ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 2: Adjust

"Fine, look," you pleaded, "I fell over and blacked out for five minutes earlier—"

"Well there you go! It must be a case of amnesia, there's no way you could've suddenly jumped around time periods."

(God, you'd forgotten how much you hated it when she cut you off like that.)

"Okay, well if I have amnesia," you spluttered, pressing a hand to your forehead, "then what — how did I become a musician?!"

"Poor baby," your mother crooned, and you could almost picture her pitying expression, "don't worry, I'll tell you everything. What do you remember?"

"Up till — up till I was twenty three," you blurted out, recalling that you'd left university after then.

"Goodness! You really need to see someone, dear, that can't be cured in one instance," she advised, though she sounded airy in tone. "But, I'll tell you what happened. Right after you left university, you went into the music industry, and did some producing, till you were 25. Then, you started to work on some music yourself, after getting a record label deal, and then you released your first record when you were 26! It wasn't very good, honey, you said so yourself — but you went and did a few concerts anyway.

"And then, you started work on your next album, and it came out a month ago, I think! And it's turned out to do very well! On the rock chart at least. Everyone loves you, but you won't give interviews for some reason, there's only one publicly available. You're such a funny thing, you know? You really should speak to the press more, you'd get a lot more praise and attention..."

Her voice faded away, as you processed the information. Not one, but two albums; how the hell had you managed to bag a record deal anyway? What did your music sound like? How the fuck were you supposed to tour when you didn't know how your fucking songs went?!

To make matters worse, it didn't seem like she'd believed you. You weren't even sure if you believed yourself at this rate.

"Thanks, Mum," you blurted out, to stop her rambling. "I'm — gonna go get this amnesia thing checked out. I'll... text you after I'm done, okay?"

"Sure, honey," she responded carelessly. "Remember to smile!" with that, she hung up, completely oblivious to, and disinterested, in your awful situation.

You sighed, and crumpled over with a groan. Even though you'd gotten some information, it had gotten you practically nowhere; if your own mother didn't believe you, then who would?

(Though, to be fair, you weren't really that... attached to each other.)

Your dad was out of the question, so who were you going to talk to about this? You didn't remember living in the eighties, or early nineties, when you'd been 'growing up', you just remembered the early 2000s; had you replaced someone else? Had some weird shit occured and now you were living the life of a random individual from this year?

Oh god, what if you changed history? That shit always led to something bad in the movies.

One thing at a time, you thought to yourself shakily, letting out a deep breath. First, let's listen to our... 'album'.

So, you stood up, and made your way over to your office, where your boxy computer was, and searched up your name on YouTube. Much to your relief, there were no official videos for any of the songs, but a few fans had thankfully put together some lyric videos; from what you could tell from a playlist put together — (thanks, user DufflebagPenguin) — you had 10 tracks on the whole thing. Putting up the volume, you prepared yourself mentally, before clicking on the first one.