrived back at her aunt's home, Heather was so tired from the trip that she fell asleep as soon as she laid down on her bed, her mind still replaying the moments of the trip.

The following morning, Heather was woken up by her aunt, her voice laced with concern, her eyes filled with worry. Marjorie told her about the articles that had spread online, about her and Rhys, their faces splashed across the digital landscape.

Heather grabbed her phone, her fingers trembling slightly, and searched for the articles. When she saw the photos, she immediately remembered the time when Rhys had waited for her at the end of the street. She had been so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed anyone taking pictures, a chill running down her spine.

The other article was even more sensational, suggesting that she and Rhys already had a child, the implication clear and damning. The photo showed them entering her aunt's café, with her holding baby Dave and Rhys's hand resting on her lower back, a gesture of casual affection twisted into something sinister.

The only saving grace was that her face was blurred in the photos, a thin veil of anonymity in the storm of public scrutiny.

"Your uncle and Rhys were already called in early this morning and were asked about these," Marjorie said, her voice gentle but firm. "The company will be releasing an article soon. Don't worry." She patted Heather's shoulder reassuringly, her touch warm but her eyes filled with a deep concern.

"I'm sorry," Heather said, her voice laced with guilt and a rising sense of panic. "I'll try not to get in touch with Rhys and the others too much. Given how they're gaining popularity now, it's not impossible for people to recognize them even if they wear masks or hats."

"It's okay, honey. It's not your fault. You and Rhys are friends. There's nothing wrong with hanging out with a friend. This will all be clarified once the company releases an article," Marjorie said, patting Heather's head, her voice laced with a forced calm. "I've already prepared breakfast, you should come down soon." She walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, the click echoing in the silence.

Heather sighed, a heavy weight settling in her chest, a sense of dread creeping into her heart. She went into the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, trying to clear her head, to wash away the fear that was beginning to consume her.

A few hours later, Starlight Entertainment released an official statement on their website, clarifying the photos. They stated that Heather and Rhys were only friends, that they were not in any kind of romantic relationship, and that they did not have a child. They explained that the child in the photos was Tony and Marjorie's son, and that Heather was Marjorie's niece, helping them take care of their son while they were at work.

A lot of Rhys's fans were relieved to learn that he was still single, but some were still jealous and envious of Heather's close relationship with him. Some fans, thinking of themselves as their idol's wife, did not want to see their idol linked to another female. In some cases, extreme or toxic fans would even dig up details about the female and send threatening messages, a chilling reminder of the dark side of fame.

When Heather sent a message to Rhys, apologizing for what had happened, he immediately called her, his voice laced with concern.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" Rhys asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

"Well... You know..." Heather stammered, her voice barely audible, her throat tight with anxiety.

"It's not your fault. Even if it wasn't you I was with those times, the media would still release articles or rumors about me and that person. It's not just with me, they do it with the other celebrities as well," Rhys said, his voice reassuring but a hint of underlying tension in his tone.

"Still..." Heather said, her voice trailing off, her eyes welling up with unshed tears.

"Forget about this. This'll be over soon. People will move on after a few days," Rhys said, trying to sound optimistic, but his voice lacked conviction. He paused, a hint of sadness in his voice. "We might not see each other for a while. I already explained to our company that you're my childhood friend, but they insisted that we do not meet for now... until this whole gossip is over... I guess..."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that, too. Just focus on your work for now. We can still just message each other from time to time," Heather said, her voice laced with understanding, but her heart breaking with the forced separation.

"Cool. Bye," Rhys said, his voice flat.

"Bye," Heather replied, her voice barely a whisper, a lump forming in her throat. She hung up, the silence of the room amplifying the hollowness in her chest.

After the call, Heather picked up her book, a worn paperback with dog-eared pages, trying to distract herself from the swirling thoughts in her mind. She read a few pages, but the words blurred before her eyes, her mind replaying the conversation with Rhys, the forced separation, the unspoken anxieties that hung heavy in the air.

She tried to focus on the story, but her eyes grew heavy, the weight of worry and exhaustion pulling her under. She drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with blurry images of flashing cameras, angry faces, and the distant sound of Rhys's voice, fading into the background.

The following days were a blur of online vitriol and forced isolation. The articles, though officially debunked, continued to circulate, fueled by gossip and speculation. Heather's social media accounts were flooded with hateful comments, some veiled, some openly hostile. The company, determined to protect Rhys's image, enforced a strict no-contact policy, further isolating Heather from her friend.

The silence from Rhys was deafening. No calls, no messages, just an empty void where their constant communication used to be. Heather understood the company's decision, but the forced separation gnawed at her, a constant reminder of the fragility of their friendship in the face of public scrutiny.

She spent her days confined to her room, the curtains drawn, the silence broken only by the occasional notification on her phone, a reminder of the online storm raging outside. She avoided social media, the constant barrage of negativity too overwhelming to bear.

One evening, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across her room, Heather received a message from an unknown number. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of apprehension and hope.

"Heather, it's me, Rhys. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. The company has been monitoring my phone."

A wave of relief washed over her, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Rhys," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm glad you messaged."

"I miss you," he typed, his words simple but filled with a raw honesty that made her heart ache. "I know it's hard, but we'll get through this."

"I miss you too," she replied, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "It feels like forever."

"I know. I've been trying to find a way to see you, but the company is watching everything."

"It's okay. I understand. Just be careful," she typed, a wave of concern washing over her.

"I will. I just wanted you to know I haven't forgotten about you."

"I know you haven't."

"I have to go. They're calling me for a meeting. I'll message you again when I can."

"Okay. Be safe."

"You too."

The message thread went silent, the screen a stark reminder of their forced separation. Heather stared at the phone, her mind filled with a mix of relief and anxiety. She was grateful for Rhys's message, a lifeline in the sea of isolation, but the knowledge that they were being watched, that their every move was being scrutinized, sent a chill down her spine.

The following days were a waiting game, a constant cycle of hope and disappointment. Heather clung to the occasional messages from Rhys, brief glimpses of normalcy in a world turned upside down. She spent her days reading, watching movies, and trying to distract herself from the gnawing anxiety that lingered beneath the surface.

One afternoon, as she was scrolling through her emails, she noticed a message from an unknown address. Intrigued, she opened it. The email contained a series of photos, candid shots of Rhys and another woman, laughing and talking in a café. The photos were taken from a distance, but they were clear enough to show Rhys's face, his expression relaxed and happy.

A wave of jealousy, sharp and unexpected, washed over her. She knew she shouldn't feel this way, that Rhys was allowed to have friends, but the sight of him with another woman, his laughter echoing in the still photos, sent a pang of hurt through her.

She closed the email, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew it was a setup, a deliberate attempt to sow discord, but the photos had done their job, planting a seed of doubt in her mind.