Alex's tour thundered on, a seemingly unstoppable train of sold-out shows and chart-topping hits. He released "The Scientist" (Coldplay) as his next single, its melancholic beauty offering a contrast to the upbeat "Counting Stars," further showcasing his range. The critics and fans alike ate it up. Alex Vance could do no wrong, it seemed.
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In Dallas, under a wash of soft blue lights and fog drifting across the stage floor, he sat at his grand piano—alone for this one. The arena, moments ago roaring with applause, fell into an eerie hush as the first notes echoed out. The screen behind him displayed faint constellations, blinking like slow memories.
He leaned into the mic, voice low, breath soft, and began to sing.
Come up to meet you, tell ya I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you, tell ya I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions
Oh, let's go back to the start
Runnin' in circles, comin' up tails
Heads on a science apart
Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh, take me back to the start
I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me
Oh, and I rush to the start
Runnin' in circles, chasin' our tails
Coming back as we are
Nobody said it was easy
Oh, it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I'm going back to the start
The crowd didn't sing along—not at first. They listened. Still. Silent. Some with eyes closed. Some with hands held. Some wiping tears they didn't try to hide.
By the final chorus, a quiet harmony rose from the audience, unplanned and pure. Thousands of voices trembled back at him, like they all shared the same heartbreak written in different handwriting.
When the final chord rang out, there was a beat of silence—just one—and then the arena erupted.
The video of that performance, titled "The Scientist – Live in Dallas (Alex Vance)", would later become one of the most-watched concert clips of the year. Comments flooded in:
"I've never heard silence so loud until that song ended."
"I didn't cry because I was sad. I cried because someone finally understood."
"I've never been to Dallas, but I was there tonight."
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But behind the flawless performances and the confident smile, Alex was running on fumes. The Codex's [Personal Well-being Advisory] notifications became more frequent, which he diligently ignored. Sleep was catch-as-catch-can. His diet consisted mostly of whatever catering provided or what he could grab quickly on the road. He was meticulously managing his vocal health, but his mental energy was depleting.
Olivia Rodrigo had finished her handful of opening slots, returning to LA and her regular life, though "regular" was now punctuated by a growing online buzz about her music and frequent songwriting sessions with Alex via Skype. They messaged constantly, their texts filled with music talk, inside jokes from their brief tour stint, and increasingly, more personal exchanges. The "xo Liv" sign-offs were now standard, and Alex, despite a lingering unease about their age difference (even if it was only his mental age that was significantly older), found himself adding a similar, though more reserved, "Best, A" or sometimes just "A."
The cracks in Alex's professional armor began to show in small, almost imperceptible ways at first. During a soundcheck in Chicago, he snapped at his usually patient tour manager over a minor monitor mix issue, then immediately apologized, visibly flustered. He found himself increasingly relying on the Codex for simple recall tasks, like song lyrics he knew intimately or production settings for his live show, things that should have been second nature.
One evening, after a particularly draining show, Olivia called him, her voice bright and cheerful. "Alex! Guess what? I wrote a new chorus I think you'll love! Wanna hear it?"
Alex was slumped in a hotel armchair, staring blankly at the city lights. "Hey, Liv," he said, his voice flatter than usual. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead."
She launched into it, her voice full of enthusiasm, but Alex found his attention drifting. He was thinking about Billie's album progress, a distribution query from his father, the logistics of the upcoming European tour leg.
"...so, what do you think?" Olivia finished, expectantly.
There was a beat of silence as Alex belatedly realized she'd stopped. "Oh. Um, yeah, Liv, that's… that's really good. Great melody." His praise felt hollow, automatic.
He heard the slight disappointment in her voice. "You don't sound like you mean it."
"No, I do, I do," Alex quickly backpedaled. "Just… really tired. Long day."
"Oh," she said, a little crestfallen. "Okay. Well, get some rest, Alex. Talk later?"
"Yeah. Later." He hung up, a knot of guilt tightening in his stomach. He was tired, but he also knew he hadn't given her song the attention it deserved. He was becoming a bad friend, a bad mentor.
A few days later, the tour had a scheduled two-day break in Nashville before heading to the East Coast. Alex, desperate for a semblance of normalcy and a break from the relentless tour bubble, made an impulsive decision. He called Olivia.
"Hey, Liv. Surprise. I'm in Nashville for a couple of days. No shows, just… breathing. You, uh, you doing anything?"
There was a surprised pause, then her voice, brimming with excitement. "Nashville! Oh my gosh, no way! My parents were actually talking about taking a weekend trip there soon, they love country music. Maybe… maybe we could convince them to come this weekend?"
It was a long shot, but Olivia was persuasive. Within hours, it was arranged. The Rodrigos, enticed by a weekend in Music City and a chance for Olivia to see her "friend and mentor" Alex, booked last-minute flights.
When Alex met them at their hotel the next day, Olivia ran up and gave him a hug that felt less like a quick greeting and more like a heartfelt embrace. "Alex! I'm so glad you called!"
Seeing her, so vibrant and genuinely happy to see him, was like a balm to his frayed nerves. For the first time in weeks, Alex felt a lightness he hadn't realized he'd lost.
They spent the day exploring Nashville, her parents gamely tagging along but also giving Alex and Olivia space. They browsed dusty record stores, Olivia oohing over vintage vinyl, Alex feeling a pang of nostalgia for a different kind of music discovery. They listened to street musicians on Broadway, the air thick with the sounds of aspiring artists.
Later, sitting on a park bench, watching the sun dip below the city skyline, Olivia turned to him. "Alex," she said, her voice softer now. "Are you okay? You seemed… really stressed on the phone the other day. And even on tour, sometimes you looked so tired."
Alex looked at her, at the genuine concern in her young face. He couldn't bring himself to lie, not fully. "It's been… a lot," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "The tour, the label, trying to keep everything going. Sometimes it feels like I'm juggling too many balls."
"You do so much," Olivia said, her gaze earnest. "For me, for Billie, for your own music. It's incredible. But you need to take care of yourself too, you know." She hesitated, then reached out and gently touched his arm. "We… I worry about you."
Her touch sent a small jolt through him. He looked at her, really looked at her. She was thirteen, almost fourteen, on the cusp of young womanhood. And she was looking at him with an affection that was clearly more than just friendship or admiration for a mentor.
In that moment, exhausted and emotionally vulnerable, Alex's carefully constructed walls wavered. He saw not just a talented young artist, but a warm, caring person who was genuinely concerned for him. And he realized, with a sudden clarity that was both thrilling and terrifying, that his feelings for her were also deepening, moving beyond simple friendship.
"Thanks, Liv," he said, his voice a little husky. He didn't pull his arm away. "That… means a lot."
The setting sun cast long shadows. An unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them. It wasn't a dramatic confession, just a quiet acknowledgment of a burgeoning connection, fragile and new. Alex knew it was complicated, potentially fraught with difficulties given their perceived ages and his position. But right then, in the warm Nashville air, with Olivia's concerned gaze on him, it felt less like a problem and more like a quiet, hopeful overture.
The overload was still there, a heavy weight on his shoulders. But for the first time in a long while, a different kind of emotion was making itself known, a gentle melody playing underneath the crashing chords of his hectic life.
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