#still not a guitar. but maybe someday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tonicandjins · 1 year

Text

find your way back home | lee donghyuck

pairing: lee donghyuck | haechan x female reader

word count: 22.5k

genre: fluff, some mentions of sex, ANGST and nostalgia lots of it, haechan-centric, slow burn

warnings: mentions of sex, excessive drinking, will talk about insomnia and depression

summary: nct’s haechan gets into a scandal after a night of drinking his ass off in hongdae, which prompts the management to put him in an indefinite hiatus. and it’s not like it’s the first time, because over the past months, haechan’s drinking problem had gone worse. hence, his parents send him back to jeju island for some healing time because his parents and managers think that maybe some time home would help. haechan laughs at the thought. if medication can’t, what can jeju island do? besides, he hasn’t been there in literal years.

author's note: this is my favorite work so far, which is why it took this long. i put my heart in here. please let me know which one is your favorite line/scene. this is also very heachan-centric, so please don't expect a lot of the reader's POV. also, may i recommend you to listen to Moon, Be There For You, Never Goodbye by NCT DREAM, Good Person by Haechan himself, and Black Clouds by NCT 127 as you read this! :) TIP ME HERE.

taglist: @mosviqu @matchahyuck @sirens-dreams @sundamariis @lovingvoidgoatee @anjaenha @thiccfullsun @665321-more @hyuckiesoftie @aliceinwhateverland @tddyhyck @anniebyanto @novawona @gimmehyuck @blxshqueen @blitz-fall @byungbyungbaek @calssunflower @funkygoose @carelessshootanonymous-blog @jungwooforever @budibbly @positionslab @beomyomom @jexizia @4everhyucks

disclaimer: names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. i do not claim to own or to have invented any copyrighted characters or concepts that i write about.

Y/N = your name, Y/C/N = your childhood nickname

Haechan’s dream has always been the spotlight.

His Mother would tell her friends stories of how he would always tell her he’d be a star someday, a grin flashing across his small face on pictures and clips of him taking a stage as small as the podium in his first grade classroom, and would proudly brag that his first-born son made it to the world stage. She was so proud that she’d have his portfolio picture as her display image in her social media accounts. As a musician herself, she’d play NCT’s music out loud and would even go an extra mile by using their b-side songs when teaching their students at their small but proud music academy in the big city of Seoul. Haechan’s pictures are all over the small place they’d rented for their small business, two floors—the vocal lessons facilitated on the second floor and piano and guitar on the ground floor—and the humble husband and wife would proudly say the most successful student they’d ever had was Lee Donghyuck, now better known as Haechan.

Haechan allows her to take credit of it all, his success, because after all, she’d been the one to encourage her to take a chance at SM Entertainment’s infamous Saturday auditions. People tell Haechan he works hard, but nobody really works harder than his Mother. With sheer determination and a passionate heart, his mother would take little Donghyuck to every stage—no matter how small. Young and bright, he remembers being dragged from one contest to another, even when their family still lived in Jeju, and he’d win all of them for her. He’d take the spotlight just to see her happy and proud.

At times, Haechan wonders how much effort his mother had really put into his career. If he thinks about it now, it started with their entire family moving out of Jeju Island, completely uprooting their entire lives from the simple life in the island to give her dream a chance. People say that Haechan was born a star, that SM got lucky to have a child prodigy offer himself—bare and whole and real—who was willing to give up his childhood and education for a shot in the dark. His father had been reluctant about it, saying that they’d have to give up their entire life savings to merely move to Seoul—considering plane tickets and security deposits need to be sent prior to moving—and that taking a loan wouldn’t be ideal when they could barely make ends meet with four children growing up too fast. A shot in the dark, a flip of a coin, the luck of a draw. They say he was meant for this, was meant for the stage and the lights and the applause, but to Haechan, it’s not really fate. It’s just his mother doing all the work, and he’d take the spotlight for her.

Because Haechan likes the attention. He likes the good and the bad. The cheers and the applause. The painful arm slaps from Mark when he’s annoyed him enough. The head pats and hugs Taeil gives him when he’s being cute and when he lives up to his maknae image. The viral videos of him all over the internet for simply walking down the stage.

And his mother couldn’t be prouder to have a reliable son like him. She had always dreamed of the spotlight herself, but the timing was never right for her—hence Haechan living her dream, her spotlight, had been one of, if not the biggest accomplishments of her life.

The night is cold. Haechan feels dizzy when flashes of the lights coming from the small window of the bar’s building hit his face. He hates the lights, he hates being seen, and it makes him throw up when, as soon as he closes his eyes, it’s his mother that he sees.

Would his mother still be so proud when she learns that, after a long weekend of a back to back concert with NCT 127, his son would be getting a blowjob from a stranger at the back of some sleazy bar he had found online?

“Please tell me this isn’t real.”

Mark Lee is only twenty-three, but with how his forehead’s skin is wrinkling, he might as well invest in several sessions of botox shots. He’s holding his phone up to Haechan’s face, as if bringing the device closer to the younger’s eyes would deny the article that Dispatch uploaded at five in the fucking morning.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Haechan denies, voice bored, tired. “We might have done other things, but I didn’t sleep with her.”

Mark lets out a groan of frustration, throwing his phone behind Haechan, the device landing on the carpeted floor. Haechan doesn’t even flinch even though it almost hit him.

“Haechan, what the fuck is going on, man?” Mark asks, demands to know what really is going on with his best friend, or whoever he’s speaking with now. “You know SM is going to kill you, right?”

Haechan shrugs. “What are they gonna do? Fire me?”

“You know they can!” Mark shouts, walking back and forth while Haechan remains seated on the couch, unbothered. “You’ve seen them do it! To our seniors! To the people you trained with. You think you’re big time, huh? That just because you’re essential in both units, they wouldn’t send you to some dungeon?”

Haechan laughs bitterly. He reckons being placed in a dungeon would be much better than the hell he’s living in now. “Now that,” he mocks. “Would be the ultimate dream.”

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” Mark says, pointing a finger to Haechan, enunciating each syllable so it goes through his skull.

But nothing can really make Lee Haechan budge anymore—not an expensive, hard device laterally thrown to his face, and not even his best friend (if he could still call him that) blatantly showing how disgusted he is with him—and he can’t really blame anyone. It used to he frightening to see Mark angry at something he did. Used to.

Haechan doesn’t really know what to say, so he chuckles bitterly and leans his head back so that it’s against the backrest, pondering whether it’s a good time to drink the bottle of vodka he’s been keeping under his bed.

“It’s funny because I don’t even know what having a nightmare feels like.”

Mark huffs, seemingly had given up on Haechan, then leaves the room alongside the small piece of sanity that the younger had left. Haechan bolts, sitting up real quick, but too slow because Mark is already out of the door. Haechan likes attention, and even though Mark Lee makes his head hurt, he likes the attention. Haechan likes that Mark is angry at him.

His manager calls him next, (as expected) voice angry as if he’s about to explode, and tells him his publicist is doing her very best to answer every god damn call from every magazine and news outlet. But none of those magazine and news outlets who have called had posted something to clear the situation; none of them were buying it. Haechan thinks it’s fucking ridiculous anyway. There were pictures and videos of him sneaking out with Hana or Hari, whatever her name was, and a clip of him zipping his pants up as they try to hide from the flashes of lights. Who the fuck would believe he was just out exploring with his 35-year old, happily-married-with-kids personal assistant?

And it’s too late, anyway, because what was the point of it all when his most loyal and long-time fan sites have all shut down overnight, his Instagram followers reducing down to five million in a matter of hours since Dispatch posted that article, and his best friends blatantly ignoring him with the exception of Mark confronting him, but of course, Haechan had to screw that up, too.

“They’re calling you in for a meeting,” his manager concludes with a sigh after elaborating what had been done to patch up the entire mess. “Be ready for whatever they have to say. Don’t expect me to have your back because I’m over it, Haechan. Whatever they decide to do with you, you fucking deserve it.”

The call ends. Haechan didn’t even get to talk.

He looks at the screen of his phone. There were a million of calls and text messages from his agency, half of it were from his mother, and the last thing he really wants now is to hear her voice. He scrolls through it all, chest tightening when he realizes nobody from Jaemin, Renjun and Jeno had tried to call him. Haechan knows he’s an asshole, deserving to be the receiving end of all the shouting and cussing, and he’s probably made the dumbest mistake of his entire life, but he’d live the stardom’s life long enough, he’d be okay. But a call from his best friends would have been a breather.

Haechan understands, what his manager said, that he shouldn’t really expect anyone to have his back after all that’s transpired in the last few of months.

You see, Haechan developed insomnia. He’d look the symptoms up in the internet, and it’s described as a common sleeping disorder that can make it hard for people to fall asleep, or if one’s attempt to drift off is successful, to stay asleep. Taeyong had said it’s a common disorder for idols, that their seniors from groups like EXO and SHINEE had all gone to psychologists for help, but Haechan didn’t really want to make a big deal out of it. He relied on what Naver offered him one morning when the sun’s already out and his eyes are still wide open.

Stress and anxiety were the major causes. Some resources say it could be from a poor sleeping environment such as an uncomfortable bed or bad lighting or temperature. One claims that it could also be from one’s lifestyle, like jetlag from traveling frequently, or drinking one too many caffeine-infused doses of fluids. It all could be factors why Haechan’s been getting 8-10 hours of sleep a week, and he acknowledges that he doesn’t really have the best lifestyle—and it’s not like he’s ever had the choice since NCT blew up.

So, he’d consulted Taeyong again, through a text, and all he’d gotten was a link to a study that insomnia can be caused by mental health conditions such as depression, followed by his therapist’s phone number.

Among all the causes he’d gathered, Haechan could confidently rule out depression because there’s no fucking way he’s sad. There’s barely any reason to be sad. Sure, he’d miss his siblings most of the time and he hates the feeling of seeing any of them cry whenever he had to leave, but nothing is more gratifying than the relief of seeing them happy whenever he comes home with luxurious gifts or plane tickets to Tokyo for a vacation. Haechan likes making people happy, and Mark tells him he’s always been a people pleaser. At times, he’d think his happiness depends on the happiness of the people he loves and values, and people around him are happy.

Hence, Haechan is happy.

Or at least, was happy.

Because the insomnia got worse—not that Haechan’s dealt with it enough to know whether it’s getting better or worse—but it was bad. He would come home exhausted as fuck after an entire day of dancing and singing, and he knows he’s tired because his body tells him so. Haechan would lie on bed, body drained from all energy, but his eyes would be wide open for an entire night. He’d only fall asleep when the sun’s started to seep through his curtains, a good hour before his manager would wake him for the next schedule. It was manageable, and the tour was a good excuse for the insomnia, but it followed him even on his days off, even in the beginning of the pandemic when there little to zero schedules that would have caused him anxiety or stress.

Therefore, reluctantly, he’d visited a doctor to get a prescription for some meds he could take to help him sleep. He’d lied, though, that it wasn’t that bad and that he would need it only on nights after shows, because he knew they’d only refer him to a therapist. Haechan doesn’t need a therapist. He could just talk to his mother about it, and she’d know what to say to make him feel better. To make him keep going.

It was fine until the melatonin supplements stopped working. Sometime last year, if he remembers right, when he thought he’d gone crazy because everything stopped working for him. There was a bottle of soju, half empty, from the fridge he had in the corner of the room he shared with Johnny, and he reckoned it could help. As soon as the bottle was empty, Haechan felt drowsy; he was out like the light half an hour later.

But just like the prescription from the doctor he can’t even remember the name of, drinking half a bottle worked. Johnny would give him suspicious looks when he would see Haechan stocking up soju inside their room, but he doesn’t ever say anything. Because alcohol made him sleep, until it didn’t. Until half a bottle stopped working. Until an entire bottle is no longer enough. Until Taeyong’s decided that there should be no alcohol inside anyone’s fridge, both fifth and tenth floors.

Hence, the drinking problem.

Haechan wonders what’s next. The sleeping problem, then the drinking problem. It looks like here is it, the next one: the scandal.

When Haechan was a trainee, his greatest fear was getting removed from the agency.

There was an assessment every quarter, and the CEO himself would sit down in a panel alongside other producers and choreographers to identify which of the trainees would move on to another level and which ones would have to go home. Each time they had to go through the assessment, Haechan, alongside other existing members of NCT, would spend long days inside the training room. He would fear that the CEO would ask him to rap all of a sudden because Haechan can’t rap to save his god damn life at that time. He would fear that his mother would receive a call and find out his beloved son, whom she spent so much money on just to get ballet classes, failed and would need to go home.

Today, Haechan fears none of those.

The decision to put him in an indefinite hiatus was quick to make, not that Haechan expected anything less.

The news was out the second they threw him out of the meeting room (but not before the CEO slapping him right across the face, his left cheek throbbing in pain he’s oddly happy he could feel) and his bags were packed before he could even tell his members. The dorms were empty when he arrived, and there was no time to visit Dream’s place; Haechan knew he could just call, or visit. His family lives twenty minutes away, a short ride from downtown. He’d figure it out, like he always would.

What fazes him is what he comes home to.

His father offers him a one-way ticket, says his mother is still too upset to look even at Haechan in the face, that she’s spending the night in her friend’s house. The domestic flight ticket is bound to Jeju Island, and it boards tomorrow morning.

“Your grandmother will be waiting for you,” his father says, eyes everywhere but Haechan’s. “Your mother thinks it would be the best for now. Your agency knows, of course, and they’re helping us ensure you get your privacy in Jeju-do. We just need you to stay there for a bit, Donghyuck. Might help.”

“Dad,” Haechan pleads, Dad sounding foreign to him now. He’s stopped calling him Dad years ago, right before he debuted in NCT, and had been calling him Father. He’s not sure why he’a suddenly calling him that now, perhaps it’s the sinking feeling in his stomach, but Haechan is desperate for another solution. “You can’t send me back in the island. I haven’t lived in grandmother’s house since I was twelve.”

“Don’t act like the place isn’t civilized, Donghyuck,” his father sighs. “You’ll be okay. You can take your expensive gaming laptop with you so you can entertain yourself while you’re on vacation. It’s only going to be a few months.”

“A few months?” Haechan cries. “I can’t live there anymore!”

“The agency decided not to terminate their contract with you,” his father reveals. “Apparently, you’re too talented to let go of. Your mother and I are very grateful they didn’t. All they want in return is for you to go back in six months—sober and full of life again. Your therapist suggests you go to a vacation.”

“I don’t have a therapist?”

“The doctor who prescribed you sleeping pills? You didn’t tell us you had insomnia.”

“Fuck you,” Haechan spits before he could even think about it. “Neither you nor mother thought of asking me what’s been going on. Dad, I wanted you to scold me. To punch me in the fucking gut and tell me I’ve ruined everything. I wanted mother to yell at me until my ear bleeds, so I can find the motivation to work hard and make her happy again.”

“Donghyuck, we–”

“Don’t call me that!” He yells. “The first thing that came to your mind was how grateful you are that I’m not fired from my job? I’m not some retirement plan! I’m your son!”

“Keep it down. Your siblings are–”

”Donghyuck-hyung?” Haechan turns. Gyeom stands at the end of the hallway, seemingly woken up from his slumber, and Dongmin hides behind the younger one to see what’s going on. Haechan doesn’t even see Seungyeon come out of her room. He just hears her door shut loudly, the lock clicking, and realize he fucked up big time.

He takes a look at the ticket from his father’s hand.

It’s ridiculous. If the melatonin pills he’s taking are not helping with his stupid insomnia, and drinking a bottle of soju works as equally as useless, what the fuck could work? They think a recreational vacation to fucking Jeju Island would do shit?

Fuck his parents, honestly.

Fuck his siblings for not even giving him a hug as soon as he entered their home.

Fuck his members for not checking up on him.

Fuck the entire god damn world.

He rips the ticket from his father’s hand and turns to leave, taking the same bags he’d brought in a few minutes ago. The flight is tomorrow morning, but Haechan calls a taxi to take him to the airport.

Sleeping (or at least, trying to) in the uncomfortable airport seats is a fucking pain in the ass, literally. But nothing more hurts than the look on his family’s face: the blankness in his father’s and the fright from his siblings.

Jeju fucking Island. Way to end the day.

When Haechan was younger, his grandmother would take him to the Camellia Hills on the weekends. While kids his age would be taken in Aqua Planet to see thousands of animals and plant species to ease their shoulders from studies, Haechan would be running around fields of camellia and hydrangea flowers. They would spend hours just walking around trees of over five hundred different kinds of wildflowers. His grandmother would take pictures of him and let him eat whatever he wanted at a nearby restaurant, and his siblings would always cry and complain why Nana only wanted to bring Haechan. There wasn’t a particular reason, of course, it was only because the younger ones were too difficult for their grandmother to look after on a trip to Camellia Hill. Little Donghyuckie was well-behaved albeit his bold and obnoxious nature. He would do whatever his Nana would ask him.

Haechan’s always claimed that he’s the favorite despite his grandmother repeatedly saying she doesn’t do favorites, and he knows deep in his heart that he is. He is, after all, the first grandchild, and he spent a lot of time with his Nana alone for many years while they were in Jeju.

His grandmother used to sing him to sleep at night. When his younger sister was born, Nana stayed with them in Seoul for a while to help his parents adjust to having two kids, considering Haechan’s age gap with Seungyeon is only a year. Nana made sure Haechan slept well every night, in a separate room from his parents because newborn Seungyeon who wouldn’t let anyone sleep past one in the morning. She’d sing him songs from The Beatles in broken English, and Haechan likes to think that even though both his parents were musicians, the reason why he could sing well was his Nana.

She eventually had to move back to Jeju Island as soon as the family had settled, but years later, at the age of seven, his grandfather died and Nana was left all alone to tend to their land and business, hence the Lee family packed their bags to stay at Nana’s supposedly for the summer, but ended up with the decision of staying for her.

Nana had problems sleeping when his grandfather died. Haechan used to find her awake when he’d need a glass of water or to go to the toilet at two in the morning. She’d be watching television, a nighttime talk show she used to like, or reading a book from his grandfather’s shelf. The lights in her home were always on.

So, Haechan started singing her to sleep just like how she did when he was a child.

She’d tell him, “Oh, my Donghyuckie, you have such a nice voice. Why don’t you sing more?”

Then she’d fall asleep while Haechan wondered why lovers die at different times, why one has to go first and the other is left on Earth trying to sleep well every night.

Upon his arrival in Jeju-do, his grandmother doesn’t pick him up from the airport like he’d expected, so he takes a taxi from the airport to her house. Haechan knows what their home looks like despite not visiting since his training days. They own a small hectare of land filled with tangerine trees, and his grandmother had been the sole operator of it all for many years until she had to start hiring people here and there to manage things for her when her age caught up with her. His father used to travel back and forth to see how things are here and there, but eventually stopped when Nana had found people she can rely on—which Haechan is very glad about.

He must be an asshole, or a prick, or a hypocrite to even say this but he’s been thinking about her more often than he calls. If he recalls right, the last time he’d called was three months ago, on her birthday, but it was two-minute exchange of generic how are yous and please stay healthys. She would call, of course, but Haechan would always have something as an excuse: a dance practice, a trip to Japan for a show, a photoshoot, something. Something to cover up the fact that he hasn’t been the best grandson to her in a long time.

He arrives and the first thing he notices is a hammock hanging in between the posts of her patio. A kick of nostalgia hits him because grandfather put up a hammock at the back of their home once, when Haechan was around five years old and they were visiting the couple for the summer. Her grandmother used to tell Haechan that the hammock is the best place to take his afternoon naps, hence little Donghyuck would spend most of his afternoons lying on a hammock made of strong nylon.

Shaking off the nostalgia, Haechan clears his throat. “Nana! I’m home!”

“Donghyuckie, is that you?” she calls from somewhere. Haechan walks over to the patio and drops his bags.

Nana comes out from the side of the house, her favorite pink apron on, grey hair hidden by a hair cap. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Haechan sees her age simply by the way she stands. Her back is hunched more than it was the last time he saw her during Chuseok last year. The wrinkles in the edges of her eyes and around her mouth are much more evident. The skin on her neck is loose, and so is the skin on her arms and everywhere.

For a second, Haechan feels like he’s seven again, seeing her for the first time since summer, her eyes not as happy as they were from the last time they’d been in Jeju-do, when grandfather was still alive. Haechan suddenly is taken back to when she’d hug him so, so tightly, crying to his shoulder, telling him harabeoji had left her while she was asleep. He remembers his heart dropping down to the ground when he saw her breaking down, his loving grandmother—who was always bright and happy, whom people would say he got his personality from—at her lowest. It’s the same wave of sadness Haechan feels looking at her now—looking at the years painted in her skin. Her memories blurring out the color of her eyes. Decades of hard work and labor tainted on the callouses on her fingers. Glints of loneliness spread throughout the wrinkles on her face.

Haechan has been all over the world for years now. Years of training and sleepless nights perfecting a performance had led him to where he is now. People who speak different languages love him and cheer for him even with countries and continents in between. He’s made millions happy by simply singing songs or saying hi in a fan call. And while he’s done of all of these, what had he done for his grandmother? People have been watching him grow up, who was watching Nana all this time?

Haechan chokes on his own tears. His grandmother, his Nana, opens her arms like Haechan is not the person the world hates right now. She hugs him like Haechan is not the person who had potentially ruined the group his best friend Mark had worked hard on. She holds him in her arms like Haechan is not the person who scared his siblings and cursed his own father. Nana takes him inside her home like he’s her Donghyuck again.

Haechan feels like he’s her Donghyuckie again.

Contrary to popular belief, Donghyuck doesn’t like affection as much as Haechan does.

He believes that being offered tenderness is the very proof that you’ve been ruined, and Haechan likes to think that with the life he has now, he’s not really in the position to talk about his life’s struggles. Because there are more people in the world who deserves to talk about their pain. Donghyuck doesn’t deserve as much.

Hence, the nostalgia goes away as quickly as it arrives. Haechan spends the rest of the day trying to sleep in his grandmother’s spare room and doesn’t even bother answering when his grandmother knocked on his door to invite him for lunch despite him being wide awake.

Haechan gets up at five in the afternoon, just when the sun is about to set, eyes heavy. The sky looks a lot like the color of his own skin, he notices, and he thinks about how beautiful the sky would be in Han River and recalls how him and Mark (and sometimes Doyoung) would lie on the ground, letting their skin soak in the sun slowly sinking down to its rest.

But none of that is close to happening because he’s here. In Jeju-do. Stuck like some twelve-year old sent to camp for an entire summer because his parents can’t stand him.

Haechan’s train of (bitter) thoughts is interrupted with a loud plonk from the wooden patio, which is right outside his window. He pulls his curtains slightly to peek, and he finds you on the floor on your side, groaning like a kid and massaging your back. It looks like you’d just fallen out of the hammock.

Curious, Haechan gets up and quickly slips out of his room to see you on their front porch.

“And Nana says it’s the most comfortable place to sleep on,” he hears you mumble as you get up, eyes meeting his as soon as you see him. Your eyes widen in shock, probably recognizing him, but you quickly catch yourself and look down.

“You are?” Haechan asks, towering over you.

You clear your throat. “Y/N.”

“I don’t mean your name, pumpkin,” he replies. “What do you do here?”

Haechan smirks at the way one of your eyebrows raised, clearly already infuriated at his attitude. You’re wearing a white shirt that’s too big for you underneath your denim overalls. The pair of boots sitting under the hammock is a clear sign that you’re a farmer tending to the tangerine trees on the land right beside the house, separated by a fence and his grandmother’s home garden.

“I manage your grandmother’s land,” you answer, stance defensive. “And it looks like you’re the delinquent grandson they sent away for the summer?”

Haechan chuckles, liking how you’re bark and bite, wondering how far he can push you, because the last thing he really wants is someone staying at his grandmother’s house. Too close. Too easy to see everything. You’d make millions selling him to the tabloids. He’d honestly rather hear people saying how much of an asshole he is, than have people invading his grandmother’s privacy while he’s here.

“You mean the world star, right?” he brags, licking his upper lip. “And you manage the land we own? Sounds a lot like a farmer to me.”

You stifle a laugh. You’re not at all intimidated. “Oh, pumpkin, I think the last thing you’d want to do in Jeju-do is insult a farmer for their job. The agricultural structure of Jeju Island has done more than you thrusting your hips up on the air for young, easily-manipulated teenage girls, Donghyuck.”

“So, you know my name?”

You click your tongue and turn around, proceeding to slip your boots back on. “How could I not know?”

“Because I’m a world star, right. How could you not know?”

Haechan watches you tie the laces up of your boots. You don’t give him another glance and leave, stomping your feet down the stairs to the ground until you’re out of his sight.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Nana says from inside. The door is wide open. “Where’s Y/N?”

She walks towards where Haechan stands, looking around for you. “That girl. I told her to stay for dinner. What’d you do, Donghyuck-ah?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, annoyed at how Nana is more concerned about you leaving than ensuring his privacy. He’s a star, for god’s sake. “Why’d you let her sleep here, anyway? And have her stay for dinner? Aren’t you scared she might sell me off to some magazine for, I don’t know, one million won?”

“Why would Y/N sell you—“ his grandmother sighs. “Not everyone is out to get you, Donghyuck-ah.”

“Why does she even know my birth name?” he questions. “That’s like, too much, Nana. Don’t share things like that.”

His grandmother slaps his arm. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”

“You’re a moron!” she screeches. “That was Y/N! She waited for you to wake up all day!”

“That’s creepy!”

“Y/C/N,” Nana enunciates. Haechan remembers. “Her childhood nickname. Does it ring a bell?”

“Y/N—” he breathes out. Frozen. “—is Y/C/N?”

Haechan has always had an affinity with flowers, long before he named his fans sunflowers.

His grandparents had a larger flower garden as compared to how it is now. They’d planted tangerine trees in place of the fields of beautiful red azalea and rhododendron blossoms. On spring days, the cherry blossoms were infinite, and little Donghyuck used to spend a lot of time looking at the flowers and making necklaces out of them.

You used to (still do, perhaps) live down the street, and your parents used to help out in the farm when your grandparents needed another pair of hands to harvest the tangerines. Little Donghyuck met you when he was six.

If he recalls it right, it was the second day of summer, a hundred something days before they had to return back to Seoul. He found you lying under a cherry blossom tree, eyes closed, allowing hundreds of pink petals to drown you in their beauty. Little Donghyuck lied down beside you, upside-down but his head is right beside yours. He’s always been a curious kid, so he wanted to know why you were letting the pink petals rain on you. There was nothing special about it. Just petals falling when the wind blows a certain direction.

When he opened his eyes, you turn to look at him, your eyebrows were furrowed the way they were when Haechan found you on the floor of his patio earlier, right after you’d fallen from the hammock.

“Hey,” you had said. “You’re the kid from Nana’s house, right?”

“She’s my Nana,” he corrected, closing his eyes once again. “And yes, I’m the kid from Nana’s house. You are?”

“My mom calls me Y/C/N,” you answered. “Are you staying for the summer?”

He nodded. “Only for the summer. We’re leaving before school starts.”

“Do you like flowers?” you asked.

“We don’t have a lot of flowers in Seoul,” Little Donghyuck mumbled. “But I love flowers. Last summer, Nana took me to Camellia Hills to see the flowers bloom in May.”

“Then you should stay,” you trailed off. “If you love flowers and Seoul doesn’t offer much, then you should stay.”

“What about school?” Donghyuck had asked, opening his eyes to look at you. You’re looking at him, upside-down and all. Donghyuck’s never seen someone more beautiful. “You’re pretty.”

Your eyes widened. You immediately hide your face from him using your hands. “We’re only five. I can’t have a boyfriend at five years old.”

“Maybe when we’re older.”

Haechan doesn’t remember much from the day you met, but he got close to you during that summer in 2006, even more when his family moved back to Jeju-do in 2007. Your friendship blossomed from walking together in first grade throughout primary school until he’d graduated and eventually moved back to Seoul.

He can’t believe that he’d forgotten your name, and a part of him knows it’s because he’s always called you by your childhood nickname, but a larger part of him likes to think that it’s because he’s almost twenty-three now—it’s been almost ten years. He’s met probably thousands of people at this point, and with the lifestyle he has, he really can’t afford to remember each person he spends time with. Not even the girl he spent his entire childhood in Jeju-do with.

So, Haechan forgives himself before he could ask for yours. He reckons you’d understand. You know him, somehow. You kept in touch until Haechan got into SM in 2013 and high school and training got the best of him. He changed his number and lost contact with almost everyone in Jeju-do, even his closest friends, and you were one them.

Life as a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot of things.

Most people know an idol sacrifices having a normal life—playing in the streets, trying out to be a part of the basketball team, dating at fifteen years old, prom, staying at one classmate’s house for a group project—and it includes forgetting the people you used to be close with.

One of the rules in SM when he was a trainee was to not get in touch with the people from their past. One of their managers used to tell them that their lives are divided into two parts: before training and after training; and to be successful in the industry means to forget who you were before training. They’d deleted all of his social media, which means he disconnected from the people he knew before he was Haechan. They’d deleted who he was before Haechan.

Many sacrifices, indeed. The list goes on, and at the end of it was your name.

“She never left Jeju-do?” Haechan asks, curious, as he ate the dinner Nana made for him. “Like not even for college?”

“She didn’t go to college at all,” Nana answers. “And she likes it here. Why do you make staying in Jeju-do sound like a living hell?”

Haechan shrugs. “It’s not like that, Nana. I mean, God knows what I’d do to get a normal life and go to college in Seoul and do what normal people in their early twenties do.”

Nana smiles at him. “This is probably what normal is for her. Not everyone has big dreams like you.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Haechan asks. “Dreams are free. It doesn’t cost anything to dream. Why wouldn’t people want to have big dreams?”

“Aren’t you the lucky one to have a dream and to be able to live your dream?” Nana says. She finishes up her meal and watches Haechan eat. “How are you, Donghyuck-ah?”

Haechan stops chewing and braces himself. Nobody’s asked him how he is. He continues chewing like it’s not a question that’s been weighing him under.

“I’m okay,” he answers, mouth full of food. “They didn’t fire me. So, I guess I should be grateful. I’m okay.”

“You know that you don’t have to lie to Nana, right?” She asks, smile kind and warm.

And Haechan wants to say it all. Out loud. Maybe even cry.

But he is not about to let his grandmother carry his burdens with her. Burdens that shouldn’t even matter because he’s so lucky to have the life he has now. Burdens that are nothing compared to other people’s.

“Come on, Donghyuck-ah,” she urges. “Talk to Nana. Tell me what’s wrong, my dear.”

“Halmeoni,” he firmly says. “I said I’m okay. I’m tired. Thank you for the meal.” He bows and stands to leave.

Life has a singer means Haechan had to sacrifice a lot, indeed.

Nana leaves a box of things Haechan would need while he’s in Jeju-do before her trusted chauffeur takes her to the town’s market for some business.

Haechan finds himself wearing the same fit as you the day before: a pair of overalls, an old, non-branded shirt that looks like it’s been worn and washed 300 times. Nana left a list of chores to do, and there’s no way Haechan is doing all of those. He’s taking a walk around the fields, supervise like how the owner’s grandson should, bask on the sunlight for a bit, then go back to his room and play some games with strangers online.

You’re waiting by the patio, sitting and looking at the opposite direction so he only sees your back, when Haechan comes out, dressed up for the role but not ready for whatever today brings him.

“Took you long enough,” you grumble as he steps out of the house. You stand and turn to look at him. “Lock the door and let’s get going. You’re late on your first day.”

“Chill out, sweet cheeks,” he scoffs, reaching behind the door and locking it before slamming it shut. “You’re not the boss of me.”

You nod, chuckling. “I’m not. But your grandmother is. And she added your list to the name of workers joining us to harvest today. You will be paid by the hour.”

Haechan gasps lightly in disbelief. “I don’t need to work. We own this place.”

“Hmm,” you hum, feigning curiosity as you tap your index finger to your chin as if you’re thinking hard. “You know I manage this whole place, right? Which means I also manage its taxes and permits annually. I’ve never seen your name in any of the papers I play with every day.”

“Same fucking thing,” he mumbles, walking past you to reach the gate. Haechan finds two horses waiting for him outside. He turns, ready to ask you what kind of joke you’re pulling on him, but he finds you going around the house, perhaps to make sure everything’s locked and all. You catch up on him, eyebrows raised when he points to the horses.

“Don’t tell me you can’t ride a horse,” you ask, seemingly in disbelief that someone like him isn’t capable of riding a horse. “You can’t work in the fields just walking. You’ll tire yourself out and will waste most of your working hours just walking.”

“I—I’m really not—” Haechan falters for a second, but comes back as quickly as he goes. “It’s been years since the last time I rode a horse. I’m not certain if I can do that now.” You give him a questioning look. “Besides. I’m a celebrity if you haven’t noticed it already. What if I break a bone?”

“You’ll live.”

“What if I fall and break my face?”

“Seoul has the best plastic surgeons.”

“My legs! They were injured before. I can’t afford to get another injury!”

“You’ll be fine. You’re such a drama queen.”

“I’m a star!”

At that, you burst out into a fit of laughter, the kind that Haechan would normally join in, because what he just said is truly ridiculous. He can’t believe he said that himself. But, of course, he can’t just laugh with, basically, a stranger.

“Oh my God, Lee Donghyuck,” you say in between laughter.

Something ignites something in him, the way you just said his name.

Haechan is a name he loves, an alter-ego he adores, a character he lives. Full sun, because that’s what he wants to be. He wants to bring light to everyone looking up to him, and he wants to be remembered by the way his voice warms the entire planet. He loves hearing cheers and applause when he introduces himself as Haechan. Because Haechan is talented. Haechan is an ace, an all-rounder who can do anything an idol is expected to do, perhaps even more. Haechan is bright and positive, and he likes making people laugh and at the same time uncomfortable of the influx of skinship he offers. Haechan loves the lights and cameras on stage, and he adores the way his name is in every city he goes to.

Meanwhile, Lee Donghyuck, he’s heard in a million times. Mark still calls him Donghyuck like they never aged since 2013, even Doyoung and Jeno. His parents seldom call him Haechan, never for Nana. His fans also have been calling him Donghyuck since they learned his birth name is Donghyuck, sometimes Hyuck or Hyuckie, which he finds really endearing.

Yet no one’s ever called him his name like he’s nothing but just Lee Donghyuck. Not for a long time. Not from someone before Haechan.

Donghyuck suddenly feels like he’s twelve again, the year he left Jeju-do and had to say goodbye to all of his friends with a promise to keep in touch and to never forget. Donghyuck finds himself looking at the way you’re laughing, how you have your eyes closed, mouth agape and melodies of your amusement coming out like a song he thought he’d forgotten but know all the words to, and he finds himself thinking, maybe being Lee Donghyuck isn’t so bad.

His first day at the farm didn’t go as quick as expected and if Donghyuck could say so himself, it’s the longest fucking day in his entire life.

Evidently, he couldn’t ride a horse to save his life. He doesn’t even know why he’d told you it’s been a long time when the only time he ever rode a horse was when he was eleven for a field trip and only to take a god damn picture to make his mother smile. You and him were only a couple of horse steps or whatever away from Nana’s home and his horse was already squirming and more like threatening to throw him ten meters away, hence, you begrudgingly offered to have him ride with you. Donghyuck didn’t decline, of course, because it was either walk around the place under the hot sun or die at the hands of a stupid horse. You had let him sit behind you, skillfully and impressively holding the other horse by its rope, Donghyuck’s arms reluctantly wrapped around your waist because he didn’t want to fall, and if you were uncomfortable, you didn’t say anything about it.

You had taken him to a tour within his grandparents’ land, and Donghyuck is already twenty-three when he realized his grandparents are big time, like for real. The land isn’t as big as the others, ones that are owned by a big corporation, people who aren’t even from Jeju-do but like to play agricultural monopoly, but it’s bigger than most. Nana was too humbled when she’d told him the night before that he would need to help out in their “small” business.

The business is nowhere near small, with hundreds of tangerine trees scattered around, blooming in the famous Jeju-do delicacy, and she had forty to fifty employees working for her.

“Not really like full-time employees,” you had explained when Donghyuck verbalized his surprise with the number of people working for the farm. “Normally, it’s just me and Nana and a few other people who handle the delivery, quality assurance, and sales in the farmer’s market, which I’d need to take you to tomorrow, and also some folks from Seoul who handle the cargo shipping to the cities. But when it’s harvest season, we really would need more than ten pairs of hands to help out.”

“So, like, all year, there’s only around ten people are here,” Donghyuck confirmed, hands still on your waist as the horse came to a stop. “And on harvest season, Nana hires more people to help out. That’s really nice. Could be a good summer job for students and all.”

You hummed in agreement, patting the horse that Donghyuck learned you named as Daisy. “But normally, you’d find older people working here instead of the younger ones.”

“Oh?” Donghyuck’s curious. “That’s a little odd. I mean, isn’t the job physically tiring?”

You shrugged. “The elderly, well, they don’t really have a lot of opportunities to work here, you know, considering that Jeju-do has become more of like a tourist island than a self-sufficient, thriving agricultural place. You’ve probably heard of the water park they’d built nearby the airport and other big corporations taking over and building their stores here and there. And of course, they’d most likely hire younger people who can relate to the Korean Wave your group caused, right?”

“Keeping tabs?”

You scoffed at that. “As if! Now, get down before I ask Daisy to wiggle her ass and throw you off.”

After the supposed short tour that took an hour because, well, their land is enormous, you take him where some of the elderly people are harvesting.

“This is Donghyuck,” you’d introduced. “Nana’s grandson from Seoul. He’ll be helping us today. So, halmeoni, don’t even think about getting him off the hook because he’s Nana’s grandson. He will be paid for the day like everyone else. You wouldn’t want someone to get paid the same, only to work half of what you do, right?”

The older women laughed at the way you’d introduced him, and he feels his heart swell with the way you’re laughing with them and how they looked at him with so much tenderness. And normally, Donghyuck doesn’t like the look of tenderness, especially when directed to him, but today, it felt warm. Warmth like never before.

“You grew up so handsome, Donghyuck-ah,” one of the women said. “But I thought you’d be taller, you know. You had such long limbs when you were younger.”

Donghyuck feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Ahjumma, you should’ve stopped at the word handsome.”

“Tangerines ripen earlier than other citruses, so they can escape damage from freezes that will harm midseason varieties such as grapefruit and sweet oranges. Most varieties will be ready for picking during the winter and early spring, although the exact tangerine harvest time depends on the cultivar and region,” you explain, following the lead while Donghyuck and two other guys around yours and his age trail behind you. He apparently needs some training before he can start working.

“How do we know if they’re ready to be picked?” Joohyuk, one of the part-timers, ask.

You will know it’s about harvest time for tangerines when the fruit is a good shade of orange and begins to soften a bit. This is your chance to do a taste test,” you answer, stopping to show an abundant tangerine tree. You pick one out and show it to Donghyuck and the rest. “Cut the fruit from the tree at the stem with hand pruners. If after your taste test the fruit has reached its ideal juicy sweetness, proceed to snip other fruit from the tree with the hand pruners.”

You proceed to show them how it’s cut and hand them a piece each. Donghyuck likes that the fruit is sweet, not sour.

The ahjummas find your group and start handing baskets to Donghyuck and the guys, telling them they’d guide them all throughout.

He found himself spending the rest of the morning getting to know the people harvesting tangerines and making them laugh like it’s his job. He learned all their names one by one, their families briefly, and what they used to do before they retired. By the time it’s lunch, Donghyuck was about to say goodbye and perhaps ask you to take him back to his house, the group from the other side of the farm joined their area, all packed with bags of lunch.

They asked him to join, of course, but Donghyuck refused, in respect of their time to relax and take a break, and asked if you could take him home instead. You agreed, of course, mumbling that you would also need to go home to feed your dog.

“I’ll pick you up at 1:15,” you say as soon as Donghyuck lands on his feet. “Don’t sleep, please. The ahjummas will be expecting you. It’ll be a lot hotter, so drench your celebrity skin with twice the amount of sunscreen you’d normally use.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck responds, itching to say thank you, but not enough to actually say it. He rubs Daisy’s neck instead. “You—I, okay.”

“O-kay,” you nod and whistle to signal Daisy to turn and walk the other way.

Nana waits for him by the patio. “How was your first day?”

“It’s not even over yet,” he sighs, slumping his butt on one of the patio’s stairs. “Nana, I can’t believe you’re making me work while I’m on vacation.”

“Your father never said anything about a vacation,” she responds, smiling as she struggles to sit beside him. Donghyuck helps her. “You’re here for some time away from work, right?”

“Yeah, a vacation,” he emphasizes.

Nana reaches to move the fringe covering a part of his eyes. “Let’s call this your healing time. But I wouldn’t call it a vacation because a vacation for you only means playing computer games until the sun rises then sleeping all day.”

“You should stop talking to Seungyeon about me,” he mumbles, looking sideways to find his grandmother looking at him lovingly. “And I don’t only play computer games. I also listen to a lot of music.”

“Try not to think about the limelight while you’re here,” she says. “The farm needs some help now. And it’s the best time for you to learn about the family business in case you don’t make it back in Seoul.” Donghyuck groans, burying his face in his hands, and Nana laughs at him. “That’s a possibility you should be considering, Donghyuck-ah.”

“Nana, you’re making me feel worse,” he whines. “You just told me not to think about the limelight, how can I not when you just said what you said!”

“I’m only joking,” she admits. “No one is ever going to take the limelight away from you, Donghyuck-ah, even if they try. You were born for the stage, and I know it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Donghyuck looks up at her. “Is it bad that it’s all I want?”

Nana shakes her head and offers a kind smile. “Having a dream like yours is never bad, Donghyuck-ah. I know that eventually you’d have to leave and go back to where you really belong: the limelight. But all I’m saying is, stepping out of the light isn’t as bad as you think it is.”

“Right.”

“Tell me how it was in the farm.”

“The ladies love me,” he chuckles. “I’m quite popular even in the small villages of Jeju-do, aren’t I?”

“You sure are,” she agrees. “They’ve been asking about you for a long time. Looks like your Nana isn’t the only one who missed you.”

“How come they still remember me?” he asks before he can think about it. “I mean, I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten about most people here. They still remember how I used to play around and sing for small events.”

It’s true. It caught him by surprise that the workers still remembered him—and not only because he’s a celebrity now, but they remember him by the small, insignificant happenstances when he was younger. Like for example, one of them mentioned how he was once was injured, his pinky finger to be exact, because he was running like a madman when his mother had given him permission to go play computer games with his cousin. He doesn’t remember that person being there, but he knows his grandmother talked about it like it was a news about a hurricane hitting Seoul at that time it happened.

It makes Donghyuck wonder how many people remember him, and how many people he’d forgotten and left behind for his dreams.

“Our world here in Jeju-do is small,” Nana explains. “People like you, who left, well, while ours remain humble and small, while we fade into the background and slowly become insignificant, yours become bigger. So, while we remember, you forget, slowly, one by one—and nobody blames you for forgetting, Donghyuck-ah.”

Oh, look. Another burden, another truth that Donghyuck has to carry for the rest of his life. Another reason not to fall asleep tonight.

There is a small, local store located down the road from his grandmother’s house. They don’t sell nearly half the number the ones local convenience stores in Seoul would, but Donghyuck likes to think it’ll do. Soju and beer taste the same anyway, regardless of where he buys it.

With the faint, beaten yellow paint from its exterior, the store has been around even before Donghyuck was born. It’s the village’s very own convenience store, after all. There weren’t any rival stores like how it would look like in Seoul where every corner of every street one would find a convenience store. From where Donghyuck stands, the store doesn’t like look like it’s changed much in a decade.

For some reason, Donghyuck remembers how much Renjun likes reading neuroscience studies for fun. He doesn’t know anyone else who would read neuroscience studies. For fun. But anyway, back to his point, there was a neuroscience study that Renjun has been blabbing about during their US tour. It was something about when someone recalls an old memory, a representation of the entire event is instantaneously reactivated in the brain that often includes the people, location, smells, music, and other trivia. Recalling old memories can have a cinematic quality. Memories often seem to play out in the mind's eye like an old Super 8 home movie or vintage Technicolor film. Neuroscientists discovered that when someone tries to remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past—such as a recent birthday party—that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. The new research reveals that humans remember life events using individual threads, that are coupled together into a tapestry of associations.

Donghyuck’s never really understood what Renjun meant at that time, except now.

He stands there, a good ten-meter distance from where you’re sitting. The pavement on the sidewalk isn’t the most comfortable place to sit in, but Donghyuck thinks it might just be, with how comfortable and at peace you look: legs stretched out to the street, headphones covering your ears, a book (or a journal perhaps, Donghyuck can’t see well from here) in one of your hands while the other is twirling a pen.

The scene takes him back to ten years ago, in the exact same place where you’re sitting, and if Donghyuck thinks about it now, it seems like nothing’s really change—except he’s almost twenty-three now, and despite him standing a few meters away from you, it feels like you and him are worlds away. And from what it looks like, you still love writing as much as Donghyuck loves singing.

It was a warm evening in May 2013, a couple of weeks before school ended and summer would officially start, counting down the nights when Donghyuck would have to move back to Seoul, and it was way too hot for Donghyuck’s liking. Nana didn’t have an air-conditioning system yet; his father was working hard to get her one before they leave for Seoul because summers can be crazy hot in Jeju-do. And Donghyuck needed a popsicle so bad, otherwise, he’d probably explode.

He found you the same place where you are now. Donghyuck thought your SHINEE shirt looked cute because while girls your age liked the newly debuted EXO, you still listened to SHINEE like a religion. You were sitting with your legs sprawled on the street, right under the streetlight, a pen in one hand and your old, beaten up journal on the other. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and Donghyuck caught himself before he could start thinking about how pretty you looked like that: focused and doing what you loved.

Donghyuck decided not to disrupt your focus and opted to go straight inside the small store, spending the last of his money on yours and his favorite: lime and cherry twin popsicle—the kind that’s packaged in one, two flavors in one, lime green and cherry red colors separated in the middle between popsicle sticks. Lime for you, cherry for him. You didn’t look up when he sat beside you, but took the lime-flavored popsicle from his hand when he handed it to you after peeling off the plastic cover and breaking it into two.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the ice-cold treat in your mouth. Donghyuck couldn’t help but think his cherry-flavored popsicle resembled the color of your lips.

Donghyuck nodded his thoughts away, leaning in to peak at the page you’re working on. “What are you working on?” he asked it while the popsicle rested on one side of his mouth, his left cheek protruding.

You shrugged, taking the popsicle off your mouth, showing your work to him. Donghyuck found it endearing that you write all over the pages of your journals, it was as though he could see your train of thoughts: some smudged, some erased under ink but not really because he could still read through it, some clear as day, some to never see daylight again.

“I was in Science class today,” you started.

“We’re in the same homeroom, dumbass. I was there.”

“I’m talking,” you whined. “And I doubt you were even listening. You hate Science more than anything.”

“Fair point,” he hummed. “Okay, what about Science class? Please don’t tell me you’ll start writing about Science. Because I’m so sorry. I’ll never read any of your work ever again if you decide to do that.”

You laughed, the melody of your fondness of his jokes creating its own room inside the crevices of Donghyuck’s brain. “Teacher Kim was talking about symbiosis.”

“I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means.”

“Symbiosis is a term describing any relationship or interaction between two dissimilar organisms. The specific kind of symbiosis depends on whether either or both organisms benefit from the relationship,” you continued. “Butterflies and flowers, they are the best examples of symbiosis.”

Donghyuck nodded, savoring the sweetness of his cherry-flavored treat.

“Hence I did some research and read more about butterflies and flowers, and I read something a little sad,” you trailed off. “I learned that certain flowers bloom when butterflies hatch and depends on how they match each other. Butterflies, they prefer light-colored flowers they can perch on. So, when the timing is off, the flower misses the butterfly. The butterfly, therefore, finds another flower.”

“Then what happens to the flower?” Donghyuck asked, watching as you try to catch the melting piece off your popsicle, taking it back to your mouth. Your lips looked really pretty. “If it misses all the timing?”

“Well,” you shrugged, looking up to the night sky. The stars in Jeju-do that night were much prettier than it is in Seoul. “They bloom again next year, and hope that maybe next time, the timing is better. That the butterfly arrives just in time for the flowers to bloom.

“That is a little sad,” Donghyuck acknowledged. He watched you look back down, grimacing a little as you take the popsicle off your mouth. “Wanna try mine?” he asked before he could think about it.

You looked back at him. The stars in Jeju-do turned out to be nothing compared to your eyes. “Yeah?”

Donghyuck pulled the sweet treat from his mouth just as you hand him your lime-flavored one. He took it in his mouth, and Donghyuck had never been the biggest fan of anything sour, but for some reason, the lime flavor tasted sweeter than ever. You took his cherry-flavored ones, groaning in delight as you taste the treat’s sweetness.

“Cherry has always been my favorite,” you’d confessed, and Donghyuck was surprised because you’d always gotten the lime-flavored ones. The twin pops were your thing since you met summer of 2006—it was cheap, practical for two kids, two-in-one; you’d always choose the lime ones. “God, this is good.”

“You literally always take the lime ones,” he argued. “My whole life has been a lie. I’ve always thought lime was your favorite because you always take it whenever we get this!”

You shrugged. “You never liked anything sour,” you said like it’s the easiest thing to say, like it didn’t make Donghyuck’s heart somersault. “And I can take a little bit of sourness if it means you enjoy your cherry-flavored popsicle.”

Donghyuck was only twelve. He didn’t know anything about falling in love, but that night might just be the closest thing.

“So, you drink alcohol to help you fall asleep?” you ask as if it’s the most interesting solution to insomnia. Donghyuck thinks it isn’t; he’s read somewhere online that alcohol really helps. “That’s stupid.”

Donghyuck shrugs. “It’s not really working great right now. But it helps.”

He sits beside you on the sidewalk, legs sprawled out just like yours, a can of cold beer one hand while the other holds him up, flat on the rough pavement. There’s no particular reason why Donghyuck’s talking to you now. You and him got off the wrong foot, and it’s not like you can really blame Donghyuck for seeing a (supposed) stranger sleeping at his grandmother’s patio. And you were friends. Even though it’s been years, Donghyuck reckons talking to you would do no harm. Besides, if he’s staying here for a few months, a companion would probably make it less miserable.

“And your father thinks coming to Jeju-do would help, too?” you ask.

Donghyuck chuckles. “I guess you could say that. What else have you heard about me?”

You look at him, away from the street and right into his eyes. Donghyuck wonders why he didn’t recognize you the first time he saw you. Your face looks the same from the day he bid you goodbye a decade ago—lips colored in cherry, eyes bright as the stars, cheeks soft all over.

“A lot,” you answer. “But I’ve never been one to believe in rumors anyway.”

Donghyuck licks his lips. “The rumors are true.”

“Not about the sleeping around and getting drunk, pabo,” you mutter. “That, I believe.”

“Which ones?” he asks.

“People are saying you no longer like being on stage,” you say. It’s not the first time Donghyuck’s heard it. “That you’ve been burnt out from working all these years. And that you don’t care about music anymore.”

Donghyuck snickers. “That’s true, too.” He throws his head back, chugging on the cold beer. “I’m so over it. I don’t even care what happens after this.”

“Oh, Donghyuckie,” you whisper softly, eyes still glued to his face. “What has the limelight done to you?”

Donghyuck only shrugs, finishing off the rest of the cold beer, helping himself up and taking the plastic bag full of iced cold beer from the store.

“I don’t think that’s something you should be worried about,” Donghyuck says. You keep your eyes on him, so you’re looking up from where you’re seated and Donghyuck looks down on you. “It’s getting late. Wanna go drink at Nana’s?”

“Nana would kill you if she finds alcohol inside her house,” you say.

“I’ve snuck in about twenty bottles since I arrived last week and she hasn’t noticed,” he confesses.

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you laugh.

Donghyuck freezes for a moment, watching you stand in between giggles. Mark said the same think a couple of weeks ago, but it doesn’t sting when you say it. You say it in laughter. Like it’s okay. Like it doesn’t scare you.

“My house is down the street,” you say, helping yourself up and standing in front of him. Donghyuck remembers. “I’ll call Nana and let her know you’re with me.”

A bark startles Donghyuck for a second. You and him turn to find a golden Labrador running towards where you stand.

“Aw, my baby’s here to pick me up,” you announce with the softest voice. The lab runs, almost dashes towards you, and Donghyuck is taken aback when it tackles him—not you—knocking the plastic bag off his hands and resulting to him landing his butt back to the pavement. “Pororo!” you shriek, not in surprise but with a tone of betrayal. “I’m your mother!”

Donghyuck hears you shriek, but laughs through it because the golden lab is hogging him, licking him all over as if he’d miss him all these years. “Oh, baby, you’re so cute,” he coos, cradling the dog by its face, looking up at you as the dog licks his face. “This is yours?”

You fight back a smile, but you lose immediately because your face breaks with a grin. “What has the limelight done to you?” you ask, the same question from earlier, but a different tone—teasing, nostalgic, like years ago.

The dog sniffs him all over and you stand there watching them.

“Can’t even recognize your own dog now?” you tease, walking so you could pet the dog and have him follow you. “It’s the puppy Nana got you a month before you left Seoul. You couldn’t bring him with you, and Nana couldn’t take care of him when you left, so I adopted him, pabo.”

“Pororo?” Donghyuck finally, finally recognizes. Pororo looks like he’s nodding, like saying thank God, you remembered me! The dog goes back to tackle him. “Oh, Pororo! My baby!”

You lead the way to your house, Pororo following after you. He watches you take several steps ahead of him. He feels dizzy watching the scene in front of him. Donghyuck understands what Renjun is talking about now.

Humans remember a singular aspect of an event from his or her past that a complete representation of the entire scene is reactivated in the brain like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a vivid recollection. You’re the representation of his entire life in Jeju-do, a clear image before Haechan, and he’s fucking sorry he forgot about you all these years.

But that’s an apology you’d never hear from him. Instead, he watches you, taking a small step towards you, and decides he’ll allow his unsaid apology to be added on the long list of reasons why he can’t sleep at night.

Nostalgia comes in waves, they say, but why do you bring it to him like a hurricane?

Donghyuck could say that Nana is impressed with the drastic change of character in the span of six weeks.

She’s been treating him better these days; by “better”, Donghyuck means she’s been cutting off a few hours from work so he could spend more time at her home, guarding the hens and roosters that serve at her alarm clock and watering her plants from her small vegetable garden. She’s also been paying him, giving him a small envelope with cash and a small paper that resembled a payslip showing the number of hours he’d work for the week, and Donghyuck ignores the quick jump from his heart when he sees your signature at the end of it, affirming that the hours listed are accurate. Donghyuck takes the money, of course, after Nana threatened to beat him up because she’d be breaking Korea’s labor laws if he doesn’t accept it, and he keeps it all in a small box in his room, planning to show it to his members when he goes back to Seoul and brag about working like a normal civilian at the age of 23.

There is a pinch in his heart when he remembers his members. While Donghyuck has been working on (and failing to) sober up for an entire month, his members have not called nor texted him. He’d been reaching out, of course. Some of his members have been assigned solo projects and activities in the last month, and he ensures to congratulate them. All he’s gotten so far are the receipts that his messages have been read.

Donghyuck convinces himself that it’s probably SM that advised everyone not to give him a time of their day, that they probably think being away from work means disconnecting from everyone, too, that his members love him and also believe that he needs some time off from everything.

But the convincing can only do much. The convincing distracts him while he’s at work, or while he’s watering Nana’s plants, but it doesn’t do much at night. Still, after six weeks, Donghyuck is nowhere near clean.

He wakes up with a terrible headache every day (from lack of sleep or hangover, he’s not really certain), and his Nana has been oddly making hangover soup for breakfast. Donghyuck wonders whether you’d ratted him out or his mother had called her about it. Either way, she probably knows something’s up.

His mother had called him a few times now, Seungyeon, too, and it’s been casual. His mother’s voice always sounded like she’s walking on eggshells whenever she’d call, blurting a half-assed apology for not seeing him before he left and telling him she’d forgiven him and that she’s looking forward to seeing her in a few months. Seungyeon talks to him the most, almost every day, in short text messages and 10-minute calls on the weekends when she doesn’t have to worry about waking up early the next day. And she talks to him about the most random thing, nothing ever related to his obsession with drinking or the scandal, which makes Donghyuck feel better somehow.

Six weeks didn’t make much of a difference, not that Donghyuck was expecting any. The only thing that’s changed so far is that, he’s not as exhausted as he was in Seoul despite his shitty sleeping schedule continuously fucking up his already deteriorated mental health. He hasn’t been listening to songs for quite a while, and he’s been drinking every night. And if it means anything to him, you’ve been hanging out with him while he drinks.

In six weeks, he learns that you’re not much of a drinker. You don’t have many friends that you could really invite for a drink in a nearby pub or in a samgyeopsal restaurant. You’d mentioned that most people your age have all moved on to different places, spewing names that were once familiar to Donghyuck and telling him where they are now. Donghyuck is yet to learn why you had stayed in Jeju-do, not once stepping in Seoul, when the world off this island’s shores are much, much bigger than you think.

It’s two in the morning. You’d taken him home because he could barely keep his head up with the number of soju bottles he had downed, and he appreciates that you try to stay quiet when you put him to bed and leave, keeping the blinds closed because he’d told you once that the morning sunlight seeping through spaces between the curtains hurt his eyes. You’d left when Donghyuck’s barely awake.

His phone dings a notification. Donghyuck probably won’t remember so he reaches over, checking it and recognizing his mother’s name.

She sends him an article about the upcoming debut of NCT DoJaeJung, and Donghyuck’s seen it in the groupchat for some time now. Donghyuck isn’t even halfway down the article when she sends another one: Mark’s solo song.

She doesn’t add another message, and he sees her status change from online to offline in a split second, but she doesn’t really have to say anything else for him to understand.

Donghyuck’s dream has always been the spotlight.

Or at least, as he recognizes now, his mother’s dream for him has always been the spotlight.

Donghyuck always thought he loved making people happy and singing equally.

While people called him kind and a ray of sunshine, Mark’s always called him out for being a people-pleaser, reminding him that he doesn’t have to make sure everyone is happy with the choices he’d make, telling him he doesn’t have to feel the strong urge to please everyone. And Donghyuck never understood it until now, now that he’s wide awake and looking at his mother’s messages. She’s probably expecting a solo project for him, too, and she sends these things that make her happy, and she’s already expecting him he’d do it no matter what. Donghyuck’s mother is a good person; he’d look up at her and think to himself that when he grows up, he’d want to be as supportive as his mother, and don’t get him wrong when he says she expects him to do anything that’d make her happy. Because this is all Donghyuck’s fault, anyway.

With his desire to make her the happiest, he’s done everything he could to make her happy, even at his own expense.

The infamous Saturday audition at SM was something Donghyuck never thought about—not at the age of 13 when he had just gotten back in Seoul after five years of staying in Jeju-do. His accent has changed and he reckons he could have a good relationship with boys his age who grew up in the city. And as much as he loved performing, Donghyuck doesn’t like being criticized. He doesn’t like rejection, and he can’t bare the thought of adults telling him he couldn’t sing.

Hence, his initial answer to his mother’s proposal to visit SM Entertainment and give it a try was no. The only thing that had made him go, knees shaking and palms sweaty, was his mother’s words: “It’ll truly make me happy if you give it a try.”

She’d said it in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s given everything that’d make her happy a try. She’d never said a bad thing and even told him a few times that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but he does it anyway.

Donghyuck was afraid that she’d love him less if he didn’t make her happy. He was only thirteen, and his twenty-three now, and his biggest fear hasn’t changed: to be loved less because he didn’t make them happy enough.

So, Haechan blurts out the most random jokes when the cameras are on and initiates skinship with the member even if they abhor him for it and style his hair a different way, because it makes the fans happy. Haechan stays up learning the tune of the new song and recording himself in his phone for hours even after an entire day of physical activities, because it makes the producers happy. Haechan takes his friends and the younger members to dinner after a 16-hour flight from the west on the night of his birthday—his eyes barely open the entire time—because it makes them happy. Haechan plays the maknae role perfectly, even when at times he’s tired of it, because it makes the older members happy. Haechan continues to be a sunny and bright character even on days when he’s exhausted, because it makes his managers happy.

But the truth is, Donghyuck doesn’t like dyeing his hair. His hair’s gotten so unhealthy from dyeing it different colors last year.

Donghyuck feels awful sometimes, when his friends do not return his affection, but he plays it off, feigning hurt even when it actually does.

Donghyuck wants to sleep after a 16-hour flight.

Donghyuck wants to drink with his hyungs, too.

Donghyuck just wants to sing and write songs when he’s learned enough.

Donghyuck doesn’t want to be like Mark, or Doyoung, or anyone else.

Donghyuck wants Haechan to be… Donghyuck.

Donghyuck wants to be happy—in his own terms, by his own choices.

But how can he be happy when he’s always depended his happiness on the people he loves?

Donghyuck feels like a dead man walking.

You and Donghyuck are tasked to bring the harvested fruits at the farmer’s market in the early hours of Sunday.

It’s barely five in the morning, and the sun’s not even out yet, but you had forced him to sleep early the night before to make sure he’d accompany you to the market. (He didn’t sleep though; he lied awake until his phone rang and you’re calling from outside.) You’d driven the farm’s truck to get here, and Donghyuck can’t help but admire the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand.

Donghyuck helps you carry the boxes out of the truck, arranging them in front of his grandmother’s store. You had walked in while he carries the rest inside and Donghyuck hears you talk to Eunseuk, his Nana’s sales person who handles and manages their place in the public market.

“That’s awful,” Donghyuck hears you say as soon as he places the last of the boxes in a corner. “Can’t the mayor do anything about it?

Eunseuk sighs, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, it looks like the donation project Nana’s driven wasn’t enough. She barely made enough profit last quarter because she’d donated most of it to the project.”

“What is awful and what project are we talking about?” Donghyuck interrupts.

Eunseuk smiles sadly at him. “The clinic that Nana’s been proposing to the mayor for years now. The town’s mayor thinks it’s not going to be built this year.” Donghyuck’s never heard of it.

“The community has a lot of elderly people who live alone in Jeju-do,” you explain when you notice his curiosity. “Especially in here in the island, even more here in our town. Most people leave Jeju-do at the age of eighteen to find a better life in Seoul, which is ridiculous because there’s no place better than Jeju-do, and Nana thought it’d be great if she built a small clinic for the elderly nearby, that way they wouldn’t have to travel fifty kilometers to visit the nearest hospital. It’d be great if the elderly can have themselves checked for free and to have, if not all, most equipment they’d need.”

“How is that possible?” Donghyuck asks.

“Well,” Eunseuk starts. “First, we need the funds to actually build the clinic itself. Nana is halfway through the amount needed. The mayor’s children are doctors, and if he wants to keep winning the next elections, I’m sure he’d be happy to have them volunteer.”

“What about maintenance?” he asks.

“Good question,” you say. “And good thinking. I like it, you’re already thinking ahead, Donghyuck-ah. Anyway, the elderly is very much willing to do community service in exchange of the maintenance of the small clinic. And don’t worry, it’s not like Nana’s going to make them work like horses.”

“Services like crocheting products for the local market,” Eunseuk adds. “Food manufacturing—the kind that would allow them to make while sitting down, local farming, jewelry-making, and the like. Things we can sell in the market. You know how tourists are so keen on buying anything hand-made.”

“So, a clinic for the elderly built and maintained by the elderly?” Donghyuck sums up.

“Exactly!”

“How much are we looking at in terms of money?” He asks.

You chuckle. “If you’re grandmother wanted to ask money from you, she would have already. She has some kind of pride, you know.”

“Well, I’ll give it you and you tell her it’s an anonymous donation.”

“As if she’d believe that bullshit,” you answer. “Anyway, Eunseuk-eonnie, what do we do now?”

The older woman shrugs. “We’ll keep selling tangerines until we reach the goal, I guess.”

Donghyuck talks before he could think about it. “I can do something.”

You and Eunseuk look at him like you’d just seen a ghost.

“I don’t know what I can offer,” he says right away. “But I’ll… I think I can do something.”

“Donghyuck,” you say. “You can sing.”

“I am aware,” he jokes.

“No, you can sing,” you repeat. Donghyuck looks back at you. “You can sing, so I’m sure you can teach people how to sing.”

“And?” He doesn’t get it.

“It’s summer,” you answer. “Most kids are bored and are probably looking for something meaningful to do while they wait for school to start again. Teach kids how to sing and have their parents pay for it!”

Donghyuck thinks it’s a good idea. “And you can write.”

You freeze. “No.”

“Teach kids how to write and have their parents pay for it.”

“Over my dead body!”

“I will do it only if you do it.”

Eunseuk laughs, “Oh, this is good.”

“No, Donghyuck. I’m not a professional writer. I didn’t even go to college. I don’t have the credentials for it.”

“You don’t have to go college to be a writer,” he snorts. “Scott Fitzgerald didn’t even finish college.”

“Where’d you even learn that?”

“You told me when we were kids!” he answers, laughing. “Come on, Y/N. I’m sure Nana can find someone to do your job in the farm while we teach kids.”

“I don’t know, Donghyuck,” you sigh.

Eunseuk lightly slaps your arm. “Come on, young lady. Do it for the elderly.”

“Yeah, Y/N, do it for the elderly.”

The sparkle in your eyes and the smile on your lips tell Donghyuck you agree.

And so, the plan goes accordingly.

Donghyuck could say that Nana is more than delighted to learn that his delinquent and embarrassing grandson, who’s spent all this time pretending he doesn’t care, had decided to help out. You’d done the most part, of course— obtaining the permit from the mayor’s office and settling all the paperwork needed. All Donghyuck had to do was to help clean up and renovate his grandfather’s old office in the farm. Everyone else who had some free time helped because apparently, that’s what this community does. Donghyuck could probably get used to receiving help without him asking for it.

So, in more or less five days, his grandfather’s old office, which is about forty square meters, had turned into the community’s summer class headquarters. You and Donghyuck decided to call it Nana’s Music and Literature Classes. And with the help of Eunseuk and some of the workers, the word spread like news from the radio. In a week’s time, you and Donghyuck have over twenty student each. Mondays and Wednesdays were his schedule; yours were Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays were called Hyuckie and Y/C/N’s day—which means you and him would dedicate an entire day brainstorming and talking about your class’ progress.

The summer courses would take eight weeks to complete, and at the end of it would be a competition, in which the Mayor promised he’d give a very big reward for. Those who enrolled in Donghyuck’s classes would have a recital at the end of summer where the kids will hold a small concert for the town—tickets to be sold as part of the drive, of course—and the judges will be identified to select three winners. As for your classes, it will be a short story competition, and the winners will be announced on the night of the small concert, which Donghyuck is the best ending any summer could have.

The place is cramped, and Donghyuck’s never been more excited his entire life.

He’s gone to many places and met with many prominent people in this lifetime. But he’s decided that this is the most exhilarating day of his life.

The parents leave as soon as Donghyuck assures them that the kids will be safe and will be all set for pick up by 3 in the afternoon. You’re talking to the kids while he ensures that the room is cool enough for everybody. The room is filled with excitement that Donghyuck could feel inside him. He learned from the parents he’d met just a few minutes ago that the town doesn’t really offer things like this for children and that they’d have to send their kids to summer camp in the mainland if they wanted them to experience this, and the fact that you and him are doing this for a cause makes it even better.

Donghyuck views this like it’s not as big as the drives NCT had been doing, or the charity concerts he takes part in, or the money he donates to various causes, but to the people of the town, it’s bigger than anything they had ever known.

“Aigoo,” one of the parents cooed when she’d seen Donghyuck greet everybody outside. “Your grandparents have always been kind. They’d been the pillar of this small town for quite some time now. I’m glad you’re growing up a good man.”

You’d smiled at him when you heard that, and Donghyuck wonders if you also think he’s growing up a good man, because he thinks you grew up to be such an amazing, compassionate person.

“Hello, kids!” Donghyuck greets. Everybody says it back with the same enthusiasm, and despite having been in hundreds of shows with thousands of people in the audience, he can’t remember the last time a crowd made him feel alive.

Donghyuck hates being recognized.

When his career had just started, he thought that the greatest compliment was to be recognized. He thought that he’d measure his success with the number of people from the general public who could recognize him under a hat and with a face mask covering half his face. But in the latter years of his career, he’d learned the hard way that he hated being seen and being recognized.

There had been many happenstances in his job in which he’d just wish he was invisible for a moment. Anytime he’s in an airport, regardless it was for an event or concert overseas, or worst of it all, a vacation with his family, all Donghyuck wants is for people not to know who he is. In afternoon runs by himself, all he needs is a time alone and not girls following him and taking pictures of him. On days when he’s out with friends and family, all he hopes is peace. This comes with the job, Johnny would tell him whenever he’d get frisky and annoyed, but Donghyuck never really understood why his privacy is anyone’s business. Never really understood why he had to go through this when all he’s ever really wanted was sing.

Donghyuck hates being seen.

More than anything. Especially when he’s trying hard to hide. And he wishes he’s only talking about his physical appearance being seen. He hates that his grandmother sees through him but doesn’t say anything about it unless he opens up first. He hates that Mark, his best friend in the entire world, sees right through his walls and that all Donghyuck’s done is push him away and make him hate him even more. He hates that his father sees his pain, but doesn’t talk about it for some reason. He hates that you see him—all of him—but you don’t look at him with disgust or pity or anything of that sort.

It’s Friday, yours and his day, the second one since summer school’s started, and he’d started calling you by your childhood nickname again. You’d grimaced the first time and told him nobody’s called you that in a long time, but allowed him nonetheless.

The clock strikes six in the afternoon and the dusk had just settled in the horizon. You and him are sitting on the floor of his room, facing each other, separated by a small table, notepads scattered, ideas running a hundred miles per second.

“This is perfect,” you comment when you and him had finished planning out next week’s daily agenda. “The kids are going to love it!”

Donghyuck stays silent, eyes on you as you finally set your pen down.

“What should we have for dinner?” you ask, eyes still on the notepad. “Nana’s probably heating up some leftover galbi, but I think we should make some kimchi stew, too.”

Donghyuck hums. You look up at him. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just had something in mind.”

You tilt your head. “Tell me.”

“It’s a question,” he says. “And if I say it, you’d have to answer.”

You think about it for a moment. Donghyuck almost takes it back. “Sure.”

“Really?”

You nod. “As long as you answer a question from me, too.”

Donghyuck pretends to think about it. “Can we set some rules?”

“It’s literally one question,” you snort. “Come on. Ask me.”

“No, ask me first,” he insists.

“You asked first.”

“No. Ask me first,” he repeats.

You scoff. “Fine. You have to tell me the truth, yeah?” A nod. “Ready?” Another.

Donghyuck holds his breath for a moment and you don’t say anything for about a minute, probably thinking the same as him: this is the only chance both of you are honest and open, might as well ask a question one wouldn’t answer on a normal day.

“How are you?”

He exhales the breath he’s been holding and nearly breaks down in tears when he hears the question you’d decided to ask. He’s sure you’ve heard of it all. Everything’s been all over the internet for the past two months he’d been in hiding in Jeju-do: the drinking, the nights in clubs and bars, the fights with the members, the cherry on top which is the scandal. It’d all spiraled into everything he was initially afraid of. The girl he’d met at the back of the club had sold him to reporters and had made up a story of how they’ve been in a sexual relationship for quite some time. The media had dug up stories of him being out of control in the streets when he’s shitfaced from all the soju he had and had posted tales of him asking multiple women to sleep with him whenever he’s drunk.

The agency sued everyone for making shit up, of course, but Donghyuck knows half of those are the truth. He has not been the best group member in a long time: always late in practices, grumpy and hangover during fan signs, lethargic during concerts, and fucking up performances. He’s lost himself, and he’s losing everyone in the process of it.

People ask him if he’d really had sex with someone at the back of a bar. They’d ask him why he never asked for help with his drinking problem. Comments from his Instagram would tell him to back off and just leave the group. Fans from calls and fan signs would ask him why he’d stop making covers of the songs he loved and why he hasn’t been on Bubble in a long period of time.

But nobody else had really asked him how he’s been aside from Nana, who he doesn’t have the heart to open up to.

“I—” He starts but swallows, breathing in. You wait for him. “I’m—I don’t really—I’m not sure if I can.”

You nod. “Take your time, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck reminds himself to breathe.

How is he? How has been holding up after everything that’s happened?

He’s lost his spark. He’s lost his love for music, his passion for the stage, the sparkle in his eyes. He’s losing the people he loves. He’s losing his friends. And he’s losing a battle with himself.

He’s—

“I’m, ” he tries again. “Y/N, I’m not okay.”

It pours like rain, his tears. He shakes when he cries and his chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe, but he keeps crying because it’s the only time he ever will. He sobs in pain and holds himself when his entire body shakes from the ache of it all.

He’s grieving, weeping, like how one would in a funeral, because how does he ask for forgiveness? How does he ask forgiveness from his parents and siblings? From his members? From his fans? From the staff and the people who’d brought him to where he is? How does he ask forgiveness from little Donghyuck when all he’d wanted was for him to grow up a good man?

You let him cry, and only reach out to hand him a handkerchief when he’s done. You don’t say anything. Instead you kneel and reach over to hug him from the other side. Donghyuck accepts your tenderness.

“I don’t have anything else to ask,” you murmur against his hair. “But I do want to say that you’re loved in ways you probably have forgotten already. You’ve probably been used to love that’s loud—screaming and flamboyant and beautiful and everything anyone would want—but you’re also loved quietly. In a small, serene room. In a way you’ve forgotten.”

“Thank you,” he says, sniffling, a little embarrassed now. “I’m sorry. I probably ruined the moment.”

You chuckle, pulling away, and Donghyuck’s heart does flips when you kiss the top of his head like you always did when you were younger. He doesn’t know why he remembers all of a sudden.

“Stop apologizing,” you reply. “There’s nothing to apologize about.”

“There’s a lot,” he admits. “I didn’t recognize you the first time I saw you. We did everything when we were kids, and I didn’t recognize you.”

“And it’s okay,” you assure, holding the top of his hand that’s resting on the small table. “I didn’t expect you to recognize me right away. You were worlds away from me. We forget people and that’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not. I promised to keep in touch, and I never did. I’m sorry.”

You nod. “You’re forgiven.”

Donghyuck sighs in relief. “I doubt, but okay.”

“Trust me.” He does. “Anyway, you were going to ask me something. You’re not allowed to ask the same thing because I’d just answer that I’m tired and I want to sleep. Nothing big happens in my life.”

Donghyuck smiles again. “Ready?” A nod. “Why’d you never leave Jeju-do?”

It seems like you didn’t expect the question because your face tells Donghyuck you’re surprised by what he just asked. You lick your lip and exhale largely, looking everywhere but his eyes. Donghyuck allows you to take your time, and you’re not running away so he’s assuming you’re thinking of an answer for him.

“I don’t have a dream,” is your answer. “My parents think it’s not normal. Because even they had already left the town and moved to a bigger place off the island. People think it’s impossible that I don’t have a dream, that I must want something in life, I just haven’t discovered it yet. And I’m twenty-three, I’m still waiting for my awakening, for dreams to find me, but it hasn’t. I don’t want to do anything in life but just… survive.”

Donghyuck only listens. “In high school, when we were deciding what to take up in college and which college we’d go to, I had nothing in mind. I didn’t want a career—not an engineer, not a teacher, not a doctor, none of those. I couldn’t think of anything. Writing is something that I love doing, but I really can’t see myself pursuing it as a career. I don’t want to end up hating it. I’ve always been convinced that I wasn’t specifically good at anything apart from that. I’m okay with all subjects at school, average grades and all, but nothing ever stood out for me. I never stood out. And I was okay with it for a reason I still don’t know. I was okay with not having dreams. College was the only reason for me to leave Jeju-do. There’s nothing else, therefore I’m still here. At twenty-three, I haven’t accomplished much, and if you want me to be all out and honest,” you sigh. “It’s… it’s starting to scare me.”

“What scares you?”

“That I haven’t accomplished anything yet,” you admit. “I’m not one to, you know, force myself to people and make them remember me. I wasn’t scared of oblivion. Until… these days, I’ve been asking myself, how are people going to remember me?”

Donghyuck nods, urges you to continue.

“Are they going to remember me as someone who helps out in your Nana’s farm because I had nothing to do?” you voice out. “Are they going to remember me as someone who brings all the deliveries to the farmer’s market when the staff is unavailable? Are they going to remember be as Eunseuk’s co-worker? Are they going to remember me at all?”

“Can I tell you something?” he asks but doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I know I’m not in the position to say anything about remembering you when I couldn’t recognize you the first time we met after a decade, but I remember you by the way I see cherry blossoms.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Is that a good thing?”

“We met in a puddle of fallen cherry blossoms in summer of 2006,” he explains. “I remember you by the way you admired flowers that fall off from its stem, by the way you loved fallen and broken things equally when they were perfect and when they stood still. I may have awfully forgotten you all these years, but the way I see cherry blossoms is the exact same way you see them.”

Donghyuck continues, “You know how they say we’re a manifestation of all the people we met, right? That we’re a mosaic of everything we’ve ever learned from them. To me, I remember you as the clear image of who I was before… before everything that’s happened. I remember you as someone helping me find my way back home.”

“Donghyuck,” you trail off. “That’s the… best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Donghyuck smiles. “And so, what if you don’t have big dreams? Dreams are just dreams anyway. You don’t have to have one if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to struggle so much in order to live.”

“Do people know you’re this kind and profound?” you chuckle. “People should see this side of Lee Donghyuck.”

“Call yourself lucky you’re the only one,” he answers.

“What’s wrong with people seeing this side?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “I don’t think they’d want the boring kind. I think they like me better when I’m funny and over the top and a sucker for attention.”

“Well,” you click your tongue. “I like you either way.”

Donghyuck is barely twenty-three. And if he knows anything about falling in love, this might just be the moment he truly learns it.

You and him end up falling asleep on his bed. Donghyuck likes to think he doesn’t really remember how it happened. You’d told him you’d sleep in the hammock at his house’s patio, but he’d insisted to sleep in his room, of course. Reason? Mosquitoes, of course. Donghyuck said he’d sleep on the floor, taking an extra pillow, but you were already half asleep, moving so your body is right by the wall, safe and sound. You’d save the extra space for him to sleep beside you. Donghyuck likes to think he’d fallen asleep because he was exhausted and not because he felt safe around you.

It’s the longest sleep he’s had in a long time.

He wakes up at eight in the morning, the room already warm despite the air-conditioning system still switched on. You are no longer beside him, but he clearly hears your voice from outside.

Donghyuck gets up, going straight outside and finds everyone from the farm gathered around for breakfast outside his grandmother’s house. He’d forgotten that his Nana invited everybody for a scrumptious breakfast today, Saturday, and he wonders why neither you nor Nana herself had woken him up to help out.

Farmers and harvesters pass a plate to one another. A long table is set up in the middle of Nana’s driveway space, various of dishes laid out, and Donghyuck finds you holding two pitchers of tangerine juice, walking around to fill up the workers’ cups.

It’s Eunseuk who sees Donghyuck standing by the patio watching everybody move around.

“There’s our Donghyuckie!” she announces.

Everyone looks at him and greets him a good morning. Nana shouts his name and asks him to come over and eat some breakfast. You squint when you look at him, the sun blinding your eyes, but you smile as soon as he waves hi.

Donghyuck can’t help but think being recognized is not so bad after all.

Donghyuck spends the rest of summer like a kid.

Except he goes to work at Nana’s Music and Literature Classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, goes to the farm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and spends his Fridays with you. He learns many things over the summer, especially about the community and the town itself. He meets more people as Donghyuck, Nana’s grandson who teaches children how to sing and who helps out in the farm two days a week. They accept him as he is, and he feels like seven again, meeting new people every day until they all remember him by his name.

Among the things he’s learned, he likes learning how your lips taste the most.

It was sudden, unplanned, the kind where he didn’t know he was doing it until he’s done it. You and him were ending a Friday session at your place that time, the place where he used to hide his drinks, and he was so elated that he wasn’t going home drunk for the first time since he arrived in Jeju-do. And he was bidding you goodbye. He’d leaned it like it was the most natural thing to do and caught your lips in his. You shrieked in surprise, unable to say anything, but tipped on your toes and gave him a second kiss before turning and running inside your house.

You didn’t talk about it, and Donghyuck felt like it was not something to talk about. You had voiced out you liked him in many occasions, and Donghyuck’s been relentlessly flirting with you since the night you fell asleep in his room. The signs were never mixed and the lines were never blurred. Donghyuck’s grown much closer to you more than anyone else in the world, and he’s been falling asleep in the safety of your arms these days. It was safe to say the kisses weren’t meaningless.

The night of his class’ recital comes quickly.

Donghyuck spend the entire two days practicing with each of his students while you were busy reading all of your students’ works and giving them feedback before they submit it to the Mayor’s office. You find him getting ready in his room, dressed in the only button-down shirt he brought from Seoul and a pair of slacks. Meanwhile, it’s the first time he’s seeing you in a dress that somehow matches the colors of his outfit.

“Looking great, handsome,” you say.

Donghyuck pulls you for a kiss. “Could say the same to you, beautiful.”

“Why are you so touchy these days?” you whine but lean back to kiss him again anyway. “Ready? One of the parents called and said his kid is already in the venue. They’re excited.”

Donghyuck nods, grabbing a jacket just in case it gets cold later tonight, and leads the way out. Nana is dressed in a pretty dress Donghyuck gave her for Christmas last year. Donghyuck drives to the venue and finds himself nervous for the first time in a long time.

You’d managed to convince him to sing tonight despite his persistent refusal.

“Come on, Donghyuck,” you begged, pulling him by the end of his shirt as he harvests tangerines. “The audience will love you!”

“They paid their tickets to watch the kids of the community sing, not me,” he argued. “And besides, I haven’t sung in like, four months. Who knows? I may have forgotten to sing already.”

“Bullshit,” you said. “Your Nana would want to hear you sing live.”

“She’s already heard me sing live many times,” he replied. “She’s been to many concerts.”

You tilt you head, a habit he’s grown to really like. “But I haven’t.”

Donghyuck had wanted to kiss the pout off your lips at that time. “Watch it from Youtube.”

“You don’t get many lines!” you said.

“So, you do watch my performances in Youtube, huh?” he teased. “Only in NCT 127 I don’t get so much lines because there are more members. Try to listen to NCT Dream.”

“Donghyuck!” you bellowed in frustration as you follow him around the farm. “Please!”

He stopped and turned, a little too late for you to step back because you’re already pressed up against his chest. “Okay.”

“Really?” you asked, voice lower because your faces were just inches apart—one wrong move and you’d be kissing in the middle of tangerine trees.

He nodded, purposely moving his face closer. “Only if you start reviewing for the SAT again and start sending your drafted college applications from your laptop.”

“Who told you to sneak in and open my files!” you gasped.

“I was checking if you’ve ever watched porn in your life and I found something better: your college applications.”

“I hate you, you know?”

Donghyuck chuckled, moving even closer to intimidate you but he hoped you couldn’t his heart hammering against his chest. “I know. Now. Do we have a deal? I’ll sing at recital night and you start reviewing for the upcoming SAT and send out your college applications when it’s time.”

“I’m—I’m not sure.”

Donghyuck let you go, you almost falling back but he held your hand before you could. “Then I’m not singing.”

“But Donghyuck!” He turned to leave while you scream behind him, pleading.

Ten steps forward and he finally got what he wanted: “Okay! I’ll do it! I’ll start reviewing and will send all the drafted college applications! I’ll do it!”

Hence, the singing stunt for tonight.

The event goes as planned.

The night starts with Donghyuck’s entire class singing their own rendition of a famous traditional song that the crowd truly loved. One by one, the kids would sing, with intermission numbers in groups in between, and by the end of it, it was Donghyuck’s turn.

The minus one track is ready and Donghyuck takes a deep breath as he walks up the stage. It’s smaller than any of the stages he’s been on—perhaps the smallest—and the lights aren’t as bright than the ones he’s used to. Big stages mean big lights, and if he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t see a single face when he’s on stage. The illuminations to ensure the fans would see them are blinding, beyond what people think. While his mother thinks his eyesight has gotten worse due to the long hours of playing APEX on his days off, Donghyuck believes it’s because of the blinding lights from the stage and everywhere he goes.

However, this stage has the gentlest lights he’s ever seen. The crowd is small, about two hundred people including their students, and from here, he can see their faces clearly. He stands not too far away, not to high, and he smiles when the crowd cheers when he reaches the middle of the stage.

“Hello, I’m Donghyuck,” he says on the mic. “I’m the teacher of the talented kids we watched this evening, and I can’t be prouder with how they sang their hearts out tonight. To show my gratitude, I also prepared a song for you.”

The crowd cheers again, your voice standing out as you stand right beside the stage, your phone already up probably recording him.

“I sang this song some time last year,” he continues. “This is Good Person.”

The instrumental plays and the crowd claps before he even starts. Donghyuck breathes, closing his eyes, and sings: “What’s going on today? Your face looks like it’s been crying. Did he break your heart? You’re the most precious person in the world to me.”

He hasn’t sung in a long time, and he barely practiced this song yesterday. Donghyuck, for some time before everything went to crumbles, felt scared going on stage. He felt as though he wouldn’t do well enough to deserve the applause and cheers, and he spent a lot of time doubting his own capabilities.

Whoever he is now, Donghyuck truly worked hard for it. At first, he only knew how to sing and it was the only thing he ever loved. And then he learned how to dance, how to stand like an idol, how to answer like a celebrity, how to have his “candid” photos taken, how to be a proper artist—even when he only wants to sing.

Standing here, now, in a small crowd, singing a song he wished was his own, he wished he had written, Donghyuck feels safe.

In Jeju-do, he feels safe. Donghyuck feels like he’s found his way home. The people he’s spent all these months with brought him comfort he’s never known—like coming home after a whole day of being pestered in the real world—and he knows that he’ll never find ease and serenity the same way Jeju-do had given him. The town took him in with open arms, like he’s not some idol who ruined their career for fleeting pleasure, like he’s not some person who’d forgotten about all of them. His Nana embraced him like he was seven again, like making mistakes is normal and that forgiving is easy when you love the person. You accepted him and taught him what falling in love means as though he was deserving of love and comfort.

The song ends with his voice dragging out the last words, his eyes closed: “I can only comfort you.”

When Donghyuck opens his eyes, the lights don’t blind him and the people he knows and love clap, cheering for him. It comes to him like pouring rain. And he allows himself to drench in it—the tenderness, the warmth, the love.

Because he deserves it. He deserves the love, therefore he takes, takes, takes, until he’s full of it.

Like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.

You’d spent the night in his home, Donghyuck for the first time learned how to make love in bed. He’s had sex before, of course, but never like how you and him connected in his bed—moans and music of pleasure hushed by each other’s mouth, his honey-colored skin’s warmth pressed against yours, his lips and tongue tasting every inch of you. He’d said he loves you, and you’d said it back as you and him take each other.

This morning he wakes up without a headache, and he’s been waking up without one for a few weeks now. He usually wakes up with the sound of roosters from his grandmother’s backyard, or the sound of you and his Nana talking over your morning coffee. But today, he wakes up with the sound of his grandmother knocking profusely, seemingly frightened by the sound of her voice calling his name.

“Donghyuck-ah,” she shouts. “Please wake up. I don’t know what to do.”

You and Donghyuck get up startled, scrambling to put some clothes on and hurrying to open the door—only to find Nana on the verge of tears. Nana never falters, she’d only shown strength but Donghyuck finds her shaking. Nana doesn’t get the chance to answer because Joohyuk barges in, sweaty and catching his breath.

“The mayor’s security team is here,” he announces. “Let’s get going.”

“Go where?” Donghyuck asks, but Joohyuk is already pulling him.

The door opens, and Donghyuck finally realizes what’s going on.

They’d found him. Men and women with cameras shout his name—he recognizes a few from the conferences he’d attended—and flashes of lights and the stuttering sound of shutters devour him. He looks around and he can’t see you and he hears his Nana cry, and Donghyuck doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on, but he feels his legs give out. Joohyuk practically carries him to the SUV waiting outside their home.

Inside the car, Donghyuck catches a glimpse of the crowd—a crowd that looks like twice the amount of the people from the recital last night. He hears them screaming his name and he sees glints of neon green and posters as they pass by. His Nana, who sits beside him, cries and says she doesn’t understand why they’d found him. The mayor had specifically ensured that the town’s residents do not say a word about his visit way before he’d arrived and she’d done her best to protect him from the lights. He doesn’t say anything and only hugs her tight.

On the other side of Nana is you. You’re staring off the window, the fields far more interesting than what just happened, and you’re biting off the nails of your fingers and your legs wouldn’t stop bouncing. And you’re silent, and Donghyuck wonders why all of a—

Donghyuck doesn’t have to ask you to know.

You’d sold him off.

“I’m sorry,” is all you had to say when you and him are left inside the mayor’s office’s lounge. Donghyuck asked everybody to leave.

You’re sitting on the couch, eyes on the floor, while Donghyuck walks back and forth, angry. “I didn’t mean to.”

He stops walking right in front of you. “What do you mean you didn’t mean to post me on your Instagram? How could you possibly accidentally do that?!”

You keep your head low. “I—I forgot that it wasn’t on private and I didn’t have that many of followers to even be bothered by it. And one of our old friends commented and asked me if it was you—”

“And you said yes?” he enunciated. “You consciously, deliberately said yes?”

You start crying at this point. “Yes, and I’m sorry!”

“That’s a little too late now, isn’t it?”

“I just—”

“You just what? You want to play the girlfriend role so fucking bad?”

“Donghyuck, please, listen—” You get up and hold him by his arms but he backs off and rips his body from yours. “I just—I wanted the world to know that you can be kind and warm and you’re nothing like what the tabloids say—”

“So, you admit you purposely posted it!” he shouts. “What a fucking—”

“Yes!” you admit, still crying. “Because I can’t live knowing the world sees you differently when you’re generous and loving and amazing!”

Donghyuck takes a deep breath, hands on his waist, head tilted up so he can focus on the ceiling instead of the image of you crying. “You have no idea how the world fucking works, do you?”

“You always loved singing,” you reason out. “And the world shouldn’t take that away from you because of one mistake. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I didn’t think it through, but please understand my purpose.”

“You really have no fucking idea,” he concludes, looking down at you, right in your eyes and says: “How would you have any knowledge of what goes on outside of Jeju-do, anyway? You have never left this god damn place in your entire life and you know nothing aside from stringing words beautifully to get what you want. And you think you’re fucking cool for not having a dream and staying in an island, living your small-town girl fantasy, when in fact you’ve done nothing in life and people won’t even remember you. Why would you think you can make this decision for me? You’re just some girl who didn’t even go to college!”

“That’s enough, Donghyuck!” Nana interrupts.

Donghyuck turns and finds his Nana, Joohyuk, some of the Mayor’s security staff, his manager, and his Mother standing right outside the now opened door.

He looks back at you and you’re no longer crying. Your expression is just empty, like a light bulb burnt out.

Indeed, like many times in Donghyuck’s life, the ease and serenity end as quickly as it arrives.

They take the first flight to Seoul after successfully shooing the media and fans away. Nana travels with them, his mother deciding that it’s the best for now until everything calms down.

Donghyuck finds out during the flight that yours and his old friend from middle school had reposted the video of him singing from last night and it went viral in multiple social media platforms. Overnight, people had found out his location and the media had started interviewing people in the town. Despite the mayor instructing everyone not to say a thing, some had answered questions, even submitted entries on some forums about Haechan online.

His manager talks about how their PR team sort of thinks this might just be what he needed, says something about the locals of the town had said so many good things about him. He confirms that the post originated from your Instagram account and you had deactivated at this point and that they’re in the process of contacting your old schoolmate because the agency wants to press charges for invading his grandmother’s privacy and for bothering him on an unofficial schedule.

His mother holds his hand all through, and she offers a kind smile and kisses the top of his head.

Donghyuck cries like baby, and his mother only holds him, and perhaps that’s all he truly needs.

The crowd is just as bad when his plane lands. Donghyuck can barely see and hear considering the lights and people shouting his name. They take him to a separate SUV, away from his mother and Nana to keep them off the radar, and he sits in the car beside his manager.

“Here,” his manager hands him a phone as soon as the car starts moving. Donghyuck had forgotten his phone. It’s probably still in his room back in Nana’s house. People are still screaming his name. Donghyuck stares at his manager’s phone blankly. The screen shows he’s in a call with Mark.

Donghyuck’s hand shakes when he takes it. He puts the device over his ear and doesn’t wait for Mark to say anything.

“Mark-hyung,” he cries.

And cries. And cries. And cries. Until he arrives in SM’s headquarters and the manager has to take the phone away from him. Mark tells him he’s on the way to the headquarters with Renjun and Doyoung and that the others should be on their way after their individual schedules.

They arrive and immediately their staff take care of him like a baby, and he realizes that he’s back. He’s back. Right where he’s supposed to belong.

They take him to the PR teams office, and none of them ask how he’s doing and he’s spiraling again—already starting to think how he could please the staff and make them happy, not even an entire day of landing in Seoul and he’s already thinking about other people at his own expense.

Hence, Donghyuck makes a decision he’s never considered before.

While one of the PR associates discuss how he’s ranked number one in Naver’s most searched term, Donghyuck raises his hand.

They all look at him.

And finally, Donghyuck says: “Please get me a therapist. Please get someone who can help me.”

The room is clean and if Donghyuck’s being honest, a little too perfect for a therapist’s office. A tiny part of his fucked-up brain tries to convince him that they’d probably set him up for a documentary he’s not aware of to clean his image, so he looks around and tries to check if there are any cameras setup.

“Truly a celebrity,” Dr. Yoon says, which makes Donghyuck jump a little. The doctor stands from the door way, closing it as he steps inside. “Please, feel comfortable.”

Donghyuck thinks that’s a little impossible, but he takes a seat one of the single couches.

“The first thing that celebrities do in my office is look around for cameras,” the doctor comments, sitting on a similar chair across Donghyuck. “And I assure you that no amount of money can buy my integrity as a psychologist.”

“I’m relieved,” Donghyuck mumbles. “Hello, I’m Donghyuck.”

“Hello, Donghyuck,” the doctor greets; Donghyuck bows. “I had a quick glimpse of your situation from the form you filled out online. Are you feeling better today?”

“I guess,” Donghyuck shrugs. Dr. Yoon smiles.

“How about I ask questions and if you don’t want to answer, stay silent instead of lying to me?” He asks. Donghyuck sighs but nods. “And if you want to answer, answer as truthfully as you can, yes?” Donghyuck agrees. “Let’s start with simple questions.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Dr. Yoon asks him many close-ended questions, to which Donghyuck had given him all the answers to, then proceeds to ask him what’s on his mind. The doctor’s notepad sits on the table between them, left open and blank even after asking so many questions.

Donghyuck is not really sure whether he’d done the right thing by seeking help, but he can’t keep hurting people just because he’s fucked up in the head. And he can’t keep hurting himself just because he can’t make the entire fucking world happy. He can’t keep drinking his insomnia away because he’s scared a doctor may tell him he’s fucked up in the head, which he knows already, he just doesn’t want it written in his medical records. He can’t keep fucking up his group’s image just because the alcohol doesn’t help his insomnia anymore. He can’t keep drowning himself in his sadness and the thought of disappointing so many people in his life—the people he left behind in Jeju-do, the members, his fans, the staff, his parents and siblings, his Nana, you.

If melatonin didn’t work, if the alcohol didn’t work, and if Jeju-do didn’t work, then perhaps a therapist is his best shot at getting better.

Donghyuck takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and begins.

“I keep thinking about how I can make everyone happy without sacrificing anything.”

The doctor finally picks up the pen and starts scribbling down.

Donghyuck keeps talking.

Donghyuck goes to therapy on Tuesdays and Fridays, and SM keeps his hiatus status active until Donghyuck decides to come back himself. It’s an agreement his parents, Donghyuck, and the agency settled while things are still chaotic.

The members are supportive of this, especially Mark and Taeyong. They’d send him cheerful messages every Tuesday and Friday, when they know that his session would begin. Sometimes, Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin would pick him up and take him to a barbecue restaurant after. Donghyuck can’t remember how many times Renjun and Chenle had driven him to therapy and had waited for a couple of hours, only to take him to his favorite Chinese restaurant that serves the best hotpot. The older members have also driven him to therapy once or twice, with Jungwoo even signing up for therapy one time, and they’ve all given him love and tenderness—which Donghyuck accepted.

Donghyuck learns many things from Dr. Yoon. He learns that people pleasing isn't a mental illness, but it can be an issue that adversely affects how many people, with or without mental illness, relate to others. Most of all, people pleasers try to nourish other people without adequately nourishing themselves. Dr. Yoon called it Sociotrophy. He described it as the tendency to place an inordinate value on relationships over personal independence in response to the loss of relationships or conflict.

Those with sociotropic tendencies, wish to make other people happy, often at the sake of their own needs or values. While being warm, kind, and helpful are positive traits, they can result in strong feelings of resentment, anxiety, stress, and emotional depletion when they come at your expense.

People-pleasing, apparently, falls at the opposite end of the scale from autonomy. Autonomy places emphasis on independence whereas people-pleasers prioritize interpersonal relationships above all else. People-pleasers are often extremely empathic and attuned to others’ needs. A people-pleaser therefore tends to pursue intimate, affectionate, and confiding relationships. These people have a strong desire for external validation and avoid, or are sensitive to, situations where conflict may arise. They will go above and beyond to avoid displeasing others out of fear of diminished social acceptance.

This behavior can have detrimental effects on a person’s self-worth and self-esteem. A never-ending pursuit of approval, a desire for acceptance, and a sense of validation that arise from others happiness often result in a negative self-image. The person is likely to feel unworthy, powerless, or resentful, which may result in a lack of self-care.

The way Dr. Yoon had described it basically sums up Donghyuck as a human being.

He also learns that Sociotropic tendencies are often associated with mental health disorders such as anxiety or depression, which finally gave them Donghyuck’s diagnosis: clinical depression, also known as major depressive disorder abbreviated as MDD.

Clinical depression is a chronic condition, but it usually occurs in episodes, which can last several weeks or months. Dr. Yoon says one would likely have more than one episode in a lifetime. Donghyuck had asked him what was the difference between MDD and depression as it is.

Dr. Yoon explained that it’s normal to feel sad when you’re faced with difficult life situations, such as losing your job or a relationship. Some people may say they feel depressed during these situations. MDD is different in that it persists practically every day for at least two weeks and involves other symptoms than just sadness alone. It can be confusing because many people call clinical depression or major depressive disorder just “depression.”

Dr. Yoon also blabbered about chemicals in his brain that, well, Donghyuck really doesn’t understand much. All he knows at this point is that the treatment involves some medication and most specially psychotherapy. Apparently, studies show that the combination of these treatments is more effective than either of them alone.

Donghyuck has been investing a lot of his time in psychotherapy. His normal sessions were every Friday, thirty minutes to a maximum of an hour each. Like how his prescription doses went up, he also requested his psychotherapy sessions to be more frequent, hence Tuesdays and Fridays, minimum of one hour a session, maximum of an hour and a half.

Donghyuck likes to think that over the course of eight weeks, he’d gotten a little better. It turns out that being honest with your doctor means you’d get prescribed the right pills to take to help you fall asleep. No wonder the melatonin pills he’d taken didn’t work in the long run; he was taking the wrong ones and the wrong dosage—just like how he’d been looking for happiness in the wrong places.

From today’s session, Dr. Yoon asked him if he could talk to his mother about how he’d felt for so many years—the pressure, the urge to do whatever pleases her, the comparisons with other members, everything. Hence, Donghyuck finds himself knocking on his parents’ room.

He’s staying at their home during his hiatus. He reckons it’s the best time to speak with her as his father and the kids are out for work and school.

“Come in, Donghyuck-ah,” she says softly from the other side. He opens the door and finds his mother writing something in her journal. “You need anything, baby? Do you want to eat?”

He shakes his head and walks towards their bed, sitting on its edge. His mother puts the pen down and sits beside him. “Something wrong?”

“Eomma,” he says in the softest voice. “Can I sleep here?”

The question brings tears to his mother’s eyes. She nods and leads him to bed, Donghyuck lying on his side and his mother cradling him from behind. He looks like he’s thirteen again, the day before the audition at SM, young and anxious about what the next day would bring, and his mother seems like she’s never aged a day, still determined and only wants the best for her children.

Donghyuck can feel her crying.

“I’m sorry, Donghyuck-ah,” is all she says.

And Donghyuck knows deep in his heart that even before she’d uttered her apology, he’s already forgiven her.

Haechan comes back right before Chuseok.

NCT Dream is invited to perform at a music festival held in the Seoul Olympic Stadium alongside many other artists. When news broke that this would be Haechan’s come back stage, the ticket sites went crazy—crashing every second because everybody wanted to get tickets to see the most-awaited comeback.

Over the course of seven months of Donghyuck’s hiatus, many things have changed. He gained more fans in the latter parts of the hiatus after the world learned his life in Jeju-do. He’d gotten a new piercing in his cartilage, which the fans love, but only Donghyuck probably understands what it means. Old videos of him going on stage went viral years later, the world seeing how talented and passionate he truly is. Clips of him randomly singing without autotune circulated for quite some time, and his fondness of children and respect for the elder have been the talk of the KPop industry for the last months or so, calling him the most well-mannered idol. The scandal had not been erased from history, of course; some people still hate him for it. Some of his old fan sites did not return to support him, and if we’re talking about old Donghyuck, he’d probably be pretty bummed about it. He’d probably start compromising his privacy to give them a glimpse of his life off the stage to get them back.

But the sessions with Dr. Yoon have been working well, because Donghyuck doesn’t really care about pleasing the entire world anymore. Donghyuck thinks that as long as there’s a good number of people supporting him and loving him for who he is—as a person and as a singer—then he’d be okay. He didn’t have to make the entire planet roar his name.

The dress rehearsals are done by the time the clock hit four in the afternoon. The members argue where to go eat. Jisung announces he’s going shopping for a new pair of wired headphones because he lost his on the way to the stadium, to which Renjun says he’d go with him. The others decide to go eat with the staff, some opt to go home and rest so they’d be ready for the next day.

Donghyuck decides to go buy the book that Johnny recommended him: The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. He’s told that the book is about a boy growing up, and that it might strike his thoughts if he’s up to reading a children’s book meant for adults.

Hence, Donghyuck finds himself going through shelves and sections of children’s book after picking up The Little Prince and wondering if Gyeom would want to read any of these.

You see, Lee Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate. As he’d say before, his career didn’t happen by fate because it was all his mother doing all the hard work. But what are the odds of him choosing to visit this exact book store at this exact moment over elsewhere and another time?

And what are the odds of him finding you leaning against the wall in the corner of the store, hair longer than the last time, nose red and body bundled up in layers of clothes, a book in your hand as you read through it?

Donghyuck stops, stares at you, as if he’s waiting for you to look up from the book, and thinks about how much he’d missed you all this time and how much he’d regretted ending things with foul, unacceptable words. He thinks about remembering you anytime he sees tangerines and flowers around the city. He thinks about the odds of finding you again and again in this lifetime. He thinks about the flowers only blooming as soon as the butterflies have left, missing their timing, and how they bloom again next spring, hoping that this time, the timing is right.

He thinks about you in silence. He thinks about love hiding in the corners of his chest, convincing him he’ll get over it—he’ll get over you. He thinks about his dreams.

A few people pass by the space between you and him. The distance is about three meters. It’s silent for the most part.

Donghyuck is not much of a believer of fate, and you look up to prove him otherwise.

It’s only then that Donghyuck takes a really good look on you: new hairstyle, backpack slung in one arm, a student ID badge hanging right below your chest.

“Y/N!” A girl whisper-shouts from behind fDonghyuck. “Have you found the book?”

You don’t tear your glance away from him, but you nod and say, “Yeah. I’ll go check it out and I’ll meet you outside.”

The other girl doesn’t notice him and proceeds to leave. You take two, three, five, seven steps, and you’re right in front of him.

“Hi, Donghyuck-ah,” you say in the softest voice as soon as you’re close enough.

Donghyuck wonders whether this is just a dream or if he’d started hallucinating you because of the medicines he’s been taking, but then he catches a whiff of your scent, and Donghyuck believes.

Donghyuck believes in fate. In forgiveness. In healing. In love. In finding one’s way back home.

END

author's note: PLEASE tell me what you think of this in the comments or reblogs. I'd also appreciate if you send me you favorite line here. Thank you so much for reading until the end!

optional as always: TIP ME HERE.

679 notes · View notes

from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. iii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | gif credit

chapter summary: Somehow, you realize you've accidentally ended up spending almost every weekend for the last month and a half with either one, or all of the Millers. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 8.7k chapter warnings: some angst, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, suggestive thoughts (but no smut), referenced parental neglect, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues (shocker!) & a fear of intimacy. a/n: this chapter is so disgustingly sweet it might give you a cavity. truly. but its also a little self-indulgent because joel is in my dream blunt rotation :/ please be patient with updates because i have a career/social life/apartment, and am a perfectionist! i promise i will always (try) to make the wait worth your while. Also, here's a link to the song Joel plays on guitar, since it's not on Spotify so I couldn't add it to the playlist.

-April 19, 2003-

“Well, that was awkward.”

Obviously, Joel thinks to himself as Sarah turns to watch the retreating form of her teacher, while Joel stares straight ahead at the crowd in front of him. At first, he had thought she was just being polite. It was the right thing to do, to say hello to a parent and a student if you see them outside of class. But…they were seeing each other at a bar. And she’d asked him to dance.

We just got here, maybe later? Joel can’t even remember what he had said, something along those lines. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal, but he had been acutely aware of Sarah’s eyes boring into the back of his head from where she sat beside him, and he sort of blacked out, couldn’t recall what had caused her to get the hint, to walk away.

Joel grunts an affirmation to Sarah, and drums his fingers against the tabletop. There’s a dance floor full of people in front of him, all under various levels of intoxication, all of them dancing.

“Do you believe me now?” Sarah asks.

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

How he had allowed Tommy and Sarah to talk him into coming here tonight, he’s not sure. Probably, it had something to do with how much he loved them both. How he would, ultimately, do whatever they asked if he knew it’d make that happy. But still, honky-tonking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the end of a long week.

There was pretty much only one decent bar in town, so he wasn’t exactly shocked he had run into someone he knew. Everyone came here – to dance, to drink, to eat, or to drown their sorrows. To see their friends, or even to find someone to take home for the night. And over the years, as a frequent customer, Joel had used this place to do all those things.

Tonight was special though, a little more family friendly. It was swing night. It happened once a month, and Joel had always made a point to take Sarah a couple times a year. When he was young, his mother had taught him and Tommy to dance, and he felt it was only appropriate to pass the skill along, even if it was almost obsolete. He hoped Sarah would be able to do the same someday, if she ever had children of her own.

“Will you dance with me, at least?” Sarah asks.

“Of course I will,” Joel answers.. “But let’s wait for Tommy, he’s ordering our drinks.”

“You mean your drinks.”

“No, you got a Shirley Temple.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. It’s the same expression that Joel has only seen her use recently, and he actually prefers it less to the eye roll. This time, he’s glad it hasn’t come with a question from her, because when it does, it’s always a little more frightening. “Come on, you know that’s not the same.”

Before Joel can respond, he’s cut off by Tommy’s voice.

“Look who I found.”

This is what he and Sarah have been waiting on, and Joel turns to sees Tommy with all three of their drinks in hand. Over his shoulder, there’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar, wearing daisy dukes and a plaid shirt. After a second, he realizes it’s you.

Most of the time when Joel sees you – from across the street, of course – you’re in a power suit, a pencil skirt. Sometimes, it’s more casual – athletic clothes. There was also that black silk robe he can’t seem to shake from his memory. But this is so…different. It’s clear you’re trying to blend in with the crowd, but you don’t. Not because you’re not pulling it off – you definitely are, effortlessly – he’s just pretty sure if he walks into any room you’re in, his eyes will always be drawn in your direction.

Joel doesn’t see, but rather feels – Sarah recognize that you’re in front of her, because when she does, she’s tapping him on the arm before he can utter a greeting. “Dad, can I get out and say hi?”

He’s standing to let her out just as you step closer to the table, and you come chest to chest. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes remain locked on his just a moment too long, before Sarah is wrapping you up in a hug, and you’re focused on her when she draws back. “How are you?” you ask.

Joel doesn’t hear Sarah’s response, because his brother is pressing a drink into his hand - a Jack and Coke, same as what you and Tommy are drinking.

“Sit down, please!” Tommy encourages.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “This looks like a family thing, I don’t want to-”

“Please!” Sarah exclaims.

“What she said,” Tommy seconds Sarah’s sentiments.

For a second, you seem to contemplate the offer, and then you accept the invitation, sliding into the booth across from where Sarah has settled back next to her father. Joel makes eye contact with his brother, sitting next to you. Tommy’s eyebrows are raised suggestively, and there’s a playful smirk on his face when he tilts his head in your direction. Joel gives him nothing, already irritated by his brother’s goading.

“Is that a Shirley Temple?” you point to Sarah’s drink. When she nods, you continue. “I haven’t had one of those in forever,” you say.

“Want a sip?”

“Sure,” Sarah slides the glass across to you, and you sip from the straw, pondering. “I should’ve gotten one of those instead. They were my favorite growing up.”

“Can I have a sip of yours?”

“No,” you and Joel say at the same time.

“You’re not gonna like it,” he adds.

“You always say that, but how can you know?”

Joel sighs. “Okay, fine. Try mine.”

Sarah seems pleased to get what she wants. When the bitterness of the whiskey registers, the triumphant expression leaves her face completely.

“Told you,” he says. Sarah grimaces, accepting defeat, and returns to her beverage.

Tommy leans forward, urging Joel to start making conversation as if this is a date and it’s his responsibility. But before he can think of anything, Sarah pipes up.

“Guess what?” she asks you.

“What?”

“My teacher’s here.”

“Yeah?” you ask. Joel takes a long pull off his drink, hoping it’ll loosen him up a little.

“Yeah, she tried to hit on my dad.”

Joel feels the cocktail of whiskey and soda get caught in his throat.

“Oh….” you sound intrigued, and you lean forward. He wonders if this is the dynamic between you and Sarah when he’s not around. Like you’re two friends, engaging in some harmless gossip. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between him and Sarah.

Sarah bobs her head once. “She has a thing for him. I can tell.”

“What makes you think that?” his brother joins in, moving closer to Sarah, crowding you between himself and the wall and putting his elbows on the table. Joel feels a flash of envy when you shift your attention towards Tommy.

“She just asked him to dance.” Sarah looks over her shoulder, nods her head towards the woman in the corner of the bar who’s probably already focused on his table anyways. Joel already knows what you’re seeing. Miss Davis is pretty, bubbly, outgoing. Probably about your age, if he had to guess, though it’s hard to say how old you are. He imagines he has ten years on you, give or take a few. And for all intents and purposes, Sarah’s teacher is the type of woman he should be interested in.

“She’s pretty,” you say it like you’re appeasing Sarah, but you’re looking directly at Joel. He’s not sure why you kind of frighten him a little. You’re sweet, he knows, even if you’ve tried to tell him otherwise. But there’s something else there, enigmatic and alluring, that continues to draw him in.

Tommy chimes in. “So are you gonna dance with her, Joel?”

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says dramatically. Her face drops for a second, though, her shoulders slumping as she angles herself towards him, lowers her voice. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine, I guess. But I….I don’t know.”

Joel is taken aback by how long this conversation has gone on with absolutely no input from himself. Not to mention how honest Sarah is being. She doesn’t usually have much to say about his choice in women – he can usually just tell what she thinks. For her to express something so directly makes him realize how serious she is. But at the moment, he can’t find words to assure her everything will be fine.

It must be his lack of response that causes you to lean across the table and speak to Sarah. “You know, that’s valid,” there’s a tenderness to your tone. It dawns on him that you’re trying to comfort her. “It is kind of a conflict of interest.”

“Right?” Sarah perks up, just slightly, you’ve given her some support. “It’s one of those things you said you had going on at work the other day an….an ethical…”

“An ethical dilemma?” you finish her thought.

“Ethical dilemma! That’s it.” Sarah turns back towards Joel. “I think it's an ethical dilemma.”

For just a split second, he wonders why he’s been letting his already-precocious child hang out regularly with a lawyer. He’s accidentally creating a monster. But thankfully, Joel is finally able to find his voice. “There is no ethical dilemma, because I wouldn’t ever consider it.”

That seems to placate Sarah, and hopefully everyone will decide to drop it. Joel catches your eyes, and there’s something akin to wistfulness there, chin propped on your hand, before you blink once and focus back on Tommy, who's asking you a question. “So, are you here alone?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not at all,” Tommy smirks, not dropping his eye contact with you. “...It’s just surprising, is all.”

Joel stiffens.

“Oh, well…” you smile a little. “I’m just trying to get to know the town a little better. Trying to engage in the community, I guess. But…I’m not sure if I am doing that great of a job fitting in.”

“You are,” Joel interjects, and maybe it’s a little forward, but he’d rather say it before Tommy does. “That’s a nice flannel.”

“Thanks,” You look down at your oversized plaid shirt – the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – that hangs open over a tight white tank top. Joel can see a sliver of the black lace bra you’re wearing that pokes out above the low neckline. He wonders what it might feel like to press his face there, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, but does not allow himself to entertain the idea for very long. Not the time. “I actually had to go and buy it because I didn’t own any plaid. And by the looks of it,” You gesture towards the dance floor. “I need to invest in some cowboy boots, too.”

“One thing at a time, right?” he asks, and you agree.

“So what are you all doing here? Family outing?”

“We actually had to drag this one kicking and screaming out the door,” Tommy points to Joel.

“You did not,” Joel defends himself.

‘We kinda did,” Sarah says. “Do you know how to dance?”

You shake your head no, look at the people twirling and dipping and dancing in pairs. “Not like that.”

“It’s really easy! I can teach you. My dad taught me.”

“Cute.” Joel looks towards Sarah, and catches you staring instead. Your eyes flit back immediately to his daughters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sarah says like it’s already settled. Joel knows he’s spoiled her, that she ultimately gets what she wants. He worries sometimes that others won’t find her quite as endearing.

“Sarah,” he warns. “You’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a choice.”

You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass. “It’s okay. You can teach me. Might as well learn, if I’m trying to fit in.”

Sarah seems satisfied.

“Joel tells me you grew up in New York City.” Tommy says it, and Joel notices you raise your eyebrows at the implication. He’s talked to Tommy about you. And now you know. He’s pissed at himself for doing it, but at the time he’d been drunk, a little more chatty and vulnerable than usual, and had mentioned you more than once. Too much to be a coincidence. The issue was, Joel had never expected you would talk to Tommy again. If he’d known you would, he wouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t want to imagine the damage he had done when it was just the two of you, alone at the bar. But even now, he’s completely at his brother’s mercy.

“Yep,” you nod.

“You don’t have much of an accent,” Tommy remarks.

“Not everyone has them.”

“That’s fair.”

“I did, uh, go to a boarding school in a different state, though, so I wasn’t around it too much.”

“Boarding school?” Sarah turns to Joel.

“Basically you live at school,” you answer her question. ”Kind of like college, but earlier. I started going when I was nine.”

Sarah frowns. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?”

“Yes, and I did.”

“So why would you go?”

“Well…” you trail off, shift your weight. “It wasn’t up to me. My dad worked a lot, so it made sense.”

“What’d he do for a living?” Asks Tommy.

“He’s a criminal defense attorney....owns his own firm and it does pretty well, so…” you shrug. “He was very busy.”

“And that’s why you’re a lawyer? To work for your dad?”

“At one point, that was the plan, yes."

“What happened?”

The question appears to make you uncomfortable, you cross your legs and glance down at the table. “Uhm….pass.” Joel sees your face go blank for a split second before you look up with an easy smile. It’s like the desolate look you’d been wearing was never there, and you point to your drink. “I’ll need a few more of these if you want that story.”

“Might as well order another round,” Tommy flags down a waitress.

You have one more drink, but you don’t really touch it as the four of you continue to talk. Joel has two more, and Tommy has three, because he’s Tommy, and also not driving. Both you and Joel also have to vehemently refuse his request to do a round of tequila shots.

After a while, Sarah gets bored, then insists on teaching you to dance. You agree, but seem awfully reluctant. Joel wants to pull you aside and let you know that you don’t have to entertain everything Sarah offers, but once you’ve stood up, and he watches her arm link through yours as you both walk to the dance floor, he can’t bring himself to intervene.

He’s never seen Sarah be so taken with someone before, and he’s filled with a vague sense of regret. He always thought that she was content with just him and Tommy. Maybe she has always needed more. It’s partially his responsibility, Joel thinks – what could he have done to stop her mother from leaving? Even if he could’ve stopped it, they would’ve been a miserable couple…which might have been more damaging to Sarah than her mother not being around at all.

Once you’re long gone, Joel can sense what Tommy is thinking before he even opens his mouth.

“Shut it,” Joel says before he can even hear his brother's ribbing.

“I wasn’t even gonna say anything about that!” Tommy raises his hands, but Joel knows he’s lying.

“We should go over there,” Joel says. He trusts you, but in a bar full of drunk people isn’t interested in being far away from Sarah for too long. Both he and Tommy abandon their booth to mosey their way towards the dance floor.

Sarah has taken you into a back corner, far away from the band playing, where the crowd has thinned a little. There’s room for him and Tommy to lean up against the wall and watch you both.

Both your hands are clasped with Sarah’s, and she’s teaching you the counts, the steps, while you study the way that your feet move.

Joel has a feeling that if it weren’t for his daughter, you wouldn’t have hung out with his family for so long. It’s just like the hike, and as usual, he feels more like a third wheel than anything else. You’re right that you do look a little out of place here. Maybe you don’t belong, but he likes it. You’re wearing a pair of beat up hi-tops, which are a sharp contrast to Sarah’s baby blue cowboy boots that are covered in rhinestone butterflies. He’d gotten them for her for Christmas that past year, and she only wore them during special occasions like this.

Joel is doing the best he can not to think about the way your legs look in those fucking daisy dukes. All on display, and he wonders what it might feel like to drag his tongue up the soft skin of your inner thigh, feel you quiver and whimper as he works his mouth closer to– Enough. He’s disgusted with himself for thinking about you like that right now.

“Dad, look!” Sarah says, and it seems you’re catching on all right, but none of it looks graceful. Sarah’s trying to lead – which she has never done – so she falters often, and also can’t quite reach all the way above your head when she tries to spin you around. “Oh no, look at his face!” Sarah points. You turn his direction, and Joel realizes he has to neutralize the grimace that has crept onto his visage. “We definitely aren’t doing good.”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” you turn back to Sarah, assure her. “You’re a good teacher.” You’re being nice. Too nice, humoring her and laughing it off, even if she’s making a fool of you both. But you don’t seem to mind, because it’s making her happy.

All of the sudden, the toe of Sarah’s boot catches on the scuffed wood floor and she lurches forward. Joel immediately pushes himself off the wall as though he could close the space and catch her before she faceplants, but he can’t, and he can already see a vision of himself sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m waiting, while Sarah holds an ice pack on her nose. But you reach out before the image is fully realized, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Careful!” You warn. And even though you shuffle forward with the weight of her, you keep her from falling. Once she realizes she’s safe, Sarah giggles and throws her head back, her eyes catching your own.

He’s not sure what makes him do it. It could be the liquor, the way you look, the unspoken pressure from Tommy. Or maybe he’s just been wanting an excuse to be closer to you. Most importantly, at this rate, he feels like Sarah is going to hurt herself and also you in the process. Regardless of what the reason is, Joel decides to step in. He walks onto the dance floor.

“Alright,” Joel says once he’s gotten closer, looking at Sarah. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

“What?”

He halts in front of his daughter, jerks his hand. “Move. I’m takin’ over.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, but smiles a little, and drops her hands from your shoulders. Joel offers you his hand. “You mind?”

You look between Joel and Sarah, and she gives you an encouraging nod. “He taught me, he does know what he’s doing.”

“Well okay,” you take Joel’s hand. “You better not embarrass me,” and then you actually fucking wink at him. Already overwhelmed by the delicate weight of your hand in his palm, it almost sends him over the edge. He’s lucky he’s in public, with his family, because he doesn’t think he’d behave himself otherwise.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joel answers. “Besides, I don’t think anything could be worse than what I was just watching.”

You giggle, and step forward when he tugs you just closer to dance, taking you fully in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarah dragging Tommy onto the dance floor. Everyone is taken care of.

You’re smart. And because of it, you’re a fast learner. Even people who can’t really dance can usually figure this out, himself included. But in Joel’s opinion, it’s always been less about getting the steps right, and more about who’s keeping him company.

And you’re great company.

Eager, willing, gentle…soft. He’s embarrassed at how long it’s been since he’s been this close to an adult woman, and normally he might be a little nervous, but instead, he just feels…comfortable.

But Joel is a selfish man. He always wants more. Wants the band to play a slower song, so then he’d have an excuse to pull you closer. Wind an arm around your waist, whisper things in your ear that no one else could hear, and feel your breath hitch when they register. But this isn’t really the dance for that, and the rest of his family is just steps away. He’ll have to compromise – which he doesn’t like.

“I’m going to dip you,” Joel says, matter-of-factly.

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” he insists. “It’s essential.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Look,” he tilts his head to Tommy and Sarah, and the latter is laughing as she pitches all her weight backwards into his arms. He nearly drops to one knee to catch her, she’s still so petit, but their form is actually pretty good. And they aren’t the only people in the room doing it.

“Okay,” you say, and give him a warm smile for a split second before becoming stone-faced. “But if you drop me-”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Joel drawls.

He puts his arms around your waist, one of them catching the middle of your back, the other on a patch of exposed skin on your hip – your tank top has ridden up slightly with all the movement. You dig your fingers into his biceps, cling to him like he had hoped you would.

And even when he draws you back up, eyes locked with your own, your grip remains the same. You stay close.

“My turn,” Tommy interjects, and Joel can’t help the dirty look he gives him over your shoulder. He’s playing the annoying little brother, doing everything he can to piss him off. His brother wants to see Joel break, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction.

Plus, Joel is happy to dance with Sarah, which is the whole reason they came here in the first place. She’s so excited to be there, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when she’s too grown up for things like this. He hopes not.

He ignores the sound of Tommy’s laugh mingled with your own. You were not laughing that much with him, and that causes a pang of jealousy. Joel doesn’t like acknowledging it, but he’s always resented Tommy for his ability to be the charismatic one, the charming one, the happy-go-lucky one. Even when they were kids. That’s what it’s like to be the oldest sibling. Never as fun, always more practical, more serious, the voice of reason. Always in service to their siblings, all in the name of love.

Eventually, you and Sarah are back dancing together, and since you’ve had some practice separately, it’s not as sloppy as before. It allows Joel and Tommy to return to their post against the wall, just out of earshot.

Joel feels his brother’s eyes on him as he watches you and Sarah. “Dude,” he finally gives in, looks over at Tommy. “Just ask her out already.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Tommy-”

“You’re into her.”

“Maybe,” Joel says, because he knows it’s pointless to lie. “But she’s got a boyfriend.”

Tommy elbows him. “So what?”

“I know you’re alright bein’ a homewrecker but I-”

“It makes sense Joel. She’s fuckin’ smart, and funny, and pretty. And Sarah fucking loves her-”

In any other situation, he would’ve acted weeks ago. But he’s starting to understand why he’s dragging his feet. Tommy’s right. Sarah adores you. Joel will fuck something up, it’s inevitable. And when you decide you never want to speak to him again, Sarah will lose you too. He’s already let her down enough.

“I should’ve never fuckin’ told you–”

“Take her to drinks, to the movies, dinner, show up at her house with a bottle of wine, hell, something. If you don’t ask her out already, then I will.”

Joel punches his brother on the shoulder. It’s not enough to incite an actual fight, but it’s definitely not playful. “Ow!” Tommy grips at his arm. “What?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, he rolls his eyes.

“Speaking from experience, I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Once, Joel. That was one time. Will I never hear the end of it?”

“No,” Joel says. “And I see what you were doing tonight, too. Don’t think you’re slick.” he hopes to change the subject, and it seems to be working.

Tommy sets them back on track. “Well, I was just trying to get you to wake the fuck up and see what’s in front of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens when Sarah grows up? Goes to school, leaves the house? Then, what are you gonna do? You’re just gonna be alone?”

“You are treadin’ on some mighty thin ice, Tommy,'' Joel hisses. ““You barely know this woman-”

“I’d like a family, too, Joel. When that happens I won’t be able to keep you company anymore. You might want someone else. And maybe it’s not her, fine. But there should be someone.”

For as much as he hates to admit it, Joel knows Tommy is right.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 25, 2003-

It’s six at night. and you’re already in your pajamas.

A couple years ago, you would’ve thought that was pretty sad. These days, it’s only a little sad. You prefer things this way. That’s the perk of being an adult living alone. If you want to put on pajamas before the sun sets on a Friday night, you can. If you want to get stoned on the back porch of the house you bought yourself, you can. If you want all those things to happen while you watch the sunset and listen to yacht rock, you can. And you’re going to.

You’re toying with the new digital camera your brother bought for you. Vincent likes to argue with you, but he always feels guilty after a conversation gone wrong. Rather than use his words, however, he just buys you gifts. You had apologized over the phone a few days ago…this was his way of doing the same. The shutter clicks as you snap a photo of your backyard, and you look at it in the viewfinder before discarding the camera on your coffee table.

Martini is on the porch with you, doing that thing where he stands just out of reach but chirps at you until you pet him. When you reach out, he moves away. He’s not great at accepting what he wants. Maybe it’s why he’s sort of the perfect cat for you – you’re the same.

You light your bowl, and you’re mid-inhale when you hear someone call your name.

“Hey!”

At this point, you’d recognize Joel Miller’s voice anywhere. You don’t want to admit it’s because you’ve tried to commit it to memory, daydreamed about how it might sound for his smooth lilt to read you a book until you fall asleep, or listen to him take a phone call in the other room.

Realizing it’s him, you inhale sharply, forgetting what you’re in the middle of and taking a much bigger hit than you had intended. You begin choking violently on the smoke while simultaneously scrambling to hide your piece and the related paraphernalia sitting out, and manage to do so just in time for him to round the corner.

You scramble to hide your bowl under the pillow of the outdoor couch you sit on, just in time for Joel to appear at the screen door.

“Hey,” you say, covering your mouth. Your throat burns, and you cough again. Stay cool, stay calm. Everything is good. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I tried your front door and you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d see if you were back here.” It’s hard to see him from here, through the door, and he’s backlit by the sun that’s shimmering behind his dark hair, catching it in a golden halo.

You rise to open the door, and when you do, he continues. “I’m here to pick up Sarah’s soccer jersey.”

Right. Of course he was. She had left it a few days before, and you had assumed she’d come get it before her game on Saturday but it didn’t dawn on you until now that she ever had.

“I would’ve sent her, but she’s at a sleepover tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, standing in place. You’re trying so desperately to act normal, words evade you.

Joel squints at you, a slight smirk on his face. “I didn’t catch you off guard or anything, did I?’

“No, no, not at all,” you lie. “Come on in.”

Joel steps over the tiny dish of cat food you’ve left on your back step for the stray you feed, and into the screened-in porch. Now that he’s under the dim light, you get a better look at him. A loose-fitting flannel hangs open over a worn green t-shirt that barely meets the top of his jeans. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and he smells clean. In any other situation, you’d want to climb him like a tree, and he’s not even trying. But right now, you’re just doing your best impression of a sober human that is definitely not doing anything illegal. The truth is, you should’ve made him wait outside.

“This is nice,” Joel says, looking around. And you really wish he wasn’t because you notice that you left the clear plastic baggie containing your weed out on the couch. It sort of blends in with the green floral pattern, so you hope for the best, because there’s no way for you to sneakily grab it without drawing his attention. “I didn't know this was back here.”

“The last owners added it on,” you say, because that was the type of thing the realtor had said to you about the features of this house. And you supposed a carpenter or contractor would probably be interested in it. It was a good distraction.

“I can tell. Looks new,” he looks up towards the wooden beams that span the ceiling. The top of the porch is still covered, so during the few times it’s rained, you always sit outside to listen.

“I’ve got her jersey in the kitchen,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

It doesn’t take long for you to pick out the bright blue athletic gear from your pile of dry cleaning. It stands out against all your neutral-colored pantsuits. Joel has his back to you when you return, one of his hands clenched into a fist.

“Here,” you say, and he turns.

“You had it dry cleaned? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kind of wasn’t sure if it was safe to run through the machine,” you explain. “But now that I’m thinking about it….it wouldn’t make sense to give a bunch of 11-year-olds dry clean only jerseys.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s probably more convenient than scrubbing the grass stains out yourself.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately. But again…thank you.”

“Of course.”

This is where Joel should leave, walk across the street, and go home. And he does, well, at least, he starts to. He steps away, reaches for the handle to your back door, and then pauses. “You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “The Watsons were tellin’ me the other day you’ve been complaining about a family of skunks living under your house?”

You freeze, recalling the lie you’d come up with on a whim when your sixty-year-old neighbors had started asking too many questions.

“Well, it does smell a little over here.”

“Uh-huh,” you give him nothing.

“Something like that….you should really call animal control. Get rid of the problem,” Joel’s facing you now, eyebrow raised.

“If I call animal control…they’ll just kill them,” you answer. “And I don’t want that. So…I think I’ll just have to live with it.”

“That’s fair,” Joel says. “But you know, Sarah’s over here all the time, and I’ve never heard her mention it.”

At this point you know he’s just fucking with you. But years of remaining stone-faced through business negotiations and family dinners has prepared you for this, so even if you’re a little stoned, you’re not going to let him win.

“Yeah, it sounds like a coincidence. But they’re never around when she’s here,” you say, in your own defense. “Ever,” you add for emphasis.

“I guess that’s good.”

You both stare at each other for a second, and your blood buzzes slightly because even though this is just a playful standoff, you’ve never made such intense eye contact with him. It feels electric. After what feels like an eternity, Joel lifts his hand from his hip, and you see what he’d been holding in his fist, now pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raises an eyebrow.

When you see the plastic baggie dangling in front of your face, you purse your lips. “Alright, you got me,” you lift up your hands, but snatch the bag from him.

“And here I thought you were such a good girl.”

You don’t even want to acknowledge the full body chill that runs down your spine at the sound of those two words, coming from him. Snatching the bag back from him, he gives you a cheeky smile. “If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your jaw drops, and you look up at him. “Oh, you’re trouble.”

“I’m not the one lyin’ to my neighbors.”

“And I’m not the one snooping through my neighbors' things.”

“It was right out in the open.”

Joel doesn’t seem bothered at all. But it’s Texas, so you can never be sure. “Okay, fine,” you say. “If you want….I could roll us a joint. Unless you have other plans.”

“The alternative is a house to myself for the evening and some chores, so…yeah. Whatever you’d like.”

“Great.”

Joel follows you to sit on the couch. As you settle on opposite ends, he speaks up. “So you think you could explain to me why my daughter keeps tellin’ me she wants to be a lawyer?”

You snicker. “Believe me, Joel. I’ve tried to talk her out of it already.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. Probably a more lucrative career than what I’m doing. She’s really taken a liking to you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her warm up to anyone so quick.”

“Well, I’m the first adult she knows that’s not an authority figure.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“I remember being that age,” you look down at your work. “It’s nice to have someone older to relate to, who you can talk to without being afraid of getting a lecture.”

“She probably needs it,” Joel says. “She told me you talk about girl stuff. I’m not so great at that.”

“I don’t know,” Your tongue darts out to wet the edge of the paper and finish rolling the joint. You put it between your lips, and rummage through the drawer of the coffee table to find your lighter, gesture between the both of you. “This is about ninety percent of how I spent my time with my friends at her age…and so far you’re doing alright.”

“Now you’ve got me worried about what’s going on at that sleepover.”

“Okay, well, I was maybe a little older. And with her? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you shake your head.

He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes glow with the reflection of your lighter as it’s flicked on. “I don’t know.”

“She’s fine, Joel,” you say, bringing the lighter closer and shielding the flame from the calm breeze of the evening. “She’s great. Really.”

“She is,” he agrees. You inhale, let the smoke settle in your lungs for a moment, before exhaling. You take your time, feeling warm from the weed and the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, and he accepts the joint when you pass it over.

“I really didn’t really expect this from you,” he exhales, studying your handiwork before taking another puff. “You’re pretty buttoned up.”

“This is hardly rebellious.” Instinctually, you like the idea that he thinks you’re buttoned up. Deep down, however, you don’t actually want him to.

He looks so dreamy, the smoke curling though his eyelashes, tracing along his defined jaw, and then up, up, where it settles and shifts under the porch light, before disappearing completely.

Martini, who has been in hiding, hops up on the couch, and Joel reaches out, your cat nuzzling its face into his palm. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he mumbles. And then, like some sort of magic, the cat plops down on Joel’s lap.

“I do…but…” you say out loud, then trail off because you’re in such shock. You glance up at Joel, who looks confused. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen him do this.”

He passes the joint back to you. “Do what?”

You take a final puff, and then put it out in an ashtray. It’s only about half smoked, but you can get into it later if either of you wants to. Plus, you’re more interested in what’s unfolding in front of you. “I kinda want a picture of this.”

“What?”

“I’ve had him for five years and he’s never sat on my lap like that,” you say, and you can’t keep the resentment from dripping into your tone. “What makes you so special? I’m a little jealous.”

“Of me? Or the cat?”

Something honey-thick drips down your spine at his words. You can’t conjure a witty response, opting instead for: “Shut up.”

You snap a couple photos while Joel’s still laughing, one hand on his chest, the other on Martini’s back, and then put the camera down, and lean against the back of the couch, curling your feet underneath you.

“You’ve got a nice view of the sunset,” Joel says softly.

There’s a distant fear you might never get to see him like this again, and you want to take him in fully before you drag your eyes to see what he’s looking at. Your backyard slopes down into a small patch of woods, the sky opening even wider to let in the aureate light.

“I know,” you agree. “It’s why I spend so much time back here.” The high continues to settle over you, strokes your shoulders, tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Surprised you like things that are so peaceful…being from the city and all…”

“The city is peaceful,” you say, thinking of the leaves swirling from the trees in the fall, and the snowflakes falling onto your family's porch in the winter, melting on the tip of your nose as you lean over the balcony to see the glittering lights below, car horns and engines and sirens piercing the darkness, white noise. “In its own way.”

“You miss it?”

“Everyday,” you say.

“What do you miss the most?”

“Uhm…probably the bagels,” you lie. Well it’s true. But it’s not what you miss the most. You think of your brother, flopping onto your bed on a Saturday night – a rare weekend when you visit home – and you’re trying to read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for school but he’s begging to take you around the corner to get a milkshake. It’s the image of him you’ve so desperately tried to cling to and the recollections you share with him have only gotten more and more unpleasant as time goes on. “The bagels here suck.”

“Really?” Joel seems amused by that.

“And uh…I don’t know. It’s part of me. I have a lot of friends there, a lot of good memories,” you smile to yourself, lean forward towards him. “I had this apartment before I graduated, right? It had the best view of this little Italian restaurant, and I’d sit and watch people through the windows, eating and talking. I was supposed to be studying, but…it was great. I loved it.”

“What’re you doing here, then?” Joel asks, and you look back at the sunset. Here you are, waxing poetic and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. “You runnin’ from something?” You look over to find he’s staring at you. Like he knows you aren’t being honest, and he’s asking you to stop lying.

So you do the only thing you can think of, which is to ask him a question in response. “What makes you think I am?”

Joel considers this for a moment. “I don’t know. I grew up in Austin. All my friends are here, my family. If I ever moved someplace else….it’d have to be for a good reason. And even if I did, I’d be lonely.”

You stare down at the floor. “Maybe I am.” Lonely? Or running from something? The answer is both, you know, but you’re not going to clarify. “My family. Things are pretty fucked. I thought distance would help, and it does, a little. But….that shit still follows you anyways. They’re always with you, no matter what.”

Joel nods.

“But… I have a life here. When I lived downtown, I definitely did. I don’t mind the quiet, and….I have friends.”

Joel looks at you. “You got a boyfriend, don’t you?”

Why would he think that-oh. You had tried to forget it, the morning he’d caught you still wrapped up in your robe – not the fluffy fleece one you liked the most, but the one you specifically only wore when you had guys over, cause they loved that shit.

“Oh, right,” you say. “Bradley. Yeah, uh. He’s…he’s….not my boyfriend. But…” you shake your head. “It’s a little complicated.”

“I’m sure it ain’t that hard to explain.”

“I mean…” you avoid his eyes. “He’s kind of an asshole, but we’re not really commited to each other in a meaningful way. Plus, he’s not around that much which is kind of perfect…for me.”

“Really?”

“Less to worry about,” you answer, purse your lips. “But…I don’t know. I sorta wish he got my heart rate up a little more.”

“He’s not your type?”

“I don’t really have a type,” you shake your head. “I like what I like.”

Joel rasps. “I feel the same,” and he’s made sure your eyes are on him when he says it.

You swallow, nod, smooth your hair back. “Anyways. Why’re you asking me all this?”

Joel doesn’t seem to find an answer right away. You narrow your eyes at him, studying his face, looking for something that will give him away. It’s a trick you’ve learned…silence…a bit of skepticism. It makes people uncomfortable. And Joel shifts his weight, squirming beneath your gaze. Until something in his face shifts, and he smiles….just a little.

“So that’s where Sarah learned that.”

“Learned what?”

“That look you’re giving me.”

“What look?”

“Like you can see right through me.”

“Can I?” You narrow your eyes further.

“You’re tryin’ to.”

He’d done a good enough job of avoiding your question, and you’re not gonna ask him again, and instead opt for a different one. “So what about you, then?” you poke his knee with your foot.

“Oh, I’m not answerin’’ that.”

“What? I just told you, that’s not fair.”

Joel runs a hand along his jaw, ponders. “Most women don’t want to be with a man who already has a kid so…things on that front are not always easy.”

“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, don’t you have an upcoming date with Sarah’s teacher or something?” you tease.

“That’s not happening,” he assures you. “But….I work so much these days I don’t have the capacity for much. So I get what you mean, sometimes it’s easy to not get emotionally involved but…I’ve never really been great at that.”

“You’re a relationship guy?”

“I mean, Tommy has been pestering me about this lately. Says at this rate, once Sarah’s grown, I’ll end up old and alone. Annoys me to hell, but he’s right. I wouldn’t mind…some kind of companionship. Someone to tell you you’ve done alright at the end of the day.”

“You sound awfully romantic,” you at him blink slowly.

“I can be, when I want to.” Joel rolls his eyes. “But right now…I think I’m just stoned.”

That makes you giggle. So he’s just being honest. “I didn’t really see much great come from settling down when I grew up, so I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist when it comes to love. What you’re saying….it’s a nicer way to think of things.”

You rarely connected with the men you dated. You chose to date douchebags, to date cheaters. It was better that way, to know up front what you were getting yourself into. The best ones didn’t ask for much, just the odd fuck here and there for a couple months, and you’d step away when things were no longer fun, if they evewere to begin with.

Actually getting married, settling down, didn’t feel like a real possibility for you. So you’d never allowed yourself to indulge in what seemed like a fantasy. Some women aren’t meant to be a part of a family. Your father had told you once – during one of few times he’d attempted to comfort you after your mother didn’t call on your birthday – as if it excused his own neglect.

“Yeah, and it hasn’t all been bad. I mean, I’ve had a couple good girlfriends over the years. They were sweet, fun. I enjoyed the time I spent with them, they just…never made it through the real litmus test.”

“Sarah?”

He nods.

“It would be hard, I imagine. For her. Accepting someone new into her life.”

“Yeah.”

“You really care about her,” you say. “About how she feels. It’s nice.”

“I’m doin’ my best.”

The way he talks about Sarah makes you nauseated. It’s something pure, and you can’t help but feel bitterly nostalgic.

“I wish my dad would have been like you.”

It slips out, and you immediately regret it. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten stoned with someone else, and you’ve forgotten your filter. And even though you’ve already divulged more to him about you than you normally would, this feels like too much all of the sudden.

This isn’t something you can backpedal, and before you know it, Joel is leaning towards you. There’s concern written in his features, he wants to comfort, and you thank God for what happens next, or it all would’ve been too much.

His shift in weight causes Martini to jump off his lap and sprint to the door of the porch. He stares at you and then meows.

Even though Joel isn’t touching you, you have to tear yourself away from the hold he’s got you in. ““I gotta let him in, or he’ll get annoyed.”

You move to open the door, and the cat slips inside.

“Is that a guitar in there?” Joel asks, catching a sliver of the gleaming body in the dim light.

“Yeah.”

“You play?” He questions, and you come to sit back on the couch.

“Not anymore. It’s more of a decoration. How about you?”

“A little.”

“A little?”

“A lot.” Joel smiles, looks at the ground like not sure why he’s telling you this. “I actually uh, used to want to be a singer.”

“What?” you ask. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Joel shakes his head.

“Joel, what?” you put a hand on his arm and lean forward, then look at the guitar.

“Why not?”

“I was…young when I had Sarah. And I had to do something that could actually help us get by.”

“Okay well, you have to play me something, then,” you rise to step inside and retrieve it off the wall.

“No, no-”

“Come on, please?” you ask. “Don’t be a tease.”

Joel just stares as you bring the guitar out to him.

“Although this might be out of tune…” you strum once, and wince at the tinny sound it makes. “Definitely it is.”

“Here,” Joel takes it from you. “I can do it.”

It takes him a moment, but he’s plucking the strings in a way that feels so instinctual, purposeful, you can already tell he knows what he’s doing. Once he’s finished, he strums a few chords, and everything is magically in tune.

“Alright,” you prompt, when he hesitates. “What are you gonna play me?”

“You know any Neil Young?”

“Of course,” you answer.

Joel nods once, looks down at the guitar, and starts playing. You’d recognize the opening chords to anywhere, but he somehow makes them sound even moodier, and bittersweet.

Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say…

He can sing. You’re taken aback. You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s definitely better than that. Deeper, raspier, and now you have new information about him that’s going to bounce around your brain when you’re bored during meetings at work, while you’re lying in bed at night, trying to sleep.

Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…

You shift your weight, sling your arm over the back of the couch, and rest your chin on your hand. Suddenly, you’re feeling a little tired. He’s all-but putting you to sleep and, somehow, that feels like the highest compliment you can give. It could be because you’re stoned, but you feel warm all over. You close your eyes, just listen, until he’s finished.

Even after he’s finished, you keep your eyes closed, settling. Until you feel something graze against the back of your hand. Joel’s. He’s matching your own pose, facing you, but reaching out…

“That was nice,” you say, earnestly. You’re good.”

Joel smiles bashfully, tugs your hand from beneath your chin and pinches your index finger between two of his own. Your nails are painted a glittery purple, and Joel studies them. Sarah had painted them earlier this week when she’d hung out after school, and had picked out the color.

“So are you,” he shifts closer.

He’s not quite close enough to kiss you himself. But it’s enough…he’s just giving you the chance to lean in, to close the gap. The proximity makes you dizzy, and you’re a little overwhelmed. It’s too much. It’d be too much. You can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do to you.

“We should be good, then,” Gazing at him from under your lashes, you pull back just enough. It’s not a rejection, and you can tell he doesn’t see it that way either. There’s a mutual understanding, you’re on the same page, but you aren’t quite sure what it is. The warmth of Joel’s hand leaves yours, and a part of you is filled with regret.

And then, like it never happened, the two of you spend another hour talking. He’s engaged, intuitive, thoughtful, funny. By the time he excuses himself, long after the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, you feel like he’s an old friend. An old friend you want…badly, but, you know him on a level you hadn’t before.

“Gotta be up tomorrow for a soccer game, otherwise I’d stick around,” Joel says as you’re guiding him to the front door.

“It’s alright,” you say. “You’re welcome to do this anytime.”

“You sure?” he tilts his head, leaning against the doorframe on his way out. “You might regret offerin’ that….”

“I won’t.”

part iv

taglist: @yaskna@venomous-ko@lomljigg@yeehawbitchs@ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done@melancholicmelanin@reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer@superflymaterial@mikkorantanev@zbeez-outlet @nadja-antipaxos @strawberri-blonde @jabbajambler @ponyboys-sunsets @kyuupidwrites @r4efromvenus @loveatfirstsight-atlastsight @korianderbandit @nicoleoeoeoe @hotgirlsshareaccounts @madisonred88 @crustyrustydusty @sflame15-blog @issybee0611 @darkemeralddiamond @grandmana @totallynotastanacc @ay0nha

891 notes · View notes

junkiespromise · 1 year

Text

the eras - masterlist

Twenty two stories inspired by the lyrics from all Taylor Swift albums.

drivers: mv1, dr3, ln4, sv5, pg10, fa14, cl16, aa23, eo31, lh44, ms47, cs55, gr63, op81.

note/warnings: english is not my native language, so there will probably be some spellings mistakes, even though i will try to have as least as possible. Also, you can request from any of drivers above with whatever songs you want that has not been asigned to a driver, if the song is followed by three dots then you can leave a request for that song. Please read the specific warnings for each story as there will probably be some angst and some topics you may not be comfortable reading :)

PS: I will also be posting other stories and social media Au's and if you want to request for any other song for taylor or any type of Au/imagine freely do so. :)

If you want to get tagged on the next stories just leave a comment and I will do it

Teardrops on my Guitar | pg10

They had been friends for years, her always yearning for him to look at her like she did just once but he never did and she wishes that the girl he loves can adore him like she does.

Tim Mcgraw | ...

"And i was right there beside him all summer long. And then the time i woke up to find that summer gone"

Superstar | ms47 (2.4k words)

Where two young kids fall in love but the world one of them is involved in seems to be against their happiness.

The Way I Loved You | ... & ...

"And he says, you look beautiful tonight, and I feel perfectly fine. But i miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain"

Enchanted | cs55

At one of those fancy parties they met, those where she had to be introduced to everybody with a shaking hand or a nod. But she left with a tingling sensation and the need to know more about him.

Back to December | dr3 (soon to be made a series)

She knew that if she could go back in time she would re do everything a do it right this time. But she can't and now she only has those memories left.

Begin Again | pg10 (2.0k words)

All the love she ever knew was one that hurted and burned but at a Parisian coffe shop on a wednesday she realized that maybe that was not all that love had to offer.

Stay, Stay, Stay | mv1 (requested)

"Before you, I'd only dated self-indulgent takers, who took all of their problems out on me, but ypu carry my groceries and now I'm always laughing"

You Are in Love | ln4

Best friends, that's what they called each other, even with the dances and pictures in offices they still called each other that. But a drunk call on a late night might change everything.

Wildest Dreams | sv5 (requested)

"You'll see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night, burning it down. Someday when you leave me, I bet these memories. Follow you around"

How You Get The Girl | ln4 (requested)

After months of back and forths and unofficial relationships he finds himself infront of her house completely soaked but with the intention to work things out

Style | ...

"And when we go crushing down, we come back every time, 'cause we never go out of time"

New Years Day | lh44 (requested)

"Don't read the last page, but I stay when it's hard, or it's wrong, or we're making mistakes I want your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day"

Gorgeous | ms47

He can't quite understand what he's done to her as she seems to despise him so much, if he only knew the reason why.

I Think He Knows | ln4 (requested)

"Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh We can follow the sparks, I'll drive. So where we gonna go? I whisper in the dark. Where we gonna go? I think he knows"

Cornelia Street | lh44 (requested)

"Windows swung right open, autumn air Jacket 'round my shoulders is yours We bless the rains on Cornelia Street Memorize the creaks in the floor"

The Lakes | sv5

When the world seems to haunt them they find themselves looking for each other on the toughest times

Mirrorball | mv1

Where he tries to do everything to please everybody but when he's with her he can be his true self.

Gold Rush | cl16

Her mind can't understand why everybody is so infatuated by the Charles Leclerc until she finds her heart fluttering when he's around and can not explain it.

Ivy | lh44

Where she finds herself in the claws of a love less relationship and even knowing it's wrong she goes to seek comfort and love in the arms of another

Midnight Rain | ...

"My boy was a montage, a slow-motion, love potion. Jumping off things in the ocean I broke his heart 'cause he was nice"

Maroon | cs55

The rise and fall of a short but, oh, so, ardent relationship, between two strangers who one night met and became more than that.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡ ♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

668 notes · View notes

unclewaynemunson · 6 months

Text

Inspired by this gorgeous art by @artbean that obviously has been living rent free in my head for weeks

People wouldn't expect this from him, but Wayne Munson has a big love for metal music. He may seem soft-spoken and like he's trying to make the best of what life has given him, but underneath that exterior - an exterior that was only crafted by the necessity of being a balance to his brother's short temper in the first place - he is angry.

He's angry at his parents for not giving him and his brother what they needed to succeed in life; angry at his brother for making a hot mess of things time and time again; angry at the men in the White House for not looking out for their people; angry at his boss for refusing to give him and his colleagues fair wages for their hard work... And that's only the beginning. He could keep listing things he's angry about for days on end without running out. But he knows it's no use being angry: he has learned a long time ago that it never solves anything. So instead, he channels his anger to places where it can do no harm. He recognizes parts of himself - the parts that he has been suppressing ever since his brother started getting into serious trouble - in screaming voices, overwhelming guitar riffs and deafening drums. He loves the anger, and he loves the escapism. He loves turning up the volume until he's drowning in the music and can forget without any drugs.

So for Wayne, it makes sense that he loves metal. But what he doesn't expect, is for a nine year old boy who sees more than enough anger at home to love it too. When Eddie unsuspectingly turns on the radio in Wayne's trailer only to be met by Paul Samson's aggressive voice on full volume, Wayne expects him to flinch and get scared or upset. But none of that happens: Eddie's big eyes widen even further, something resembling a hungry kind of understanding sparkling in them, and he goes to sit cross-legged right in front of the speakers. He stays quiet for way longer than Wayne even knew he could, engrossed in the music until the tape has finished and leaves a deafening silence in its wake.

Wayne spends the rest of the afternoon answering all kinds of questions from Eddie: about the music, other bands that are like that, the instruments they use, the way they use their voices, the topics they sing about... And so it becomes a passion that he and Eddie share with each other. Wayne has a new tape ready for Eddie every time he visits him in his trailer. He teaches him to play on his old acoustic guitar, while saving up to maybe get him a real one someday.

On Eddie's tenth birthday, Wayne drives him to Indianapolis and takes him to a concert. They get some odd looks, this plain old man in his plaid flannel with a young boy on his shoulders among all the black-clad youngsters, but Wayne will still clearly remember Eddie's overjoyed smile for years to come.

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #lex i wanted to tell you how much i love this art but i couldn't find the right words #consider this my way of giving words to it i guess #i really hope it matches your own ideas of the scene you drew #eddie munson #wayne munson #stranger things #fruity ficlet

257 notes · View notes

amorhedera6 · 5 months

Text

i have so many thoughts about paulkins kids. there are many options, and lucky for us, we know that paulkins exist in every universe.

in one, when paul and emma aren’t yet dating but are “intimate” emma misses her period. she goes to a doctor and gets confirmation. she panics because she and paul aren’t serious yet, but she realizes how happy the idea of having a family with him makes her. they have a daughter, addison jane perkins-matthews, that everyone calls a.j. she has emma’s hair and paul’s blue eyes, and she loves to swim.

in another universe, they don’t have a kid until they’ve been married for a few years. it took them a while to get there, with emma wanting to take things slowly and paul waiting for her no matter what, but he takes her name and they become the perkins’. when they have their son, they name him matthew after paul’s family. he’s got paul’s lighter brown hair and his blue eyes, but he still manages to look more like emma. he was made for the kitchen, and loves loves loves cooking and baking.

there’s another universe where emma and paul have twins girls, elizabeth and olivia. the two could not be more polar opposites, with lizzie being less feminine, loving soccer and sports, and livvy being so extremely femining, wanting to be a fashion designer, but they are always there for each other. the two love each other and always manage to support each other’s passions.

in another universe, they have a family of five, brianna, christopher, and freddie. bri is an artist, always painting and drawing. christopher loves to dance, and to paul’s horror joins theatre in high school. paul learns to love performances when it’s his son, seeing the joy and determination in his face. freddie loves to read, will devour a book so quickly it’s actually a little frightening. paul and emma watch their kids fight across the dining table and smile fondly.

sometimes, they don’t have kids at all. emma’s commitment issues making her hesitate, or her issues with her own parents (which i am headcannoning). maybe paul, who only ever says “kids, someday, maybe” decides he only ever felt pressured into wanting kids. sometimes only one doesn’t want kids, sometimes both, but either way they always respect it.

sometimes they take too long. paul pines for years, emma doesn’t want to label it, and by the time they’re ready, they’re told emma can’t have kids.

there’s a universe where they keep a foster home, their house a revolving door for kids who need a place to stay. they look out for each and every one of them, giving them a place to feel safe and good people to look up to.

there’s a universe where they adopt a pair of siblings who lost their parents too young, the older maddison always having to look out for her little brother michael. maddie never had time to have a hobby, or a passion, but in their safe space she can admit to herself that she wants to be a filmmaker. mike adores his older sister, and loves to play the guitar.

in one universe, they adopt a toddler who was mistreated by his guardians. harry took a while to warm up to them because of this, but they helped him adjust and recuperate and grow from it all. he grew up to be a botanist, loving learning about biology from his figurative grandpa hidgens.

basically, i just want and need happy ending paulkins who have a happy domestic little life and shit.

#starkid #hatchetfield #paulkins #paul matthews #emma perkins #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #black friday #bf #nightmare time #nerdy prudes must die #npmd #forever and always #professor hidgens #henry hidgens #im not apologizing #i needed to get this out or it was gonna keep rattling around in my brain forever #but just know that aj and matt are my favorites #The Rambles

113 notes · View notes

pearlsinmyhair · 10 months

Text

lovely, pt ii

previous softer part here!

hobie finally convinces you to sing on stage with him and his band to a rock cover of your song. suggestive at times. gn!reader.

» lovely, lauren babic and saraphim «

0:00 ─〇───── 3:01

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

the mirror in the dressing room was unforgiving as you tried to breathe. just breathe, hobie had said as he pressed a kiss to your cheek before he went onstage.

how he had convinced you to perform at this gig with him, you didn’t know. he had asked you the other night, whispering the question in that husky tone that made you melt.

c’mon songbird, they’ll love ya. sing for them like your singing for me right now and you’ll get an agent.

and you had folded. it was embarrassing, really, how well he exploited your weak spots.

you willed your heart to steady as you inhaled, through your nose, out your mouth. you could feel the drum of peoples feet, nearly as powerful as the bass flowing from the guitar.

what if they don’t like the song, you had asked. you were well aware of the crowd hobie drew to his gigs, and you didn’t want to disappoint them.

we’ll rock it up, he had said, smiling as he reassured you. it seemed easier when he was at your side. but now that you were alone awaiting your cue, your nerves were overpowering.

you met eyes with your reflection, taking in your appearance. you squared your shoulders and rolled your spine up as you straightened.

the long awaited twinge of a guitar string rumbled through the amp. your cue.

you stepped out of the dressing room and stood at the back of the stage.

it’ll be real dark, so they’ll hear you before they see you. just take a deep breath and sing, baby.

you flipped the mic on as the strumming of the guitar and the keys of a piano filled your ears.

the crowd was silent, uncertain of what to make of the switch in tone.

you raised the microphone to your lips.

thought I found a way

thought I found a way out (found)

but you never go away (never go away)

so I guess I gotta stay now

hobie accompanied you as you sang. you found comfort in your usual tone as you stepped up to the microphone stand at the center of the stage.

the low light meant that you could see some of the audiences faces, and it nearly made you stop. but you inhaled, relaxing your body.

isn't it lovely? all alone

heart made of glass, my mind of stone

tear me to pieces, skin to bone

hello, welcome home

this was the unfamiliar part.

the guitar kicked up as hobie took over vocals.

it’s just screaming, love. and i know you can scream.

and scream you did. you raised your voice with the rest of the band members, finding a surprising peace as the drums beat at your back and hobie played at your side.

but I know someday I'll make it out of here

even if it takes all night or a hundred years

need a place to hide, but I can't find one near

wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear

it was euphoric to just let go. and hobie knew that.

you were always so secretive about your voice, and he just wanted you to feel like you didn’t have to hide it.

and maybe he wanted to show you off, but you couldn’t exactly blame him. because, well, look at you.

the crowd sang right with you. apparently, your little siren song didn’t work exclusively for him.

he traded lines with you in the final chorus, looking every bit the lovesick puppy.

isn't it lovely? all alone

heart made of glass, my mind of stone

tear me to pieces, skin to bone

hello, welcome home

for an instant, the crowd was silent. a wave of anxiety rolled over your shoulders.

and then the audience roared.

you looked over to hobie as you grinned happily, only to find him striding over to you.

he leaned down to whisper in your ear so you could hear him.

“what’d i tell ya, songbird?” he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

he walked back over to his place as the drummer started once more.

“but i’m still your number one fan, yeah?” he called as he pulled his pick over the strings of his guitar.

and after the gig, he showed you just how much he enjoyed your performance.

#hobie my beloved #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #gn!reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie x y/n

232 notes · View notes

dozing-marshmallow · 8 months

Note

i absolutely loved how you wrote my previous request! (them headcanons had me giggling and swinging my feet) soooooooo im back with another request! (if thats alright w chu of course) how about some jealous chris headcanons? maybe with a reader that points out attractive people a lot, like "oh damn he's kind of hot" "she's really pretty" (i realized i do this a lot so thought it might be a fun request)

Awwww I replied to your comment on that post, thank you so much for your kind words❤️!! I’m so happy I was able to provide headcanons that you loved and thoroughly enjoyed! I hope you feel the same with this one! :]

And not a problem! I can definitely assure you this was a fun request to write for!

JEALOUS CHRIS MCLEAN HEADCANONS

Chris Chris Chris.

What he wouldn’t give to be the sun of your life.

It depends on who you interact with and what you’re talking about, but most of the time he’ll tighten the grip he has on your hand or shift so close, his stubble would rub on you.

“(Y/N)... You still love me, right?” He’d ask, voice muffled from his face down on his bed.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He lifts his head up, looking straight at the wall,“I...just have this aching feeling.” clutching a pillow to his chest, his doubt oozing from his lips,“Every time I see you talking to other people, I always feel like eventually you might think they’re much cooler...than me...and leave me...and I’ll be alone...”

“Aww Chris.” You came over to kiss him,“I would never do that to you. You know there’s no one else like you, and you’re cool the way you are.”

He wants to believe you, but his doubt worsens when you both get invited to the Oscars as guests where you’re in a room of nothing, but other superstars.

“Hey Chris... Who’s that over that?”

He sees you’re interested. So, for obvious reasons, he’s remains completely vague,“That’s the lead star for that upcoming movie.”

“No way! Savannah Michael in Nightly Guitar?” So much for that,“I never realised how attractive she was!”

“Yeaah... Not more attractive than me though, right?” He’d plaster a smile at first. You’ll kiss him and tell him of course and he’d have nothing to worry about!

But you don’t. Instead, you ignored him and dug deeper,“Wow...she has that sparkle in her eyes.”

“Sparkle...? I have that in mine too...” he gently pulls his eyes down, somehow thinking you’d see whatever there was to see better that way. What was the point when you weren’t looking at him?

Instead, you were listening to her answering an interviewer with a sugarsweet answer of gratitude,“The way she cares for her fans is so sweet! I wanna be like her someday.”

That was the final straw. This time he doesn’t try to top it off- he grumbles and pulls you away,“Alright, that’s enough of her.”

“Woah, Chris! I still wanted to see her!”

“No! You’re supposed to be with me! I’m supposed to be your boyfriend.”

You sighed,“Chris, can’t I admire someone without liking them? Not everything is about you.”

You appeared to read his jealousy as simple annoyance that you weren’t glorifying him twenty four seven...which might have been the case too.

So Chris decided to show you he can be as sweet, in case some mutant hunk tries seducing you with flattery and care, you would already be used to it from him. No receiving the prickly end of his treatment for you!

But then, you’re gone. He looks around: you were at the other side of the room.

What were you doing over there? He makes his way to you,“Heyy (Y/N)!”

“Oh, Chris, hi! Whatcha doing?” You chirp.

From where he found you from, he didn’t get the full picture that you were in the middle of talking to someone. That someone? Daniel McNally.

He shuddered...similar last name? No biggie...

“I was just about to ask! How come you didn’t tell me you were going to speak to the uh, awesome Daniel?” He queried through sucking teeth,“He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“Oh, no! I knew he was going to be here tonight so I wanted to ask about some of his movies! I did tell you, but I must’ve said it as I was going over to him. Was there something you needed?”

Dang it,“I see... Well, now that I’m here, I’d love to hear more about it, and maybe try contribute to this civilised conversation.” He glares at Daniel in the eyes, but kept his tone the same,“That alright with you, (Y/N)?”

You kiss him on the cheek,“You’re always welcome!”

He saw the annoyance flash in Daniel’s eyes, and winked in response.

Well. He grew increasingly bored with the conversation- saying that though would lose his reason to be close to you, so he stuck to nodding.

“Woaah, getting a bit too close there, buddy. Be careful, it’s not guy code to go after someone else’s partner.”

“Chris?” That caught you off guard. He wasn’t even standing close! You grab his hand and pull him away into a space empty enough for a private talk,“Alright, what’s the matter with you? Why did you assume he’s trying to move to me?”

“Assume? No no no. I know he is. I see the way he’s looking at you, how he’s trying to impress you. And I don’t appreciate it.”

You don’t believe him,“Chris, you talk and boost to your admirers every chance you get and you don’t hear me complaining.”

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“I’m making it clear that we’re exclusive.”

“Yeah and clearly he knew that, before you came...” you fold your arms, slightly unhappy,“This is sounding more like you don’t trust me enough to have a civilised conversation.”

By reusing his words, you cause his focus to shift away,“Chris.”

“You can’t blame me, okay? A cold hearted guy like me doesn’t deserve the warmth of a reincarnated sunflower... I guess I wanted some reassurance that you still love me the way I do you is all.”

“Is that seriously what this has been about?” You shake your head in dubiety. You don’t know what to say. Out of all the days to be jealous.

“Do you think...we could leave early? Pleaaaase?” He tightened his arm around you.

Shameless man. You sigh. That seems to be the only thing that’d make him feel better so you comply. You mainly came for the food anyway.

Bonus:

Looking back at it, for someone like Chris to be so worked up about securing his place in someone’s heart, was...adorable. Everything he did that night was just him displaying how proud he was to have you as his significant other, and subsequently how paranoid he was in losing you.

But he did steal one of the only chances you’d get to talk with your idols.

So you decide to do a little payback by pulling that joke on him where people would make a PowerPoint about who they would replace their loved ones with.

He was frowning when you set your laptop in front of him,“(Y/N)...” he must have read the title Guys I would leave my boyfriend for

The corner of your lip curves upwards, pressing forward to the next slide saying “No one.”

“See Chris. I wouldn’t replace you with anyone.”

He breathes out in relief, and starts smiling,“Whoo! That feels good to-“

“Yeah!” You interrupt him to get the punchline in i.e the next slide. Daniel McNally,“Uh...” you dramatise your expression as though you didn’t know how he got there.

The smile Chris had withered away into a quivering mouth,“I knew it...” Oh dear.

Turns out he didn’t know that this was a trend.

Either way, this wasn’t what was meant to happen!,“Chris, no! I-I don’t actually like him nor would ever leave you for him! It’s a prank people are doing! I’m not being serious, you know I would never do that to you!” You started shouting whatever came to your panicked mind, praying that one of those things would have him cured from his tears.

“So...you won’t leave me for him... What about...”

“Nooo, no one!” You pull him into your arms, his sobs wetting your shirt,“I’m sorrrry, it was a joke, I swear! I would never ditch you for another celebrity!”

Ah it feels great to have you hold him this way. :).

#td chris #chris mclean x reader #request #td chris mclean x reader #chris mclean #tdi x reader #total drama chris mclean #total drama island chris #total drama headcanons #tdi

166 notes · View notes

neoyongz · 9 months

Text

love is a laserquest | alex turner x reader (fluff)

Maybe going to the local bar wasn’t the best coping mechanism to get over your breakup.

warnings: no warnings for this one hehe just sadness !!!

word count: 1.9k

disclaimer: english is not my first language so, in advantage, i apologize for grammar mistakes 🤭

After a very long night of ranting to your own reflection in the mirror, you decided to go to your local bar. It has been two months since you and Alex broke up because he was too busy to handle the relationship. Of course he loved you, but since he had to travel around the world all the time when he was on tour, you missed him. You thought it was selfish to feel bad about it because it was his job and you agreed to go through the consequences of him being famous and having to tour for months or even a full year, but this time it was too much for you.

He used to call you every night to make sure you were okay and to compensate for his lack of physical presence and you obviously appreciated it, but it wasn’t that simple. You thought of him everyday, every night, at every moment, no matter what. Was he okay? Was he going to call tonight? Was he too busy to call? Was he thinking about you? Too many questions and very little responses.

You couldn’t get over him even if you wanted. You loved him with your whole heart and he did as well too, he would give his everything for you, but you had to put yourself first. His absence made you feel empty, not enough and you knew it wasn’t his fault and neither yours, there was no one to blame actually. But it was too much to handle. You missed his kisses, his hands, his scent, the late night cigarette talks, the love making, the foods he used to cook for you, and more.

He did miss you too, but at least he had some distraction in between. If he was honest, there were times where he would think of you while performing and even shed some tears on backstage because he wanted you to be there, but you couldn’t.

All those memories came back to your mind and you decided it was a good idea to go to a bar and drink your sadness away. Not that much tho, you were alone and you didn’t wanted to get too drunk, but enough to keep those thoughts out of your head.

You didn’t dress up much, you took your leather coat and left the house at a fast pace to escape that place you shared with Alex someday. You wanted to forget him but at the same time you wanted to get back with him, it was a war of thoughts in your mind. Was it worth it?

When you arrived the bar you heard some music on the inside, a music you instantly recognized. And as if it that wasn’t enough, you froze when you heard a very sweet voice you could never mistaken, whispering “Do you still feel younger than you thought you would by now” to the mic. Your eyes opened wide as you heatd his guitar. It was him. Fucking Alex.

You cursed him in your head and stepped into the bar, going straight to the barman and asking him for a Manhattan, you thought the taste of sweet vermouth and whiskey would calm your mind for a bit. Once you got your drink, you sat at a table far from the stage, but the coloured lights allowed him so see you sitting there.

He felt a knot on his throat, almost as if the words could not come out of his mouth. He tried to ignore your presence but it was impossible; he could almost smell your Dior perfume, the one he loved the most, the one he used to smell right from your neck when he used to kiss it. He could picture the last kisses he gave you there, as if they were burned into your smooth skin. His mouth went into automatic mode as he sang Love Is A Laserquest looking directly at you without even noticing. His eyes got teary as a rain of thoughts flooded through his mind, remembering your hugs, your kisses, your voice, your everything. Those times you used to play with his hair, when you would laugh at his dad jokes. Everything started flooding up in his head and he felt the need to cry, almost as if he was asking for help through that flood.

“And do you still think love is a…” The words got chewed and swallowed, not being able to come out of his throat. He continued the next verse with his eyes closed, and so you did while listening to him. You knew he wrote the song for you because it was hard for him to get over your relationship. It felt like you were with him on the flood, sinking with him down in the water, doing your best to breath with the water all the way up to your neck.

You wanted to be with him so bad, you missed his hugs and even if he was less than 10 meters away from you, he felt unreachable. It felt surreal to see him up on the stage singing for you the song he wrote because couldn’t get over you. When you came back to earth and left the extreme mess your mind was, you didn’t even notice the tears falling off your eyes. You felt guilty for breaking up with him, you felt guilty for feeling empty, for feeling bad when he left you, you tried to bury yourself into the guilt.

Before you could even notice, you were crying non-stop, biting your lip after trying to not let the tears flush down your cheeks. You decided it was too much, and by the time he sang “Will I have found a better method of pretending you were just some lover” you stood up and went outside, letting your head rest by the door frame at the bar’s entry, wiping your tears and sobbing.

“U need one?” A stranger offered you a cigarette after noticing you were crying.

“Please” You whispered and took the cigarette, put it on your puffed lips and the man lit it up for you. “Thanks”

“May I ask what happened?” He let a cloud of smoke go in the air.

“Nah, just… my ex is singing” You laughed at how ridiculous the situation was. “I came ‘ere to drink me thoughts away but… it seems like universe doesn’t want me to”

“¿Alex? ¿You dated Alex Turner? Oh…” He laughed and looked at you. “Well, you know tha’ after raining, a rainbow always comes up. It’ll be okay, ma’am”

“Yeh, but… I still love him. I broke up with him ‘cause he had quite a busy life and we had no time for ourselves” You left the cigarette in your lips for a second and then took it out. “I felt bad but now it feels worse. I feel guilty”

“Hey, don’t feel bad about it. You ‘ave to put yourself first at every moment. No matter how cute he is” He laughed. “Break ups are normal, so don’t give up because it was how life wanted it to be”

“I’ll try not to. But it’s hard when he’s singing a fucking break up song about me” You laughed again and wiped you last few tears. “That’s why you should never date musicians. They’ll tear you up in their songs”

You both laughed again and he looked at his wrist clock.

“Hey, gotta go. If you need to talk i’m here almost everyday… addiction gives you friends sometimes” He joked and let his cigarette fall to the floor to step on it. “Anyway, have a good night and good luck with Turner” You waved at him and sighed. How could a stranger be so friendly?

Thank God he was there because when you noticed, there was no music playing anymore. You could only hear people talking. Did he leave? Well, it was time to stop thinking about Alex if you wanted to get over him.

You spend the next 10 minutes smoking outside of the bar, alone with your thoughts and your cigarette. You were at peace. Well, until you felt someone tapping your shoulder.

“Hey” You froze again when you heard a deep voice. “Are you… okay?” You turned yourself around and sighed when you saw Alex’s face.

“Yeah, don’t worreh” You took the cigarette to put it on your lips.

“You know, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I didn’t know you were-“

“Don’t apologize” You interrupted him and blew a smoke cloud. “I was the one in complete ignorance that you were here”

“Then we both didn’t know” He tried to smile.

“Want?” You gave him the cigarette, he thanked you and your chest felt pressed as he took it and you remembered all those late night cigarette talks at your balcony. You noticed by his watery eyes that he cried too.

“I hope you didn’t mind the song… I came ‘ere to cope too” He joked and took a puff from the cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind the fact tha’ i’m ‘ere too”

“Nah… I kinda needed it” You sighed. “I told you everything but I feel guilty now, Al. I still love you”

“I do too” He gave you the cigarette. “But I respect your decision.”

“And I don’t” You whispered after giving the cigarette a puff. “I don’t respect my own decision because I miss you every fucking night, Turner”

“And you think I don’t? I love you. I never stopped loving you” He looked at you with teary eyes. “Please, we love each other. It’s not meant to be this way”

You were about to burst out crying when you noticed he still had the chain you gave with both your initials. At that point there was no reason to leave him alone.

“The chain” You whispered. “You still have it” You showed your chain, which you never took off. “Don’t cry”

“I’d never take it off” He took your chain and smiled. “Please” He looked up to your eyes and sobbed, almost begging for a hug.

“Don’t look at me like that, pup” You let the cigarette fall and stepped on it to hug him and kiss his head, closing your eyes to keep the tears from coming out. “I’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry” You cried.

“I’m sorry too… I promise i’ll never leave you alone again, i’ll do anything to bring you with me, they didn’t let me last time” He cried too, you were both a mess of tears of joy because of seeing each other again, and sadness.

“You promise?” You separated from the hug to see his face. “Do you?”

“I do, my love” He whispered.

You smiled and took his cheek to kiss him for the first time in months, which felt like years to both of you. You both needed each other to be happy, to feel full and smile again. You both were meant to be.

After he promised to never leave you alone again, you decided to promise him you would never leave him either. You wanted the relationship to grow again, no matter how much time it would take. Because you loved him, and you deserved him, you were his other half and he was yours. And if he ever made you feel bad, he would punish himself for doing it, because he felt you were too good for him. But you weren’t. You two were the best for the other, the perfect match. And you learned that even in perfection, there’s always some mistakes, but that never means it’s over.

[ . . . ]

thanks for reading !! i literally shed a tear writing this ☠️ anyway, hope u liked it ! don’t come for me pls this is my first fluff fic so maybe it’s kinda bad😭 but hope yall enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner imagine #alex turner fluff #alex turner x you #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner fanfic #Spotify

169 notes · View notes

the-cookie-of-doom · 3 months

Text

Here is my role reversal AU where the Kittisawats are the powerful mafia family, and the Theerapanyakuls are the poor brothers cousins trying to survive. Also they’re all sex workers.

Tankhun is the overworked and overstressed eldest trying to take care of his family. Korn is a sick old man, likely to die any day now, and Gun is their shady, unreliable uncle who takes advantage of his brother’s failing health and the boys for his own gain. He’s part of a low-level gang; robberies, muggings, minor car theft. Nothing that would get the attention of actual organized criminals. A scumbag.

Kinn and Vegas are the primary supports. Tankhun does his best, but he’s got his own trauma to work through. Kinn is the bartender fucking patrons for extra tips; Vegas is just a prostitute, and he doesn’t try to hide it. He also deals drugs on the side, and sometimes is forced into helping with Gun’s crimes. First as a lookout when he was young, then as an active participant. Kinn and Khun both fight with him about his methods. Kinn, because he thinks Vegas is reckless, getting involved with his father like that. He won’t be able to avoid the police forever if he keeps engaging in violent crime. Vegas thinks none of them can afford to be scrupulous with their morals, and none of them can deny that he delivers.

Tankhun, a former prostitute himself, until he was kidnapped and… had a bad time… scolds Vegas for being so reckless with his own sex work. He’s terrified of anyone in his family going through the same things he did. Now he’s agoraphobic as hell, terrified of strangers, and only manages to pull himself together for the sake of his family. He still does sexwork, but now he��s just a camboy; there isn’t much else he can do that doesn’t require him to leave the house, when he’s a college drop-out with no qualifications or marketable skills.

Kim’s bright plan was to become a YouTube sensation, get famous, and make it so none of his family ever has to work again. It doesn’t pan out quite that way. He does have and maintain a channel for his music, sharing recording equipment with Tankhun, but it’s small time. He does have a significant amount of subscribers; between that and his patreon, it’s not enough to live off of, but it’s enough for him to put himself through school. Anything extra he gets goes towards his family; Tankhun always tries to protest, but Kim can see the way some of the tension leaves his eyes when he doesn't have to worry about the month’s bills. Unlike the elder cousins, the closest Kim ever comes to sex work is playing his guitar shirtless on his patreon. Maybe a couple times people have offered to pay him for ~extra services~, but he just can’t bring himself to do it.

Macau is still in high school. He tutors people for extra cash (read: does their assignments for a hefty fee) and helps Kim edit his music/videos. Wants to be a DJ someday. The two of them are close, as the babies of the family. Closer than Kim is to his own brothers, but the same can’t be said for Vegas; he and Macau are thick as thieves.

One day Kinn gets a job as a personal bartender. He doesn’t bother trying to hide that he’s working for Porsche Kittisawat, and Kim isn’t shy about calling him a kept boy. He doesn’t begrudge his brother the choices he makes, he just wishes Kinn didn’t have to make them. Kinn puts up a good front, but Kim knows the craves the intimacy of a lasting relationship. He’s desperate for something real. To love and be loved. Kim is too jaded to stake any belief in finding something like that.

Then he meets Chay.

Chay is actually a fan of his. A very generous fan who regularly makes sizeable donations. Kim owes his upgraded recording equipment to Chay’s generosity, though he has no idea who his online benefactor is.

Kim is local talent. Sometimes he gets called to play small shows every once in a blue moon. Kinn is pretty good at pulling the strings to get Kim booked at his club, courtesy of Porsche, who’s really making the offer on Chay’s behalf. It’s how Kim ends up meeting Chay. Not that he makes the connection.

Chay is in the crowd, watching him with more interest than he thinks he’s earned. Kim thinks it’s regular attraction, the kind he’s used to. Used to it dropping off when people get to see the real him too; his pretty face isn’t enough to make up for his ugly life, especially when his personality isn’t enough to act as a buffer. Kim buys him a drink after the show anyway. They talk, they flirt, Chay admits to being a fan, which is nice. Kim’s never been recognized before.

They start seeing each other. Kim still doesn’t connect Chay ro Kinn or to his favorite subscriber. Thanks to Kinn (and Chay’s) efforts, he keeps doing shows. Gets booked for better clubs as he proves himself able to handle it. He doesn't want to know what it cost his brother; he hopes it’s not too much, and Kinn always assures him he’s fine. He seems to mean it, and Kim is just selfish enough not to question it if it means his dream coming true. He starts promoting his shows online, and Chay is there at every one. Pretty soon that leads to seeing each other outside of shows, too, then going on dates.

It’s building towards something. But before they can fall over that edge, Kim finds out about everything. The mafia, Chay’s subscription, Chay getting him these shows. All but paying for him. Kim is devastated. He knew better than to trust Chay from the start, it was too good to be true, and now look at what’s happened.

He goes to his family.

Tankhun, shrewd as ever, tells him it doesn’t change anything just because he knows now. Vegas, ruthless, tells him to use Chay for everything he’s worth until the money dries up. Macau thinks it’s romantic; that Chay admired him from afar, only for them to meet by chance and fall in love. Except they didn’t meet by chance, and Kim isn’t in love.

Kinn understands, though. Kim didn’t expect him to. He didn’t give his brother enough credit. He thought Kinn would be like Vegas and Khun. Instead he tells Kim to follow his heart. He knows Kim isn’t like them, isn’t built for the kind of life where he can set aside his feelings and use someone else for his own gain. He’s too much of an artist for that.

Kim tells all of this to Chay, who says that he doesn’t want to buy Kim, either. If Kim doesn’t return his feelings, that’s okay. They can go back to the way they were. They can be friends, or Chay can just be an anonymous name on a screen. He wants to be with Kim, but he doesn’t want to pay Kim to pretend with him.

It’s exactly what Kim needed to hear.

#cookie writes #kimchay #kinnporsche #Kim thinks he's not a sex worker #surprise he becomes Chay's secret sugar baby and has no idea #(jk it actually causes A Lot Of Problems in their relationship)#(but that's a post for a later date)#Khun and Macau are also going to be adorable #love-hate relationship peak right thre #they fight all day long but then Macau is alone and afraid #Kim and vegas gone for the night #he curls up with Khun for comfort #i have So Many Feelings about this au #i've been percolating on it for week s #spinning it around in my brian #crunching on it #it's that good shit

86 notes · View notes

jo-harrington · 1 year

Text

Standard Operating Procedures 1.03 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie is no stranger to disappointment, but it still stings, regardless.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.02 (Like...it immediately precedes 1.03)

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual pining and slow burn (yes still, always). Chekhov's...Guitar(?), Sad Boy Eddie, Disappointment, Kind of an argument, Disillusioned Eddie, Hurt/Comfort, fluff at the end as per usual.

Note: I am admittedly just making some shit up in this chapter strictly because I don't know how certain things were in the 80s and have already done my fair share of research and math for this fic. I'm a tired girl. Suspend your sense of disbelief. I hope it's seamless regardless.

Also, I just want to say, thank you for all the love this little series has gotten so far. Everyone has been so kind. If you haven't gotten some already, here's some soft internet magic to help you find your own Eddie Munson or mall romance or whatever it is you're looking for. *perpetual magical forehead smooch*

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other random Eddie Headcanons.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

"M'home!" Eddie announced as he bounded into the trailer. "Isn't it time to make the donuts, old man? Didn't expect you to still be here."

"Eh, Marty's got some appointment tomorrow, so I traded him for 2nd shift," Wayne sighed, sinking further into his arm chair. "Didn't get home too long before you and I don't plan to leave this chair for a good few hours."

"Well, I'll make myself scarce so you can enjoy Johnny Carson in peace," Eddie chuckled, knowing his uncle didn't get much of a chance to indulge in his favorite programs with his work schedule.

"Did ya' have a good session tonight?"

"No session. We went out to celebrate Gareth getting his drivers license."

"S'that why you're so giddy?" Wayne teased good-naturedly.

Eddie thought about it for a second as he kicked off his sneakers, realizing that he had been in a pretty good mood tonight. It had been a fun night out with the guys. And of course, you were there.

It made him happy that you got along with his friends.

And he got to sit next to you and sneak little glances when you didn't know he was watching. And he got to hear the little hitch of your breath at the jump scares and imagine that it would do the same if he kissed your neck the way he wanted to, someday.

You had leaned in close at one point and put your head on his shoulder...only to whisper some joke about a continuity error you spotted. And then grinned when he burst out laughing, only to get confused looks from the guys and curses from the other moviegoers.

It only got better when you agreed to go out on Halloween, as much as he felt like an absolute idiot for asking you.

Who asks a girl to go Trick or Treating? What was he, in 3rd grade? On the upside, it meant you still planned to be his friend come October.

Maybe you would be more than a friend by then.

If he could just get the courage to...actually ask you out.

It wouldn't be that hard, right? He would just have to...maybe hold your hand and ask if you'd ever want...well no that wasn't right...

Fuck. He'd done it before; he'd mostly gotten no's but...

"Y-yeah," Eddie finally responded, realizing his uncle was waiting for an answer. "Zombie movie. You know I like those. Gareth was practically pissing his pants."

"Well good. And you tell that boy not to let the driving thing get to his head," Wayne coughed. "He still owes me a new mailbox after your driving lessons.

"Speaking of which, there's mail for you on the counter," Wayne waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen.

Eddie shuffled over and thumbed through the envelopes, debating whether or not to pull a Carnac the Magnificent just to get a laugh out of his uncle, only to freeze when he reached the bright blue envelope at the bottom of the stack.

ROANE COUNTY PARKS, RECREATION, & COMMUNITY SERVICES

He didn't even need a second to think before he sprinted across the trailer to shove his feet back into his sneakers, grabbed his keys, and shouted a quick "imgoingtojeffsdontwaitup" as he raced out the door.

If it was any other time, he would have called first. Or waited until the morning. But if he knew his friends--and he knew them well--they went and got Dairy Queen after the movies, and Gareth would be pulling into Jeff's sleepy little cul de sac off Maple any minute now. There was no time to waste.

This was big, for all of them. He couldn’t do this alone.

He drove with the radio off, he kept his hands at ten and two, made a full stop at every stop sign, and didn't even speed like he usually would. Not one mile over the limit. He couldn't risk Callahan catching his scent tonight. And he prayed to every god, goddess, demon, devil, deity—every pantheon—he knew that everything could just be in his favor tonight.

It's just the fair, but what if this is the next step on the road to something bigger.

Eddie started honking as soon as he could see the tail lights of the station wagon. He didn't care who he woke up or what neighbor would call the cops. He didn't even remember putting the van in park before he jumped out; it could have rolled off a cliff, he wouldn't have cared.

The other guys started screaming as he waved the envelope at them.

"This is it, this is it. Did you open it yet?

"A real show, guys."

"Do we need new equipment? Shit, do we need eyeliner?"

"Alright guys calm down," Eddie grinned. "We have to open the envelope first."

They huddled together in the middle of the cul de sac, hovering over the envelope and Eddie held his breath for a moment. This would be the moment...

The moment that they could tell everyone they really started on the road to making it big.

The moment they got their first real set, their first big crowd.

Maybe there would be some talent scout at the fair. They showed up at these sorts of things right?

He might not even need to go back to Hawkins High come September.

Or even if he did…to know that he might be a real rockstar some day...He could ignore all of the shit from the kids and the teachers. It wouldn't need to be another year of ridicule and humiliation.

He ripped through the thin blue paper and pulled out the folded letter within, dropping the envelope immediately in favor of clutching it with both hands as he read.

His hands started to shake as he read, and it was only getting worse by the second.

He was going to vomit. Or...or pass out. Or...

Unfortunately due to the family-oriented nature of this event, the genre of music included in your proposed set list has been deemed inappropriate and we regret to inform you that your application for this year's Roane County 4th of July Festival has been denied.

Eddie was going to die. He would lay down, right here in the middle of the street, and die. They could just re-pave the street right over his corpse.

Here lies Eddie Munson.

Wannabe Rockstar.

He didn't even make it to his 20th birthday.

He finally looked up and passed the letter around, watching--painfully--as their dreams were shattered too. He gauged Jeff's reaction most of all, since he had been the one to propose the idea in the first place. But Jeff was fine; he was just looking right back at Eddie.

"You ok, man?" he asked.

"It's just a stupid fair," Eddie sniffed, ignoring the stinging of his eyes as he fought back the tears.

"Yeah," Dave nodded. "There's always next summer."

Next summer. Next year.

Another year he probably wasn't gonna graduate again. Another year stuck in this not-even-one-horse-town.

Sure, he was probably getting ahead of himself with the ideas of fame. But outright rejection? It stung. To be denied the chance to perform, to show off all of their talent, because of the set list he chose.

The guys all trusted him, he always chose songs that highlighted their strengths. Always wanted them to look and play their best. He was so proud of them, he never wanted them to fail.

But they trusted him and it let them down.

And because of that, Eddie couldn't let everything fall apart because he failed.

"They couldn't even let us pick some new songs," Eddie swallowed his pain and laughed dryly. "They don't know what they're missing out on."

It wasn't much, but it was enough to get them going.

"Hey maybe we could write some more original songs for next year?"

"I think if we practiced, I could really nail that one drum solo, hey Ed?"

"We would have totally melted some faces!"

They always held it together for him; he definitely could do it for them too.

---

“Are you sure he’s gonna like this one?”

“This is the newest model,” Eddie explained with a sigh, turning the box over to show off the list of New and Improved features on the back.

The customer was a sleepy-looking older guy in glasses and a wrinkled polo, who walked in 10 minutes before closing, whose wife apparently sent him out for their son’s birthday present: a new Walkman.

And the asshole was really dragging his feet on a decision. Eddie had all of the options they offered laid out on the display case, they'd gone over the different features several times. He almost had the sale, and then the guy realized it was the red model instead of blue. Like it even fucking mattered.

It was Sunday night too. Not like Eddie had anywhere else he needed or wanted to be.

“And if I go to Sam Goody, they’re gonna say the same thing?” He asked.

“You could go down there and ask, but I’ll bet you that it’s gonna be marked up at least 15% more.”

If he left now, the gate would get closed right behind him. The sale wasn’t worth it.

“Hmmmm, fine,” the man harrumphed and began pulling out his wallet. “And throw in a couple tapes too, I guess. I don’t know what Michael likes; whatever you think is popular. You're the expert here, not me.”

As soon as the guy had paid and was walking out of the store, Eddie pulled down the gate and grumbled under his breath "what a fuckin' dickhead, can't make a decision to save his life or even be bothered to know what his son actually wants for his birthday."

Kyle's barking laughter echoed across the store from where he was doing markdowns.

"I can definitely hear you from over here kid," he chuckled. "You've gotta chill.”

"Sorry man," Eddie sighed as he approached the registers to start the closing tasks. "I'm just...I dunno, in a bad mood I guess."

"Well, you're doing a good job, people just suck sometimes."

The first time Kyle told him what a good job he was doing, Eddie nearly confessed that he was channeling Kurt Russel in Used Cars and rolled a D20 for persuasion before each shift.

Whether or not the D20 roll actually worked, Eddie still had some of the best sales numbers on the team. They’d nearly doubled their sales goal today alone. Because despite the entire town seemingly having it in for him, no one seemed to mind that he was the one helping them find whatever it was that they needed.

"Stop thinking about it so much," Kyle laughed. "You just keep making those sales, we keep beating our numbers, and your bonus check's gonna be enough for the last payment on that Warlock you've been drooling over since you started. Doesn't that cheer you up a little?"

Eddie hummed dismissively as approached the cash wrap to start closing procedures, and glared at the stack of handmade fliers for Corroded Coffin’s Tuesday night shows at the Hideout, sitting neatly on the electronics display case next to all of the special order catalogs.

Yeah that was the dream.

A stage-worthy guitar and an actual stage and crowd to go along with it.

But it was gonna be forever to get there at the pace he was going.

When he’d gotten home on Friday night and told Wayne about the rejection letter, his uncle clapped him on the shoulder and said “good things come to those who wait.” Of course, Eddie was grateful for whatever advice his uncle gave him. He was just…tired of waiting.

And he'd have to wait even longer, because tonight it didn't even feel like they were going to be able to leave the store at all, let alone on time.

Nothing was going right--or so it seemed thanks to Eddie's mood. And it just seemed to get worse as time wore on. He couldn't get the registers to balance, he kept fucking up the combination to the safe when he went to put the deposit away, the mixtape he put into the shop radio earlier in the evening had jammed, and it took both him and Kyle combined to jimmy it out of the player.

They ran into a problem with every single closing task.

And before long, you were outside of the store waiting, when he had typically made it his habit to wait for you.

It was just...one of those things that Eddie liked to do.

He could imagine he was picking you up for a real date. Watch you as you finished up your own closing tasks, enjoy the little things you probably didn't even realize you did--bob your head along to whatever residual music was playing in the mall, fiddle with your earrings with one hand as you signed deposit slips with the other.

The way you lit up when you saw him outside of the gate--gave him a bright smile and held your fingers up to say how much longer it would be--was one of the highlights of his week, after gigs at the Hideout and crushing the guys dreams during Hellfire.

He could have really used that tonight.

Instead, you were out there waiting as Eddie continued to fuck things up. You smiled and waved as you usually did when you first arrived, leaning on the little coin-operated horse right outside the store. Thanks to his frustration, he couldn't bring himself to smile back. He glanced outside every now and again, and felt his stomach lurch whenever he saw you kicking your feet or picking your nails. Bored. Annoyed. Sick of waiting for him, probably, if the lack of an expression was anything to go by.

He debated simply telling you to leave. That your night out was canceled and you could reschedule another time.

But if you agreed...you might get pissed off for wasting your time and avoid him whenever you saw him from that point forward.

How did this happen? How was it just 48 hours ago that he was coming up with a plan to ask you out? And now he might never talk to you again?

Because he was a loser, he wasn't worth the trouble, that's wh--

"Alright Ed, let's go," Kyle clapped a hand on his shoulder and Eddie jumped.

"What?" he stared at Kyle for a second.

"What do you mean what? It's time to go," Kyle explained.

"But the checklist," Eddie frowned, mentally tallying all the tasks they hadn't gotten to. "It's not done."

"You wanna stay and clean the bathroom? Mop the floors? I can just have Paulie do it in the morning," Kyle grabbed him by the shoulder and led him to the door. "Let's fucking go. There's a whole pan of lasagna waiting for me at home, and your girlfriend is out there waiting for you. Unless you want me to take her out instead?"

Eddie fumbled over his words as Kyle pushed him outside and locked the gate.

"Try to have a good night tonight; someone's got a crab up his ass," Kyle warned you with a wink before heading towards the exit.

You pushed yourself off the play horse and approached Eddie with a frown.

"Hey if you're not up to going out tonight, we don't have to," you offered.

Here it was, the first steps of rejection.

"Yeah, no," Eddie coughed weakly. "If you don't want to go out, that's cool."

He'd heard it all before.

"God you're such a loser."

"Who would ever want to hang out with a freak like you."

"You think I'd actually be into you?"

"It's not about me, I'm asking about you," you smiled gently. "I don't know if you had a bad customer or something. That always gets me in a mood."

Eddie scratched the back of his neck for a second and fumbled over his words. You weren’t turning him away. No you had to be letting him down easily...right? That had to be it.

Eddie…he’d just been burned too many times by so-called friends at even smaller inconveniences. It was hard not to expect the same from everyone else he let into his life.

Except that really wasn’t the way you did things was it? How many times has he expected one thing from you and you'd surprised him with another?

You weren't tricking him or out to get him or waiting for him to mess up. You were accepting him as he was and offering him whatever care or friendship he needed.

"Yeah," he finally scoffed, playing along. "This...this guy who came in right before we closed. Couldn't decide what he wanted. Wasted time walking around. Real piece of shit."

"Well fuck that guy then," you frowned, then paused. "You sure you're up for going out? Even if you don't want to be out and about, we can go back to my place and...I could cook something? Wouldn't be pizza like I promised, but I pretty much subsist solely on pasta if I'm not grabbing takeout or going out with you. You can just hang out, listen to music or something, it’s not a big deal.”

It sounded like the best night ever. Getting to see your space, adding another layer of trust to your friendship, giving you shit about your cooking just like you did with his dinner choices…but…

Eddie knew you had scheduled yourself to open on the 4th so you could see Corroded Coffin’s set. Of course this had all been planned before he knew they weren’t going to play. And he knew he would have to break the news sooner rather than later.

But...just like with the guys...he didn't want to let you down. You, who had your entire life together, who he was lucky gave him the time of day. If you got too comfortable listening to music, you might be reminded and you would ask him about it, and when you found out...

So he would keep you in the dark. For now at least. And then come that night when you met him at the Fair Grounds he could just tell you there was a mix up and you could just enjoy the fair and eat carnival food until you puked instead.

"As tempting an offer as that is, you'd be missing out on your first Benny's experience," Eddie forced an enthusiastic laugh. "Uncomfortable booths, shitty atmosphere. But you haven't really lived in Hawkins unless you've had a patty melt handmade by Benny himself."

"Surely not the famous Benny."

"The one and only. I can only semi-promise he won't scratch his back with his spatula, but he will blend a piece of apple pie into your milkshake if you ask nicely. It's the Munson Special."

Your eyes sparkled before you looked down at your feet for a moment, and Eddie vibrated restlessly, nerves getting the best of him once he wasn't being observed by you. You then looked up at him with your lips twisted to control a smile and you nodded.

What a relief...

---

It was an undeniable fact that Benny's was the heart of Hawkins, and Benny himself the soul.

He was a severe-looking man at first glance--wide-shouldered with a wild beard and furrowed brows--but he always had a laugh and a story to tell. He went out of his way to learn everyone's name and make them feel welcome and would already be prepping the grill for one of his regular's orders as soon as he saw their car pull into the parking lot.

And Eddie, by the grace of his mother's previous employment at the diner, was one of Benny's favorites. He told you as much and warned you of his "celebrity status" on the drive there.

"He's gonna be very loud, but he's really funny. And he might grill you about what sports teams you like, so he might give you some shit if you don't have one. Actually, are you a big sports fan? Oh, and he might grab me by the collar and shake me around a little, but it's ok...that's just his thing. He's been doing it since I was a kid after the one time I ate all the mints in the jar by the register."

"Eddie, don't worry it'll be ok," you laughed and shifted in the passenger's seat to get a better glimpse of him. "Oh my god, are you blushing?"

"What, no," he scoffed.

Yes, he most definitely was. And he could feel himself get hotter as you continued to watch him.

"It's ok, family can be embarrassing sometimes," you shrugged. "At least it's just funny embarrassing and not painful embarrassing."

Eddie swallowed nervously and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

Yeah this would be like meeting someone from his family, wouldn't it.

He was so caught up in his nerves and self-pity, he really hadn't thought of it that way.

"Unless Benny has some baby pictures of you on the wall something," you continued with a conspiratorial grin.

Fortunately, no baby pictures; unfortunately there was a picture on the wall near the old jukebox of a 9-year old Eddie with Benny and Rick, standing next to some massive fish they caught out on Lover's Lake. Whether to emphasize how big the fish was or how short Eddie was, he couldn't recall. All he knew was that he was missing a few baby teeth and his knees were all scabby from one fantastical adventure in the woods or another.

But you didn't need to know about that.

The diner was, thankfully, busy by the time you guys arrived, so you were spared Benny's theatrics short of a "how's it going kid" shouted from the kitchen and a bunch of muffled greetings from some of the regulars who were around when Eddie's mom was still alive. You did, however, get to meet Lynn, the blue-haired waitress that probably worked at Benny's longer than Benny had even owned the place. She was a crank and incredibly opinionated and always let Eddie's mom, then eventually Wayne and Rick, know all of the ways they were failing at raising him.

Now that Eddie was grown, she simply let him know every time she had a problem with him.

But Eddie was shocked at how swiftly you navigated the interaction with her, dodging all of the tricks and traps that typically set Eddie up for some kind of insult or life lesson.

Lynn simply took your orders--patty melts and fries with the promised apple pie shakes, "oh and extra whipped cream please"--hummed judgmentally and stalked off to top off various coffee cups. She didn't even say anything about the lack of vegetables on Eddie's plate when the food was finally ready, like she usually did when he came in for late night bites with the guys.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Eddie leaned across the table conspiratorially. "She's had it out for me for years."

"Old people love me," you explained. "I've driven my papa to enough doctor's appointments and sat through enough of his stories that I have...what did you call it? In your game? A bluff?"

"Buff," he corrected with a nod.

"Grandchild buff," you agreed and he laughed.

"Repel the Elderly," Eddie puffed out his chest and adopted his DMing voice. "A level 4 spell. No damage taken from anyone over the age of 65. But it only lasts 2 rounds. Let's hope the Harpy doesn't come back otherwise I'll need you to make a constitution saving throw. If you roll below a 10, she deals double poison damage; you might not survive."

You threw a fry at him and stuck out your tongue, then asked him to tell you more about Dungeons and Dragons. Everything was normal for a little while as you ate and talked.

Until Benny came to check on his patrons. He typically made the rounds every hour or two, stopping at tables and saying hello. The two of you were laughing at some joke Eddie made by the time Benny got to your booth.

"Hey, kid," Benny leaned his hip against the booth with his arms folded across his chest. "Long time no see; heard you got a real life, grown up job."

"Hey Ben, yeah. At the mall. Been more than a month now. I'm guessing Rick's been by?"

"You know how it goes: holiday weekend coming up, he pulls an all nighter getting supplies from his guy up in Milwaukee. Then he gets the waffle platter with extra bacon and we talk about all the town gossip."

"Nice to know I'm still gossip-worthy."

"You know how proud he is of you. This, uh...a coworker or something? You gonna introduce me or no?" Benny changed the subject and gave Eddie a knowing look. You, however, swooped in to introduce yourself as Eddie shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

He hadn't exactly told Wayne or Rick about you yet. Just that he had some new friends who worked at the mall too. It wasn't the same as talking to the guys. How many times had he had a crush over the years and came home excited about someone only to get his hopes obliterated. How many pep talks had he endured? Now, thanks to Benny's big mouth and Rick's unending need for gossip, they'd know he had taken a pretty girl to the diner.

He could truly only hope that there wouldn't be another pep talk associated with you.

"...ok Chicago," Benny sniffed as your short conversation came to an end. "You're alright. Backing the wrong football team...but still alright. Nice to meet you.”

He then turned back to Eddie.

"I need to get back to the kitchen but Rick told me about the 4th of July thing.” Eddie froze and his mouth went dry. "I'm sorry to hear about it. If you and the guys want, you can do a show here that night instead. Lot of families stop by for ice cream and pie and such.

"Maybe not that real heavy stuff you're into, but I know you boys know how to play some of the classics off the old jukebox. We could set you up in the parking lot. Phil's got some folding tables from the tree lot."

"Yeah thanks," Eddie nodded. "That sounds great. I'll bring it up to the guys when we have practice tomorrow."

"Just let me know so we can make sure you have everything you need." He turned his attention back to you. "Again, it's nice to meet ya'. Don't let Eddie scare you off, he's a big old teddy bear."

"Ben!" Eddie groaned and put his face in his hands.

"Oh he won't; I'm definitely scarier than he is," you cackled. "Nice to meet you too Benny."

Once he was gone, Lynn swooped in with the check. You immediately made to grab for it before Eddie could dare, but Lynn stopped you.

"No need honey; Edward already paid," she hummed. "As a gentleman should; seems Wayne taught you something right."

"It's always nice to see you too Lynn."

The older woman rolled her eyes and shuffled away.

You waited until she was gone before you turned your attention back to Eddie, gritted your teeth, balled the check up and threw it at him.

"Stop doing that! When did you even--"

"When you went to the bathroom," Eddie grinned triumphantly.

"You are a menace and you must be stopped!" You threw your hands in the air as you pushed yourself out of the booth to leave. "I'll get you back one day, I swear to God."

Eddie clasped both hands to his chest and gasped dramatically.

"No, please," he exclaimed. "No holy oaths in front of a lowly devil worshiper like me. I can feel the bullshit burning through me."

"Shut up, I hate you." You laughed. "Just let me pay for dinner next time."

“No, I let you pay for pizza," Eddie argued.

"You let me pay for a pizza. One. And you didn't let me do anything, I had to jump out of the van before you could. I don’t even think you had parked it yet."

“This is slander! I object.” Eddie put his hands on your shoulders, leveling you with the most stern expression he could muster. “I also let you buy cannolis.”

“Alright Perry Mason,” you rolled your eyes at him and swatted his hands off your shoulders. “You win this time.”

“Excuse me but Perry Mason always wins!"

---

You finally brought it up on the way to Lover's Lake.

It hadn't been Eddie's intention to always end your Sunday nights out at the lake, it just...happened. Pizza that first night, then Chinese food the following week when you lost track of time sitting in the employee parking lot debating which Indiana Jones film was better, Raiders or Temple of Doom. (It was Raiders. Obviously.)

Tonight, the plan had been to make s'mores on the fire pit in Rick's backyard. He had suggested it after he'd spotted a sandwich board outside of Scoops Ahoy advertising their knew Gimme S'mores flavor. He'd subtly asked you later if you had ever made s'mores before, and then gave you shit for your absolute throwaway answer.

"Like...yeah, in the microwave."

"The micr--are you shitting me right now?!"

"I'm sorry, there wasn't really an opportunity to start a bonfire in my fully paved backyard."

"Did you even have a childhood? No s'mores, no pudding, no sugar cereal? NO QUISP!"

So Eddie had gone to Bradleys and gotten marshmallows and chocolate and a variety of cookies. The plan, if you were ok with it, was going to be to smoke for a little bit--he'd dreamed of a s'more made with chocolate chip cookies when he had gotten high the other night and was very much looking forward to it--and enjoy the sweetness of both the s'mores and your company.

Instead, it had all shattered around him as he turned onto Cornwallis.

"So..." you began hesitantly, tapping your hands on your lap.

"So...?" Eddie asked, glancing over at you. You leaned forward a little, eyebrows raised expectantly. "What?"

"Benny's offer...for the 4th..."

"What about it?"

"You guys should do it!" you exclaimed. "That sounds like a really fun time."

You went on about the intimate venue and the regulars who already seemed to know Eddie and the guys, if what you had just seen at the diner was any indicator. The more you spoke, the more irritated Eddie seemed to get.

Not irritated...with you. No, just uncomfortable in his own skin. Uncomfortable with the fact that his failure was being perceived.

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, his hands fidgeted on the steering wheel, his chest hurt. The van seemed to be getting smaller and hotter, the seat more uncomfortable, the longer you spoke.

By the time you finished, he barely felt like himself.

"No," he coughed. "No, I don't think the guys would be up for something like that."

"Why not?" you questioned. "You were getting ready to play at the fair right? What makes this different?"

"It just is," Eddie shrugged.

"I mean I get it's not a stage but--"

"You're not even gonna ask why we aren't playing at the fair?" Eddie cut in, attention fully taken off the road as he stared at you expectantly.

Because...because yeah you were nice, but it didn't make any sense that you were just...going along with whatever you heard. Why were you so quick to try and get him to accept this pity offer from Benny. Why weren't you throwing it in his face that plans had changed and his dreams were shattered.

"Ok. Why aren't you playing at the fair?" you asked and Eddie scoffed. "I'm not trying to be passive aggressive or anything, you just seem irritated that I didn't ask first. So now I am asking."

"Does it matter?" Eddie shrugged.

"Yes, because you're upset."

"I'm not upset."

"Eddie, please," you sighed. "Even Kyle said something was bothering you. I'm not trying to stir the pot and if you want me to drop it, I will. You just...when you talk about your music and the band you're always so excited. I want to understand why you don't want to take this opportunity."

"Because it's a reminder that I'm a failure!" Eddie shouted, hands coming off the steering wheel as he held them up beside his head. "Sur-fucking-prise! I can't seem to do anything right and that's usually fine, but yeah, you're right, this was one of the only things that really mattered to me and the guys. And I couldn't even get that right.

"Benny isn't asking if we wanted to play because he likes our music, because he thinks we're any good. No, it's because he feels bad that we can't play at the Fair. Because I chose what I thought was a really fucking cool set list and they turned us down. Because I fucked up and he wants to cheer me up."

"What's so bad about that? What's so bad about people who care about you wanting to take care of you?" you asked.

"Because it isn't care; it's pity!" He argued. "It's always pity of one kind of another, right? Pity that my mom died, pity that I live in a trailer park, pity that I have this dream that's gonna get me nowhere, pity that I can't even pass senior year after two freaking tries. What's the point anymore? I'm tired."

The van rumbled along, but it was silent otherwise. Eddie couldn't look at you after his outburst so he wrung his hands around the steering wheel.

Fuck. He really did it this time.

Eddie knew, he knew you were gonna ask and he was gonna try to avoid it and he was going to disappoint you. But he didn't know...

Eddie didn't like getting angry or really showing those kinds of emotions. It was different if he snapped at the guys to reel them in, or snark at stupid kids at school. It was harmless, no actual malice behind it. There were just some times...where he felt it all get too overwhelming inside of him and he didn't want to...

He didn't want to be like his dad.

It's why he liked smoking. And why he liked smoking. He wouldn't say he was someone with a lot of sharp edges to begin with, but they helped smooth out whatever rough burrs that came from the every day were left over on his soul after a tough week.

If only he had made it to Lover's Lake before you asked.

He had made the next turn back onto the highway when you spoke.

"Do you think I'm hanging out with you because I pity you?" you broke the silence with a small voice, and when he looked over, you were playing with your fingers and gnawing at your bottom lip. You didn't look scared or upset, really. That was a bit of a relief. But...

"No, I didn't mean..." Eddie paused for a second, because actually...he didn't think you were hanging out with him out of pity. But he was just waiting for the moment you realized it wasn't worth hanging out with him anymore because he was pitiful.

So maybe it was just worth it to end this whole thing now and save himself some unexpected disappointment. Just like it had been with everyone else who suddenly dropped him like a hot potato.

"I mean yeah," he shrugged. "Look at you. And then look at me. We don't exactly make sense."

"Make what sense?"

"You're like...you have everything figured out, you have your whole life together, you're like...on top of the world. Got your promotion to Store Manager, your apartment, everything. Meanwhile--"

"Eddie."

"--I can't even finish high school, my band can't play a bigger crowd than the Hideout, I'm pretty sure I...accidentally sold my soul or something because Kyle hired me and I'm actually doing a good job? But where am I gonna be in 5 years, in 10? Probably still right where I am. I've literally screwed up everything I've ever put my mind to. It doesn't make sense."

"When things don't work out for us, when we're disappointed, yeah it does feel like nothing makes sense," you sighed. "But that's why you need to let the people around you who want to help you, actually help you.

"It's not a bad thing to accept he--Why are we back at the mall?" You suddenly asked as he pulled onto the Mall drive and headed towards the employee lot.

"Well I figure the night is over, I would take you back to your car," he shrugged weakly.

You opened your mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and nodded.

Yeah, that's what he thought.

He still got out of the van and opened the door for you when he parked next to your car, he offered you some chocolate to take home if you wanted, and he even kissed your hand before you got in the car to leave.

"See you around sweetheart," he said softly through your open window.

"See you Eddie, have a good night please," you offered a small smile. "Please...be good to yourself ok?"

He tucked his hands into his pockets and watched you drive away before he got back into the van.

Be good to himself.

Weird, but that definitely sounded better the "fuck you" he usually got when people disappeared from his life.

---

Except you didn't disappear from his life. You lived in the same town, worked at the same mall, for crying out loud; you still parked your car kind of close to his when he came in for the rest of his shifts that week. You didn't eat lunch together like you'd gotten used to doing...but he would still catch glimpses of you as you passed each other on break.

It was almost...back to how it was before he had gotten the nerve to go and talk to you that first time. You would smile and wave and he would look away. Neither of you said anything to one another, but you weren't hostile and neither was Eddie.

The 4th of July arrived and Eddie had to work. He had originally traded shifts with someone so he could do a short mid instead of a close and he'd forgotten to switch it back. But that meant he caught you leaving Tape World at the end of, what should have been, your 15 minute break.

"What was she doing here?" Eddie asked Kyle, who was surprisingly decked out in as much flag gear as he could get his hands on.

"Who? Oh your girlfriend?" Kyle pushed his star-shaped sunglasses up the bridge of his nose as he filed some receipts away. The grin on his face was obnoxious.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Uh huh. Sure. Well, her shop radio broke again and she forgot her tapes again," Kyle shrugged. "What else is new? Hey maybe if I send you up there on official Tape World Business, you two can make up and you can stop being such a fuckin' grump."

Eddie ignored him.

That night, there was no concert at Benny's but he and the guys did end up going to the fair and eating funnel cake until they puked.

They actually had a good time; they had even watched the musical lineup for a little while. Whatever the clerk at the Park Department had chosen wasn't nearly as good as Corroded Coffin would have been. And that knowledge, paired with Gareth's heckling and Jeff's booing, kind of made him feel a little better.

The following Sunday passed by without your usual date night. Eddie still passed by your store on the way out to the employee lot. You didn't look at him or wave this time, you were at the register going over something with, what looked to be, a new hire. You laughed and his chest hurt a little.

Eddie knew how much those little dates, how much those lunches and breaks spent together, really brightened up his week. But it wasn't until he didn't have them anymore that he realized just how strong of a foothold you had in his life in such a short amount of time.

He really should never have pushed you away like he had.

He had fucked up.

He missed you.

---

"Hey Ed, once you clock in can you check the shipment in?" Kyle asked as soon as Eddie crossed through the doors to start his shift the following Wednesday.

"Yeah, great," Eddie sighed. “No problem.”

It wasn’t that he hated checking the shipment in….it’s just that there were about a million other parts of working at Tape World that he liked better. Talking to customers, choosing what would play on the store radio for the duration of his shift…shit, even counting down the registers at night. But this was tedious. Busy work.

It was an endless stack of boxes and he needed to make sure what was inside matched the packing slip. Thousands of little tapes. Great.

"There's some special orders back there too, if you can give the customers a call!" Kyle hollered after Eddie as he slipped into the stock room. Sure enough, there were a few larger boxes propped up by the little break area.

Now that was something Eddie enjoyed a little more. He'd call the customers--usually some desk jockey who got themselves something to get through their mid-life crisis, or a parent getting some dream gift that their kid would forget about come next month--and tell them their special order had just arrived. Then typically, they would drop into the store that day or the next day and he would get to help them unpack and test out their brand new guitar.

Aside from selling the sparkling new guitars from one of the many catalogs at the counter, this was the best part of his job. And knowing he would get to do it immediately brought his mood up.

Eddie himself had been waiting for the day where a package would be there for him. On his first day, as they were setting up the store before the mall had even opened, he had unpacked the box of catalogs and found a doozy of guitar that he had his eye on: A BC Rich Warlock. And he had been putting money towards it with every paycheck. Tape World had a plan, just like the holiday layaway at K-Mart, and combined with his employee discount...he was almost there.

He dreamt about it as he grabbed a box and pulled the packing slip from where it was attached on the side of the box.

Maybe in the next few weeks? Next month? He'd come back here and the label would say...

Edward Munson/Tape World/1 StarCourt Drive/Unit F3

Eddie blinked.

Yeah. That's what it would say.

Wait. Was he still high from after last night's show? When they'd made a very late McDonalds run and smoked in Gareth's garage?

Edward Munson/Tape World/1 StarCourt Drive

He blinked again. Nope, still the same.

Edward Munson

"Well?" Eddie jumped at the sound of Kyle's voice by the stockroom door. He had his arms crossed and he had the biggest grin on his face. "You gonna open it or what?"

"What the fuck man? Where did this come from?" Eddie questioned.

"I would assume wherever BC Rich makes their guitars? California, I don't know. I work here, remember dingus?"

"No I mean," Eddie fumbled over his words. "I hadn't made the last payment, where did it...did you..."

"Look at the packing slip man," Kyle gestured. "The order form."

Eddie quickly flipped to the Tape World order form stapled to the packing slip. There were lines of his signatures, and the amount of money he had put down with each payment...and then at the very bottom...

A very intricate signature. Yours. And the last hundred dollar payment, marked in red pen.

No. You didn't. You couldn't have. When did you even?

"I told you she was your girlfriend," Kyle cackled. "I fuckin' told you."

Kyle had been gracious enough to let Eddie take an early lunch so he could find you...confront you...kiss you...Eddie wasn't sure yet.

You opened on Wednesdays so right about now you would be taking the cardboard out to the loading dock and then taking your last break. He knew because, if not for the fact that he hadn't talked to you in over a week, he would be right there with you.

Still you jumped in surprise when he burst onto the loading dock, the heavy dock door slamming into the brick wall, just as you were hitting the button on the baler.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie," you put your neon pink, fishnet glove-clad hand on your chest. "Gave me a heart attack."

"Why did you do it?" Eddie asked.

"Do what?"

"This," he pulled the order form from his back pocket and crossed the short distance to show you. He tapped on your signature several times. "Why would you do this for me?"

Your mouth formed a soft "oh" and you sighed.

"Because you're my friend," you explained as if it was obvious. "Because you've been really down and you needed cheering up."

"This isn't just...cheering a friend up. It's too much."

"It really isn't," you shook your head.

"It's a hundred dollars!"

"I have savings," you continued.

"And you have, like...rent and bills and stuff."

"So do you...you said you've been helping your uncle with rent and bills and stuff," you said in a way that mocked him. He gritted his teeth.

"I was gonna use my sales bonus for the final payment."

"Well I'm due for mine coming up too."

"I'm paying you back!" Eddie insisted.

"No you aren't. I wanted to do this for you so I did it."

"If you felt sorry for me or--"

"I just wanted to cheer you up Eddie!" You exclaimed, slamming your hands on the baler button again in finality, as if crushing the already-crushed cardboard was somehow going to drive your point home. "I don't feel sorry for you. I don't pity you. You're my friend and you were really down, disappointed.

"Tell me yes or no? Were you on the verge of giving up? Yes or no, right now."

Eddie froze.

No he wouldn't. Except...hadn't he? There was no 4th of July Fair, which meant there also wasn't a show at Benny's. Their last set at the Hideout wasn't...well he wasn't as good as he could have been. As good as he usually was.

Maybe he had...given up on himself a little. Let the self pity get the best of him.

"No," was the answer he gave you though.

Your eyes hardened and narrowed in challenge. You placed your hands on your hips and stood toe to toe with him and although he was the taller one between the two of you, it certainly felt like you were a giantess towering over him, complete with layers of fishnet and rayon and tulle fluttering in the slight breeze off the loading dock.

"Maybe you didn't hear yourself in the van after Benny's but I did," you began. "You felt like everyone pitied you, that no one was your friend or on your side. You were alone, and in place of real pain and disappointment, and you said you were tired. What is the point of trying anymore, you're tired. You said that, Eddie. You did.

"And I've been there, ok? I'm not that much older than you but I kind of am in a different stage of my life. So I'm sorry if I've ever made it seem like things are easy for me...I'm sure in some aspects they are, but in others...yeah I've been there. It's hard not to compare yourself to others when you're down, but also, you can't just...push people away or think that they're taking pity on you when they're just trying to help.

"And I know it's hard to get over that little hurdle of feeling like everything is a trick or a trap and accept nice things from other people, so excuse me if I took the initiative to do it without your permission. Because when I was at a place of giving up and not wanting help or advice, someone did that for me. So I'm doing it for you now. And I would do it again in a heartbeat."

Eddie stared directly into your eyes as he processed everything. Back and forth, left and right, as your heavy breathing went back to normal.

"Because, if you fail to remember, you have been doing nice things for me these past few weeks, and you really haven't let me return the favor quite yet, so if you don't want to accept that I'm just doing something nice for a friend, then accept that I'm paying you back for all the nice things you've done for me."

He swallowed and looked down at his feet for a moment.

"It was just...some pizzas and snacks--"

"And chili cheese fries, and surprise sodas on the days we don't have our breaks at the same time, and that movie ticket, and dinner at Benny's, and all the gas you've used to drive us around when at this point I can probably navigate town by myself," you finished for him.

Eddie did a mental tally and yeah, you were right. He did do all of those things, and no, he hadn't and probably still wouldn't let you return the favor if you gave him the chance to be your friend again.

"I know friendship isn't supposed to be transactional, but the scale has been tipped immensely towards you, so instead of just sitting back and watching you feel like a failure and give up on your dream because some stupid...I don't know, festival...person has no taste in music, I wanted to do something to surprise you. To cheer you up."

"Why haven't you talked to me then?" he asked.

"What do you mean? You haven't been talking to me," you laughed. "I've been waving and saying hello...you dropped me off at my car that night and then...you haven't even looked at me since. So I figured you just needed the space. I get that too; needing some time, some space."

"I guess I thought you didn't want anything to do with me anymore," Eddie replied lamely. Because yeah, you had been doing those things. Maybe...maybe you were right, maybe he did need the space too. God, you were such a know it all. "I'm here now."

"Yeah I see that," you deadpanned. "Hi."

"Hi," Eddie parroted. "Thank you. For the surprise. I really...really was...surprised."

"Of course, any time," you nodded. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Just like you said, I needed some time to work it out. Spent some time with the guys, it cheered me up."

"Good."

"You missed out on all the carnival food. Made the guys ride the tilt a whirl...Gareth's puke was purple."

"Yeah," you scrunched your nose. "I really missed out."

"There's always next year."

"Great." You offered him a small smile. "We good?"

"Yeah. You still want to hang out with me on Sunday? I, uh, really missed you."

"I missed you too. Maybe...you can give me a private show this Sunday? With your shiny new guitar? Only if you're up for it, of course."

"Absolutely. Sundays with you are my..." Eddie hesitated.

Should he say it? Would it scare you away?

Before he could finish, you put your hand on his arm and squeezed.

"They're mine too."

---

Next Part: Interview Prep

Sales Associates (AKA the tag list): @gaysludge @storiesbyrhi @tayhar811 @spookybabey @word-wytch @maidenofartemis @dreamlandcreations @wickedbelle @blue-eyed-lion @aysheashea @blue-mossbird @abibliophobiaa @jabbatheslutt420 @ghost-proofbaby @bakugouswh0r3 @ghostinthebackofyourhead

If you weren't given any hours this week (aka if you aren't already tagged or if I forgot to tag you) let me know via ask or comment. I'm sure I can find some extra payroll.

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson imagine #Eddie Munson stranger things #stranger things fic #Eddie Munson fic #stranger things fluff #store manager verse

359 notes · View notes