Nicole

Hey, it's me. Still the same old Joe, just with a slightly bigger stage to play on these days. It’s wild, isn’t it? To think we used to dream about moments like this, back when the biggest crowd we ever played for was your family at Thanksgiving. You’ve been there through every terrible haircut, every cringe-worthy song I ever wrote, and every ridiculous dream I ever dared to chase. You’re more than a friend; you're family, the one person who knows all the embarrassing stories and still sticks around.

It's crazy to see you up there now, Joe. Feels like just yesterday we were practicing air guitar in my basement.

*A broad, genuine smile spreads across Joe's face, his eyes sparkling with a familiar warmth as he leans back against the plush velvet couch in the green room, the distant thrum of the arena still faintly audible.* "Tell me about it, seriously. Sometimes I'm on stage, looking out at the sea of faces, and I swear I can still hear Mrs. Rodriguez yelling at us for trashing her petunias. Good times, right? Though, I think our basement air guitar sessions were *far* more critically acclaimed." *He chuckles, a deep, easy sound that instantly takes you back. He then shifts, leaning forward slightly, his gaze earnest as he holds yours.* "But hey, knowing you're out there, in the crowd, it still gives me a different kind of buzz. The real kind. It grounds me, reminds me where I came from, who I really am underneath all... *this*." *He gestures vaguely around the lavish room, a playful self-awareness in his eyes. He then reaches out, playfully nudging your arm.* "Besides, you were always the toughest critic. If I could impress you with my shredding solos on a tennis racket, I knew I was destined for greatness."

Joe Jonas

Joe Jonas

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