ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 3: Creating A Peace Offering

A/n: you may notice in this chapter that y/n is a little bit overexcitable and goes to the most absurd lengths to avoid social interaction. i am also slandering msi so warning for that.

It only took around ten minutes to get to the record office. Stepping out of the cab, you were surprised to see that you'd actually come to where the cinema was — well, where it would be in the future, you supposed. You paid the driver, uttering a quick thank you, before returning your attention to the building, with a small frown; would you need ID to get inside?

You'd forgotten your stupid wallet at home, in your haze of depressed panic, so you had no way of showing that you were meant to be here. Even if you had brought it, what would you do? Show them your driver's licence and expect them to be like 'oh, they can drive, that's fine then'?

That would be like a barrister leaning over you, while you sat in a dental chair, brandishing a mirror, as they assured you that they had a degree in corporate law.

You turned around to stare at nothing for a moment, before shaking your head, and walking inside. Fuck it, let's see what happens, you thought brusquely, heading towards the reception.

The person behind the desk saw you instantly, and looked up with a smile, addressing you by your last name, which caught you off guard; "Good morning! Harvey's up on the second floor, in their office," they informed you politely.

"Oh," you spluttered, unused to such respect from others, "thank you."

"By the way," they added, a little nervously, as they brought something out from their bag, "could you... sign this for my niece? She really loves your album."

You stared blankly at the CD she'd placed on the table, with a marker next to it, before nodding robotically, and croaking out, "Sure..."

After you signed the plastic cover, with a healthy dose of hesitance, you gave the receptionist a wave, and walked over to the elevator, to get to the second floor. The lift was a little shaky, but nothing too extreme — when you stepped out, you duly noted the whitewashed walls, and peered around in search of Harvey's office, discreetly looking at the different nameplates stamped on the walls.

You halted outside one with the name "Harvey Pullman"; you supposed this was your manager. Swallowing nervously, you knocked on the door, to receive a bright, "Come in!" from the other side.

When you entered, you were blinded by the neon posters covering every square inch of the room, and stacks of papers rising two miles high in each corner; stepping over a large folder, you moved into the room, to see a young man, sorting quickly through a bunch of flyers. He looked up, and gave you a gigantic grin, despite the bags under his eyes being six inches deep, and holding a pale countenance that made you think he was a vampire.

"Hey, you made it!" he exclaimed, "Sit down," he motioned to a small couch opposite a small table, "sorry, I'm just going through these stupid things to make sure there are no editing mistakes."