Amber doesn't quite remember Amy ever being livid with her in the past; the only time that she was even remotely angry was when Amber accidentally overturned her unfinished jigsaw puzzle, and even then the brunette forgave her as soon as the blonde whipped out the puppy eyes and profuse apologies.

Somehow, she nervously thinks, tapping her keycard against the door and watching the LED light turn green, she doesn't think that the puppy eyes will work this time around.

The young woman cautiously opens the door, ever so careful in case her roommate's wielding a knife and feels like gutting someone, but seeing nothing she quickly darts through the small gap and shuts the door behind her.

Amy's sitting on her bed, pillow to her chest and eyes down on her phone, but it's obvious she's heard Amber enter. When she looks up, Amber flinches, feet ready to scurry away, and the vocalist's unreadable eyes soften with a scoff. "Oh, Amb, I'm not gonna hurt you." She pats her mattress, beckoning for the blonde to sit, and Amber does so, albeit gauging her with weary eyes.

"Are you..." she carefully begins before clearing . "Are you... angry with me, Amy?"

There's a silence, and then Amy cards a hand through her hair, wearily sighing. "I mean... I was. I still am." She folds her hands together, laces her fingers over her pillow. "I mean, we worked really hard to get to where we were, Amb. We did our best, achieved the best results, and that's why we were able to get that good of a time slot, you know? But..." Here, she bitterly laughs, and Amber shrinks at the sound. "How can I be mad at you? I mean, if I were in your situation I would've done the same. And you're my friend, I..." Amy's at a loss for words.

Amber reaches out for the other's hands. "Amy, I'm so sorry. I'm serious, like, if you want me to talk to Henry about it—"

Amy shakes her head. "No, no. It's alright, but..."

She trails off there, and Amber knows she's lying. To not have a good spot at the showcase, especially during one's last year at the high school, is like signing off to a life full of unfulfilled part-time jobs and wistful daydreams of what could've been while slaving over a fast-food grill.

"We worked really hard," the vocal major whispers brokenly, and Amber realizes her best friend is crying as she hurriedly wipes away at her eyes, soft sniffling filling the room.

What kind of friend is she to repay the others like this? She worked hard -- the entire band department is comprised of hard-working individuals -- but Amy worked hard as well, and so did Eric, and Sunyoung. She felt enthralled at getting an early spot thanks to Henry earlier, but realizing the consequences of changing the schedule crashed down upon her like harsh waves on a seaside cliff, made her feel disgustingly grimy for whipping out a prime chance like that from under the feet of countless of talented others, students who were just as excited to show off what they worked hard for.

"I'm a terrible person," Amber hears herself say. "God, I'm evil. I'm like that dalmatian lady who skins puppies for her fur coat."

Amy laughs, her eyes watery and nose red. "Cruella De Vil," she fills in nasally, nostrils starting to clog, and Amber pulls her in for a hug. "I don't think you're as bad as she is, Amb."

Amber smooths down her brown hair. "I am, I am. I'm like... skinning vocal majors for my band showcase fur coat." Her friend pulls back to make a judgemental face at her, and Amber's shoulders hunch. "Too cringy?"

"Please don't beat yourself up, Amber," Amy hoarsely begins after a bout of giggles subsides. "You didn't know, you know?"

"No, I didn't..." Amber's eyes darken as she releases the hug, a scowl making its way onto her face at the thought of a young man with an unctuous grin. "But Henry did."

The morning after her conversation with Amy comprised of her giving heartfelt apologies to all of her vocal major friends, a more impressive number than she had originally thought. Most of her friends either forgave her or still harbored slight animosity, though they appreciated her for apologizing. Some straight-up told her that they wouldn't be talking to her until she fixed her mess. Sunyoung forgave her during lunch and offered her biscuit. Eric won't even look in her direction.

"You have a lot of explaining to do," Amber seethes, temper barely kept in check at seeing Henry blink innocuously at her, as if he didn't know what he did wrong. "Why the hell didn't you tell me that that spot belonged to the vocalists?!"

"And what if I did?" Henry replies, mood unruffled. It makes Amber think about how satisfying it would be to sock him. "Would you change your mind?"

"Yes! I would!" Amber hollers, tossing up her arms in exasperation. "They're my friends!"

Henry's countenance doesn't change past boredom at the topic. "What if I told you that spot belonged to the dance majors? Would you apologize to Jongin, or Victoria, or Taemin?"

The blonde pauses, her nose scrunched as she filters through the words. "What?"

"What if I told you that spot belonged to the theater division? Would you apologize to Kibum, or Eric, or Minho?" Henry folds his arms. "Those are only a few names I bet we both know, but you can grovel in apology to however many friends you have that are pissed at you, Amber."

"What's your point?" Amber shoots, though confusion is etched on her features more so than anger.

Henry sighs, checking his watch as if impatient for the conversation to wrap up. "My point is, Amber, that in a competitive school like this, you'll always outdo someone, take someone else's place. That's just the nature of this school, and you can't apologize for landing opportunities that will make your career skyrocket." He shrugs, but his eyes betray a hint of sympathy, a tone of I wish it was different, but that's how it is, and neither of us can change that. "There's always a winner and always a loser. This time, the losers just had to be the vocal division."

The trumpet player allows her arms to fall to her side, astounded as Henry brushes past her to start making his way to the studios. She grabs his wrist to stop him, whipping him around to face her intensely. "But it doesn't have to be that way!" she shouts. "We can do something! I..."

"You're cute," Henry says patronizingly, and Amber scowls at him as he uses his free hand to unclasp his wrist. "If you ever think of a solution to your own mess, feel free to ring me up. Now come on; we need to finish recording today so I can start with the vocals."

Amber's head shoots up. "Say that again."

Henry raises his brows. "Uh... feel free to ring me up?"

"No." The blonde shakes her head. "The other thing."

"You're cute?" Henry snorts. "Amber, I didn't know you were that desperate for compliments."

Amber sneers at him. "Ugh! No! I meant your last sentence, you goof!"

Henry sighs, eyes up to the sky. "The things I do for you..." he clicks his tongue, then continues, "We need to finish recording today so I can start with the— "

"The vocals," the blonde interrupts him, words slow. "We're starting with the vocals today."

"Yeah?" the violinist drawls. "That's what I said."

Amber looks up at him, eyes shining with determination. "Henry, I know how I can fix my oopsies," she declares. "I need to ask you for a favor."

"Oh boy," Henry responds flatly.

—

"Amy," Amber begins, standing between the two seated students. "This is Henry. You know who he is. Henry, this is Amy, my roommate."

"Okay I don't quite understand, Amb," Amy says as she regards Henry with distrustful suspicion. "What am I doing here?"

Henry leans back into his chair, crossing his legs. "She wants you to be in my mix for the showcase," he answers for her. "Asked for me to fit in a slot for the vocal division, but obviously, that wasn't gonna work, so her second favor is making me use your vocal samples in the song we're working on right now." He rolls up his sleeves with a heavy sigh, smoothing out his flannel. "I checked the reviews by instructors on your vocals, saw that you were one of the top in your division, so I said okay. I didn't really wanna sing in everything I was producing, anyway."

"I kind of owe my soul to him now, Amy," Amber politely shortens, walking over to sit on the armrest of Henry's chair. He scrunches up his nose in distaste, but she ignores him.

Amy is still squinting at the duo. "I- I'm still not quite sure how this is good news."

"You being in my mix for the showcase. Me presenting the mix to many judges." Henry waves a hand.

"You being present in Henry's mix. You still technically getting to show off your talent to the numerous judges!" Amber says.

The composer finishes, "You showing off your talent, means you getting signed, means you getting to refer your friends to the label you get signed at and other labels without much of a struggle."

The vocal major holds up a hand. "Wait, wait. I thought we couldn't do that if we got signed after we graduated. School policy. They'd sue if that happened."

Amber shakes her head. "No, that's only if you get into the showcase conventionally. You can't force your label to sign up with your friends or influence the judges or stuff. But if you're shown to the companies privately, not during the showcase— "

"Then school policy doesn't apply," Amy gasps, having caught on. "The schoolboard can eat my shorts. Oh my God." She turns to look at Amber in wonder. "Girl, you owe more than your soul to him. I think you need to marry this boy."

(Amber likes to tell herself that she doesn't sputter terribly loud when her best friend says that.)

"Shall we begin before your friend starts the marriage preparations?" Henry lowly mutters, loud enough for Amber to hear despite her not craning towards him, and she hurriedly nods. "No offense, but I don't really want to marry you."

"You're not that great either, Snoopy," the trumpet player scowls.

It's a few minutes of setting up and fitting the headset over Amy's head in the recording room, of checking controls and readjusting volume levels and walking through the lyrics with the vocalist, but as soon as the brunette begins belting the notes Henry appears both surprised and pleased.

"All the worries of tonight, do it tomorrow or the day after," Amy sings, on beat, "Empty your head so you can't think of anything. Put your hands up, jump up and down! Everyone go crazy, get it started..."

It's not until she releases the high note, ad-libbing the peaks and drops until the synthetic beats begin again, that Henry lowly whistles. "She's good," he praises. "Glad we have her on board."

Amber watches through the plexiglass, a warm swelling of pride in her chest. "I know. We're lucky."

Henry wiggles his pencil in between his index finger and thumb, silent. "Earlier, I was gonna ask Taeyeon if she'd be able to sing this, but I guess not anymore." He eyes her. "Taeyeon lost her chance while Amy gained."

The trumpet player takes her eyes off her friend finishing the chorus to glare at him. "Don't you dare use the students here to prove a point. They worked hard!"

"Everyone works hard, Llama," Henry says as Amy's note reverbrates and the music ends. "But there's a reason why we have scarcity, why music is so hard to bust into. Even if you work hard, it doesn't mean that you'll achieve your dreams here."

"Did I do well?" Amy asks anxiously through the mic after not hearing any feedback, and Henry clicks on his microphone.

"Yes!" he lauds. "Yes, you did well. You can take a break now, and we'll work on background vocals in fifteen minutes. Come out."

Amber watches Amy's broad grin and her taking off her headset, thinks over the violinist's words, because as much as he is an , he's usually right when it comes to matters such as these, and as much as Amber hates to admit that Henry's correct in any issue they bicker over, she has to at least acknowledge that he's got brains along with talent. Is hard work not enough? Does luck have to be on a person's side in order to succeed in society?

"Amber!" Amy sharply calls, and Amber ducks out of her thoughts to stare dazedly at her friend. "God, were you thinking about Henry that much?"

The blonde's cheeks flame. "Why in the hell would you assume I'd be thinking about that guy?" she snaps, pointing at Henry, and the latter raises his hands as if to say, guilty as charged.

"I wouldn't blame you, Llama," he gravely responds. "I'd be thinking about myself night and day as well. Though you thinking about me is a little bit weird. Let's keep it strictly business between us. No harsh feelings."

"Zip it, Snoopy."

Amy squeals. "You two have couple nicknames for each other!"

Amber loudly groans, allowing her forehead to thunk against the table. "Leave me alone!"

It's a much easier time for Amber to breathe after she and Amy wave goodbye to the student, making their way back to their dorms. They walk side by side quietly, enjoying the tranquil nature of the dusk, and Amy sighs.

"I can't believe we did so much today," she says.

"I can't believe we finished a song for him today," Amber states.

Amy cackles. "I still refuse to believe that there isn't anything there!" she sing-songs, wiggling her shoulders, and Amber makes a gargling noise.

"I thought you'd stop teasing me by now!" she says reproachfully. "We're not even friends right now! We're like... acquaintances. In music."

"No guy would give you so many chances in music, Amb." Amy swings her arms back and forth as they walk. "The industry's very cutthroat. I'm surprised he let me sing instead of singing on his own."

Amber's brows furrow. "Why's that?"

Her best friend glances at her. "You don't know?" With a shake of the blonde's head, Amy sighs. "Gosh, you don't know anything. He's already shown off a bunch of sides of himself with that mix, correct? Composing, making the lyrics, creating the actual song and playing an instrument in it, but he could've shown off his singing, too, and he gave up that chance because you asked him to when it would've benefitted him in the long run."

Amber's throat feels a little tighter than it was a moment before. She fixes her gaze on the pavement in front of them. "Is that correct?" She hadn't thought about that at the time, of the possibility that Henry might have to give something up because her friend was—

She rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands, intent on not thinking solely on that scenario. "Funny how there's a lot of losing and gaining in the music business," she croaks out. Amy gives her a quizzical look, and the blonde backtracks. "Like... I know this. If I get first chair, that means someone else gets second because of me. It's just a necessary thing that happens. But... but I just really -- realized, you know? Just how much there is."

Amber kicks a pebble. "Henry said that he would've asked Taeyeon if you refused, because my favor made him realize he didn't want to sing or something. So, because you sang instead, you got this opportunity, and Taeyeon didn't. Henry choosing not to sing, too, means that you were able to. A lot of pushing and pulling."

"That's just how music works, Amber," Amy answers, nodding her head slowly. "I'm sure you realized that much when we got the news that band took our spot."

"I'm sorry," the trumpet player automatically apologizes, but her friend shushes her.

"I didn't tell you that because I wanted an apology, fool. I was just mentioning it." Amy loops an arm around Amber's, humming contently. "Plus, you got me that opportunity, so now we're even. Thank you."

Amber laughs throatedly. "I didn't even do much; it was really all Henry. I just asked him."

"And thank God you did!" the brunette shouts, the both of them bursting into a fit of chuckles. "Like I said, no guy would willingly do that for anyone. My theory?" she whips her head dramatically towards Amber. "He's getting ready to ask you out on a date."

"No," Amber moans, rolling her eyes as they trek up the stairs to their dorm. "God, not another one of your conspiracy theories, Amy."

Amy holds onto her arm tightly. "Listen," she begins seriously. "He's gonna ask you out on a date, and when it happens I need you to let me dress you, because without me, you'd be a walking disaster. Then, he's gonna take you out on more dates, and after a while of dates, you two will get married, you hear me, Amb?"

"Oh my God!" Amber shrieks as she shakes her friend off, taking the steps two at a time and racing to their door.

"It's gonna happen!" she faintly hears the other call out down the hallway, getting closer with every passing second. "I can smell it already! The romance!"

Opting instead to roll her eyes, Amber presses the card to their door, watching the LED light turn green and opening the door. Her phone buzzes, and she fishes it out as Amy takes her time ambling to the door. She toes off her shoes and walks to her bed, eyes glued on the most recent message.