Chapter Text
lauren stood on stage in her picture perfect pose, one that she has practiced everyday. she sang beautifully into the mic just like she dreamed of, only it didn't feel like a dream.
somewhere above the arena, multiple screens flash to life with her projected on there for everyone to see. the sound system carries lauren's voice perfectly, just as they were engineered to do so. she changes pose on cue, almost early in anticipation because of how deeply ingrained the choreography was. the cameras follow and the crowd gets louder.
she sings, sings well. she always does.
the song feels familiar and safe, written for her and no one else. the lyrics were approved beforehand, speaking on unity and clarity. lauren honestly can't remember how many times she's performed this song, but the crowd sounds the same, if not louder, each time.
as the song comes toward an end and the last note approaches, lauren faces forward and holds an arm up, just as she had practiced. the crowd watches her eyes, waiting for a falter. they never do.
lauren bows and waves. she looks to the section of the green-eyed first, just as she's been trained. she lets her gaze drift to the blue-eyed briefly with a small nod. she knows better than to look higher or lower. but she can't help when she, just for a fraction of a second, meets eyes with a brown-eyed person.
when the performance ends, the crowd cheers and the lights go down flawlessly, as it usually does.
lauren is ushered backstage, where the noise fades and lights soften. hands appear before she asks for anything, a towel pressed on her forehead, water lifted to her lips, and a jacket shrugged over her shoulders. someone removes her in-ears and replaces it with a much smaller one.
"exceptional," lauren's manager, fleur says, already walking. "you represented the green-eyed very well tonight."
lauren follows because that's what she does.
fleur scrolls through her schedule on a tablet as they walked toward her personal car. appearances, interviews. transportation windows measured down to the second.
"tomorrow morning," fleur says, opening the car door. "you have a routine eye check."
lauren gets into the car, "routine?"
"mandatory," fleur shrugs. that was always the answer lauren got.
when lauren looked out the window as they drove away from the arena, she wasn't surprised to see her face illuminated in the air, already replaying her performance.
she was sure the media would be talking about her after that. they loved what they saw.
but they never ask what she sees.