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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

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Best Laid Plans

Summary: When Jensen starts acting strange around the reader, she has a talk with Jared to ease her worries. In doing so, she reveals a secret of her own and may just put an end to her friendship with Jensen for good...

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Square: Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 6,200ish

Warnings: language, angst, more angst, secrets, eventual fluff

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo

______

“Uh, excuse me,” you said, poking Jared in the back as you stood in line at the food truck when you spotted a familiar tuft of hair.

“Hey! What a coincidence. I need good barbecue after work this week,” he said.

“Weren’t you in LA for Walker stuff this week?” you asked.

“Yeah. Stupid producer stuff for a few episodes until I flew back home for filming a couple days back. I managed to sneak away for lunch,” he said. “You miss me?”

“Funny is all. Jensen said you guys were in LA working still,” you said, crossing your arms. Jared cocked his head and you nodded. “Yeah. Obviously that’s not true.”

You got out of line and started to head back for your car, Jared catching up and grabbing your arm not more than a few seconds later.

“Don’t even pretend to lie for him,” you said.

“Okay,” said Jared. “I know he was really busy doing some voice over work.”

“Why didn’t he fly home with you? Better yet, why would he lie about it? He’s not...he’s being shady lately, Jared. He’s been spending all this time in LA and he’s avoiding me the past few weeks and lying to me. I don’t know what to think anymore,” you said.

“I know,” he said.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“I do,” he said quietly. “Trust him. I know he’s...not being the best friend right now but trust him.”

“...Does he have a girlfriend?” you asked. Jared shook his head and you stared up at him. “You would tell him me if he did, right?”

“I swear, he is single. He’s not talking to anyone,” said Jared.

“Then why is he being all shady around me?”

“Why are you so concerned about him having a girlfriend?”

“I’m not,” you said.

“Really? Because I remember what drunk Y/N said at the series wrap party nearly six months back,” said Jared.

“I was drunk,” you said. He stared at you and you looked around. He rolled his eyes and grabbed your hand, pulling you over to a picnic bench to take a seat at. He started to eat and you felt his gaze on you. “I was drunk, Jared.”

“Drunk or sober, you love him,” said Jared.

“I love him like you love him,” you said.

“No, no you don’t. Maybe those first few months on set but I saw it bubbling up. Everyone saw it bubbling up. You guys have been best friends for years. The only person who didn’t see what was going on was Jensen.”

“I don’t even work with him anymore. I am very happy doing my voice over work and-”

“You moved to Austin.”

“So did you! You don’t own the whole city. You guys aren’t my only friends here,” you said. “My brother lives half an hour away and our parents are even thinking of moving here so-”

“All I’m saying is you’re connected at the hip with him almost as much as I am. More so now that I’m busy with Walker and he’s doing his different things,” said Jared.

“He’s allowed to have more than one best friend,” you said.

“I know. He’s got other ones besides me, ones long before you or I came into the picture. But none of his other best friends fell in love with him. Get the picture?”

“Forget it. I only asked because we had plans tonight and he wasn’t responding to me,” you said. You stood up and he frowned. “What would you do?”

“Tell him how I felt.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been getting deeper and deeper for the past three years and he’s never noticed. I’m not supposed to be with him obviously.”

“But you love him.”

“He doesn’t love me like that, Jare.”

“Maybe you should ask,” said the voice behind you. You spun around, Jensen in his baseball cap and his carry on backpack over his shoulders. He gave a small wave and you went wide eyed. “I was on a flight. You kept calling so I got worried and used the find my iphone thing when I landed.”

“How long have you been standing there?” you breathed out.

“Since you sat down I think,” he said.

“I’m going to give you guys a minute,” said Jared. He grabbed his food and left, Jensen taking his spot. He looked down to the table, opening his mouth a few times.

“You love me?” asked Jensen. “More than a friend?”

“Yes,” you said. You swallowed and watched him rub the back of his neck. He gave you a quick glance but you caught no shyness in it and your stomach started to churn.

“Y/N, you’re my best friend and I love you as my best friend. I’d do anything for you. I just don’t...love you in that other kind of way,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said. The air was still and you looked away. “Something came up tonight. I need to cancel.”

You stood up and heard him right behind you, grabbing your shoulder.

“Y/N,” he said running around in front of you. You couldn’t look at him, not after you’d just told him and it was very clear how he felt about you. “Y/N, wait. Let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t want to,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “I gotta go, Jay.”

You took off towards your car, cutting through a group of people to slow him down and you were pulling away by the time you saw him in your rearview mirror.

“Why’s he have to die?” you said to yourself that night, crying as you watched a movie and stabbing into your pint of ice cream. You took a sip of your wine and wiped off your face, the sound of the key in your door making you jump up. The door opened wide as you held up your spoon, Jensen stepping into the foyer. “Get out.”

“Shouldn’t have given me a key then,” he said, looking around your apartment. “Well now I feel even shittier than before. Sad chick flicks? Wine? Ice cream? You look like hell.”

“Leave your key and go,” you said as he slipped off his shoes and jacket.

“Not happening. You don’t walk out on three years of friendship like that, not us,” he said.

“Jensen. You didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t...I can’t hang out with you though if I know I feel a certain way and you don’t. It’s not your fault. I can’t just pretend it’s all okay though,” you said. You set your spoon down and took a seat on the couch. Jensen settled into his usual spot at the other end and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve been seeing a girl,” he said. “Quietly. No one really knows.”

“Oh,” you said. He hummed and you grabbed your blanket. He rested his head in his hand and started to watch the movie.

“We broke up an hour ago,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t love her. I didn’t even really like her. You made me realize something at the park today. I haven’t been single since I was a junior in high school and in all that time, I don’t think I’ve quite figured out what being in love is like.”

“I’m sure you loved someone,” you said.

“I’m sure I did too. But it’s always been this is my girlfriend. I’ve never thought of any of them as my best friend,” he said.

“Jensen.”

“I don’t want to date anyone right now. All I want is to be your best friend,” he said.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Give me a chance?” he said. “I never wanted to hurt you. The second those words came out of my mouth I knew I did. But I’m a guy and stupid and I don’t want to lose you. So let’s watch a movie and eat and drink like we do when one of us breaks up with someone and in the morning if you still can’t stand to be near me, I’ll respect it.”

“One night won’t change how I feel.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry but I’d really like it if you left, Jensen,” you said. “I need space. I’m not...I’m not saying maybe someday we can’t be friends again but right now, I really need to be away from you.”

“I understand,” he said. He smiled and stood up, putting his coat and shoes back on. He dipped his hand into his pocket and placed his key on your front table. “Would you have ever told me on your own?”

“I honestly don’t know. I was afraid of this exact situation,” you said.

“We’ll never be the same as it was, will we,” he said.

“I wanted more than it was, Jensen.”

“Losing you hurts more than any girlfriend did if it’s any consolation,” he said. He left and you got up, locking up after him. You rested your head against the door before you quickly unlocked it, Jensen standing further down the hall by the elevators. He turned your direction as you stepped out.

“Come here,” you said. You slowly walked back to your apartment and you let him inside. You shut the door behind him and quickly pushed him back against it, giving him a kiss. He stared at you after you broke it off, blinking more than a few times. “Now how do you feel?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then go,” you said.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

“Because I don’t think you have any idea at all of what love, a relationship kind of love, actually is. It’s more than thinking someone is attractive or kind. You don’t understand and until you do, you shouldn’t date anyone, Jensen. For their sake and yours,” you said. He quickly left and you went back to your couch, stabbing into your ice cream once again.

“Hey,” said Jared, catching you coming out of the recording studio a few days later. You walked past him and he scoffed. “Why are you pissed at me?”

“Because you lied to me. You said Jensen wasn’t up to anything in LA and he was. You said you knew what he was doing out there. I always knew if it all went south you’d end up on his side. Just leave me alone, Jared,” you said. You walked down the sidewalk to your car, Jared right there with his hand on the door. “Move.”

“For your information, I didn’t know he was seeing anyone. You really want to know what he was doing out there? Talking to network executives about you. He got cast in something and he thought you’d be great for the female lead. I’m pretty sure you’re going to get a call about an audition soon. But you’re right. I’m an ass that only cares about one of my best friends.”

He walked away and you stared after him with a sigh.

“Jared-”

“No. You know, I don’t know what the Hell you said to him but whatever it was, it was out of line. You can’t be angry at someone for not feeling the same way about you. You’re not in middle school, Y/N. Grow up,” said Jared. He huffed and went inside the studio as you slipped inside your car. You sat behind the wheel for a moment, your phone ringing all of a sudden.

“Hi, Zoey,” you said. She went off a mile a minute and you squeezed your eyes shut. “A movie with Jensen? Oh yeah, that sounds great. Set something up and I’ll do the audition.”

You hung up and rested your head against the wheel.

“Should have just said no. Should have said you were taking a break but no, had to say yes like an idiot,” you said to yourself. “Hopefully they hate me and give it to someone else.”

Two Months Later

“You guys have to be loving this! Working together again,” said the director. You glanced at Jensen and he forced a smile. “Alright. You two are wrapped for the day along with Nate. Head on home. We got plenty more work tomorrow.”

You kept a smile on your face until he walked away, quickly separating from Jensen.

“Hey!” said Nate, your other lead for the movie as he jogged over to you both. “It’s not that late. Would you guys maybe want to grab dinner? I don’t know many people in Austin aside from work people.”

“Maybe we can grab a bite over the weekend?” said Jensen.

“I’ll go Nate,” you said, shooting Jensen a look. “Don’t mind him, he’s just old.”

There was a quick flash of anger on Jensen’s face but it was so subtle Nate wouldn’t have noticed.

“Let me just grab my bag and then we can go get some food,” you said.

“Awesome,“ said Nate. He headed over towards his trailer, Jensen walking over to you quickly. You put your hands on your hips and he did it right back.

“It’s nine. It’s late. What are you doing taking the new kid out on a weeknight?”

“I didn’t realize you had a bedtime, Jensen. Call time isn’t until 9 tomorrow. We’ll both be home and in bed by eleven not that it’s any of your business,” you said.

“I’m not old,” he said. “You want to go out after a thirteen hour day, be my guest.”

“Come with us, don’t come with us, I really don’t care, Jensen,” you said. “It was a joke. We used to go out after filming was done on the show all the time. Don’t be so sensitive.”

“Don’t blame me when you’re exhausted in the morning.”

He left with a huff and you rolled your eyes, ducking in your trailer quick. You caught up with Nate a few minutes later who was all smiles.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Yeah. You and Jensen, you’re not together or anything, right?” he asked. “He seemed…”

“No, no. We don’t like each other like that,” you said. “I’m very much single.”

“Good,” he smiled. You returned it, ignoring the small guilty feeling in your stomach for talking to Jensen like that. “So where can we get a good steak around here?”

“You smell like a bar,” said Jensen the next day as you got coffee at craft services. You grabbed your cup as he walked away, sipping from hi own.

“That’s rude,” you said.

“Don’t be so sensitive, Y/N,” he said with a smirk. You bumped his shoulder and paused as you headed for set.

“Oh and not that you would care but Nate asked me out on a date tonight,” you said.

“Funny. I thought attraction wasn’t the only qualifier to be in love,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “That’d just be for me. You want to date the guy that just wants in your pants, fine.”

“Shut up,” you said.

“Back at you, runt.”

You looked back angrily, Jensen bumping you this time as he went by. You caught up with him and grabbed his arm, Jensen frowning.

“Don’t you dare call me runt. Not you of all people. You know what that means to me.”

“Yeah, I do. Maybe I don’t care about much of anything when it comes to you anymore,” he said. You stared at him and dropped your hand away, quickly leaving. You avoided him as much as you could for the day and were grateful you only had two scenes together. When you wrapped for the night and you were getting ready to go out with Nate again, you gathered up your things from your trailer, spotting a cupcake and note on the counter. You picked it up and frowned.

I crossed a line with the runt comment. I’m sorry. It was wrong. Please stay away from Nate. I get a bad vibe from him.

-J

“At least you got my favorite flavor,” you said. You took a bite and put the rest away in your fridge. You put on your backpack but stopped for a moment and wrote down a note of your own. You ran over next door to the empty trailer and set it down on Jensen’s counter before popping outside and heading over to Nate’s. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said grumpily, shoving some things in a duffel bag. “Listen, I just got fired so-”

“Fired? For what?” you said.

“I don’t think your friend likes me very much,” he said. “It’s whatever. I’m flying back to LA tonight. Maybe I’ll see you around someday Y/N.”

He jogged out of his trailer and you shook your head. You walked outside and saw Jensen coming out of hair and makeup with his face washed off.

“What did you do?” you asked, storming straight over to him.

“Bought you a cupcake...I’ll be sure not to make that mistake again,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Nate was just fired he said.”

“Good.”

“Good? Did you get-”

“Wow. No, I didn’t. I’m glad to see you think so little of me. Outside of a scene, don’t talk to me,” he said. He left and you stood there, throwing up your hands.

“Oh my God, Y/N! Did you hear?” asked Shelby as she came out of the makeup trailer.

“Nate got fired? Yeah,” you said.

“I’d have kicked his ass,” she said. You raised an eyebrow and she made a face. “The PA? Inappropriate touching?”

“He did what?” you asked.

“Oh he got way handsy with one of the PA’s. Eighteen years old. One of the grips caught him cornering her and he nearly decked him right then and there,” she said. “He’ll be lucky if she doesn’t press charges let alone act again.”

“That’s too bad. She’s okay?” you asked.

“Yeah. It didn’t go like, bad or anything but dude’s a creep,” she said.

“Sounds like it,” you said quietly.

“I think production might get shutdown the rest of the week while they find a replacement. I’m sure you’ll find out before the rest of us,” she said. You nodded and she gave you a smile. “You okay? You seem different lately.”

“Yeah. Just not used to long days again,” you said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow if we still have work, okay?”

“Sure thing,” she said. You walked over to the parking lot, catching Jensen waiting by your car with your note in his hand. Slowly you made your way over, Jensen kicking at the pavement.

“I heard why Nate got fired,” you said.

“I had a bad feeling about him and you didn’t believe me,” he said, holding up the note. “Fucks sake, Y/N. I’m not jealous of him either okay because I know how your head works.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said. You reached for your door handle and he moved in front of it. “Why are you so angry at me? You won’t even talk to me.”

“I’m not angry at you, Jensen. I’m...I can date and be with whoever I want to. I can go out after work without you. We’re co-workers. It’s all we are,” you said. “It’s all we can be.”

“It’s been two months. Why can’t-”

“Because it still hurts me to see your face as pathetic as that sounds. I wish it didn’t. I wish I could pretend we are exactly as we were and go back to that. But I’m not capable of it. I told you. I need time and space if I’m ever going to get back there with you and two months isn’t enough time for me.”

“Not everything is about you. Don’t even bother,” he said.

“Don’t bother what?” you said.

“We’re co-workers. It’s all we’re ever going to be,” he said. He left and headed for his car, leaving the note behind.

“I see you skimmed over the part about me apologizing for how I acted,” you said.

“You skimmed over that part of mine. Fair is fair,” he said. “You know what? Lose my number. Don’t talk to me outside of a set anymore.”

You got in your car and headed for home, hoping that the movie got delayed indefinitely.

Three Days Later

“Hey!” said Ruthie to you out on the hotel patio. You looked up from your phone, Ruth sitting down in the chair across from you. “I haven’t seen you all convention long! What are you doing out here?”

“Enjoying the fresh air,” you said, forcing a smile.

“I see,” she said. You went back to your phone only for her to steal it away from you. “Texting a new friend?”

“No. I was reading,” you said, taking it back.

“You wouldn’t happen to be out here because of you and the boys not getting along, hm?” she asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said.

“You’ve been noticeably absent from the group chat,” she said. “And not hanging out with the guys, especially Jensen.”

“Been busy.”

“With what? Unemployment?”

“Our movie is only shut down a few months. I’m taking the vacation time,” you said. “Discovering new things.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing!” you said.

“Fine, fine,” she said. “Bri and I are going to have a drink after the show tonight in my room. Your attendance is mandatory.”

“Why aren’t you going out with the guys?”

“Because you need a girls night and so do we,” she said. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Do you still…” said Bri well after midnight and more than a few drinks. “Love him?”

“Yes,” you said, knocking back your margarita. “I don’t even want to anymore. It just hurts like everyday and it’s so pathetic. I thought pushing him away would make it go away and I thought trying to move onto another guy would work but I still want him. I don’t know why I can’t get over him. I’ve dated before. I don’t know why…”

“When you say you love him, do you mean love him right now or I could imagine the rest of everything with him love him?” asked Ruth.

“I’m so stupid,” you said, sliding down on the bed, pulling a pillow over your face. “We weren’t even together! Why am I so upset?”

“Because you love him bad. Like in deep,” said Bri. “He really said he thought of you guys as just friends?”

“Yes. I miss him. I want my best friend back,” you said, pulling away the pillow. Ruth handed you a few tissues and you wiped off your face, all three of your heads turning when you heard a knock at the door.

“It’s probably the guys,” said Bri. She was out of her seat and you watched her peek the door open a crack. “What? It’s late.”

“We know,” said Rich and Rob. “We got to talk about this Jensen and Y/N situation.”

“No, we don’t. They’re adults,” she said.

“Well Jensen just drunkenly confessed to being in love with her and how he messed up. I think we at least have to get the two of them in a room together to sort this whole thing out,” said Rob.

“Jensen said what?” you said, rushing over to the door.

“Oh great. She’s been crying,” said Rich, running his hand over his face.

“What’d he say?” you asked.

“That he misses you and he thinks he might be in love with you and you got to take this all with a grain of salt. He drank a lot,” said Rob.

“Where’s he now?” you asked.

“His room. He’s not...save the conversation for when he’ll remember it?” said Rich. You nodded and turned back to the girls.

“Should I say anything?” you asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” said Ruth. “Maybe sleep on it and decide in the morning?”

“Yeah, that’s probably the best idea,” you said. “I’m going to head back to my room.”

“We’ll walk you,” said Rich.

“Thanks,” you said. A moment later you were in the hall, the guys going up a floor with you in the elevator.

“From a guy’s perspective,” said Rob. “We can be really dumb. Like it’s amazing how dumb we can be. Give him a chance when you talk to him.”

“He doesn’t understand what falling in love is. I can’t explain that to him,” you said.

“Maybe you have different definitions of love,” he said. You blinked and they both shrugged. “There’s a reason this stuff is complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” you said when the doors opened. “I’m right here,” you said, pointing at a door. “Night guys.”

“Night, Y/N.”

You entered the room and lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling.

He was drunk and he’d missed you. It’s all there was to it in your opinion.

Three Weeks Later

“Sounds good,” you said, hanging up with your agent. The movie was back on at the start of the next year and in the meantime, you’d gotten another voice acting gig. You felt happy about that for the first time in a while. Slowly things were getting better. Avoiding Jensen had helped. You still caught yourself wanting to send him a funny video or talk to him about something during your day but you knew you’d get there. All you’d needed was a good cry session with your friends it seemed.

There was a knock on your door and you got up for your pizza, smiling as you skipped into the foyer.

You pulled it open and found Jensen there, a blank look on his face. He stepped inside and grabbed your face, giving you a remarkably gentle kiss that went on and on. He broke it off when there was a grunt and your pizza guy was standing there. You took the food in a haze and shut the door, setting it down on the counter.

“What…” you said, Jensen getting right in your face.

“I have loved you from the second I met you. I have loved you from the week after that and the week after that and I knew deep down there was no going back. You were it. Always.”

“If you loved me then why-”

“Because I want better for you. I don’t want a life where you’re alone because I’m off working over here or you’re working over there. I want you to have everything you deserve and that is a better man than me.”

“I know you, Ackles. If it were just that, you would have told the truth. What is it,” you said. He closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged.

“I had an anomaly in my blood work at my last checkup a few months ago,” he said.

“Jensen. What are you saying…”

“My blood work showed I was sick. Dying kind of sick,” he said.

“Oh, you dumbass,” you said, giving him a hug. It was tight and he returned it, running his hand up and down your back. “Jensen.”

“I couldn’t say it when I thought I wasn’t gonna be around in a few years. I couldn’t do that to you,” he said. You squeezed him harder and he shushed you. “S’okay. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. You said...I wasted all that time-”

“I’ve had a lot of tests done. Some here. Some in LA. They were looking for the cause. Jared’s the only one aside from my family that knew. It’s why he was so pissed with you when we fought but I swore him to secrecy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

“I was afraid. Of everything. You pitying me. Leaving me. Of me telling you the truth and setting you up for some kind of horrible heartbreak,” he said. “But in all those doctor’s genius attempts to find something, they never thought to take another blood sample. They kept reusing the same one over and over.”

“What are you saying?” you asked.

“I’m saying I’ve spent the past four months thinking I was dying when they had the wrong blood. It was someone else’s. They couldn’t find anything wrong because there is nothing wrong. I’m perfectly healthy. The only problem I have is finding a new doctor. I found out half an hour ago and drove straight here,” he said.

“So to summarize you thought you were dying and denied you loved me so that I wouldn’t have to be upset when it happened?”

“I know I hurt you. I know...it was easier to push your buttons and push you away than let us be something else and have it ripped away from you so soon. I thought this way would hurt less than the other,” he said.

“You really are a dumbass,” you said with a smile. “You should have told me.”

“I know,” he said. “I wanted to protect you.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what I meant when I said love is more than attraction?”

“Absolutely. But playing stupid seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said. You rested your head on his shoulder, Jensen’s arms wrapped around you. “Do you hate me?”

“No,” you said. “I’m mad at you for lying and I’m sorry for pushing you away just as much. I just want it back to the way it was.”

“Maybe we can try something different?” he said. You cocked your head and he kissed you again, smiling when you held up a finger.

“Different is good,” you said, Jensen looking you up and down. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Okay,” he smiled.

“Still mad.”

“Okay,” he said again, taking off his coat and shoes.

“Inviting yourself over, hm?” you said.

“For sure,” he said. “You even got dinner for us already.”

“Jensen, it’s not all fixed like that.”

“Okay,” he said, kissing you one more time. “I’m going to keep doing that in the meantime.”

“Hey,” you said, grabbing his hand. “You have a scare like that, you call me. I don’t care if you got an hour left and we had the biggest fight in the world. Call me.”

“I was getting close to cracking regardless of the test results. I heard I may have mentioned something at the last con to a few people.”

“You did. Let’s just hang out and eat pizza like we did the first time you came over my place?” you asked. “Try to be friends again?”

“Yeah. I really missed you, Y/N.”

Three hours later you were laying on your couch watching a movie, snuggled up under a blanket. You titled your head back and Jensen gave you a soft smile, his arm over your waist pulling you back into his chest more. He kissed your temple and you thought back to the hundred million times you’d done this same thing before.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you asked.

“Because I didn’t know how you felt and the idea of losing you was horrifying. I have had plenty of girlfriends before. I’ve only felt this once and I’m not letting it go,” he said.

“Spend the night,” you said.

“I’ve been drinking. I probably should crash on the couch,” he said. You shook your head and gave him a smile. “Oh. In the...should we really dive into that right away?”

“I just want you close by,” you said. “Nothing more than innocent cuddling for now.”

“I’m very much up for that,” he said. You turned off the movie and grabbed his hand, pulling him down into your bedroom. “All the times I’ve been over here, I’ve never actually seen your room.”

“I know it’s kinda girly,” you said, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“It’s relaxing,” he said with a smile. “I like it much better than my room.”

“Isn’t your house like gorgeous?” you asked.

“I moved,” he said. “About 4,000 square feet now versus the eight.”

“Oh. Well you’re like everybody else now, aren’t you?” you teased. He chuckled and you got an extra blanket out of your closet, Jensen spotting your weighted blanket on the bed.

“Too much house for just me. Never cared for it much. This one is simpler. More of a blank canvas,” he said, taking the soft blanket you knew he liked when he slept on the couch. “How’s your anxiety lately?”

“Not great,” you said. “Better but not great. You’re crap pilled on top of…”

“Top of what?” he asked.

“My dad got released,” you said, sitting on the bottom of the bed. Jensen sat down beside you and you sighed. “It’s been twenty five years, Jay. He got out.”

“Are you scared?”

“No. He’s up in Maine and he has diabetes and cancer,” you said. “He’s in the process of dying.”

“The runt comment,” said Jensen and you nodded. “Y/N, I’m sorry I ever said that.”

“S’not your fault my dad was crappy to my mom and me,” you said. He took your hand in his and laced your fingers together. “She was really happy when she met Charlie. He’s exactly what she needed.”

“He’s what you needed too. You got a real dad and even your little brother a few years later. I’m sorry you had to spend five in a not so great place,” he said.

“Never lie to me again,” you said.

“I promise,” he said.

“You’re really okay?” you asked.

“Yes. For the hundredth time, I am perfectly healthy. I watched them draw the blood and take it straight into the lab myself.”

“You should call your parents,” you said. “Let them know the good news.”

“It’s late for them,” he said. “I’ll call first thing. Do you mind if I take off my jeans?”

“Of course not. It’s not like I’ve seen you in your underwear before,” you said. He stood and kicked them off as you excused yourself into your bathroom. You exited in a pair of shorts and shirt, Jensen spreading the blanket out over one side of the bed. You walked around and climbed under the sheets, Jensen following after. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said. You flipped off the light and the room was quiet. Jensen shifted and your head turned, Jensen’s face closer now. You rolled onto your side and rested your cheek on the pillow, Jensen glancing down. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. You thought you were stopping me from a worse kind of pain. Never do anything like that again and you’re forgiven.”

“I won’t,” he said. “It was a dumb split second decision.”

“It’s okay. I still like you. I’m sorry for how I acted too. I never should have shoved you out of my life for thinking you didn’t have feelings.”

“It hurt and you needed space and time. We would have come back together,” he said. “We did.”

“Because you found out you weren’t sick.”

“I was coming over tonight no matter what the test said.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t imagine how shitty I’d feel if you didn’t love me back. When I heard you talking to Jared...I’d never felt that happy before. Something about you is just...special.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased. You leaned over and kissed him quickly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Looking forward to it, sweetheart.”

_______

#spndeanbingo #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles #spn fanfiction #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #rpf #jensen x reader #jensen x you #one shot

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adorehs · 4 years

Text

changing your tune

Hi I just wanted to mention that a lot of this might be inaccurate. This is based off of my time in my city's youth orchestra so while I’m sure some things transfer, but not everything. Kinda bad at the end per usual <3

Summary: Classical Musician!Y/N has created a simple life for herself consisting of herself, her music, and the boy she loves. Friends to lovers. (15.6k words)

Warnings: mostly fluff, slight angst, mentions of smut, minor character death.

“I just think I need to have a fuller tone to really get the dark undertone of the music. Like, it’s so clearly meant to be this dark, horrible travesty but if I can’t get the tone right then it’s just this light and airy travesty. But I can’t bend the note just right, my air is, like, gone,” you vent out.

Harry watches you intently from where he sat in your study with a hand holding his chin up and an elbow on his knee, “I think it sounds great.”

You look at him unimpressed, “It’s all chalumeau. Of course it sounds good, it just doesn't sound right.”

“Right, so it’s in the lower register,” he mentally reminds himself, “What’s it supposed to sound like?”

You let out a sigh and pick up your clarinet from the stand it rested on, “It sounds kind of different without my custom, but the r13 will work for now,” you mumble, adjusting the reed and ligature on your mouthpiece, a nervous tick you picked up in school.

Your eyes flicker up to Harry, waiting for his glance of approval before you start. Your cheeks expertly swell and decompress in size as you circular breathe through the measures, your mind concentrated on the smooth transitions between rhythms and the registers, cutting the triplets short as you’ve written them.

The soothing noise of your clarinet fills the large room immediately, your forte becoming all too loud to process any thoughts. The victorian-styled room had low hanging lights that streamed a warm orange tone over the patterned chairs and built-in bookcase that held hundreds of music books with etudes you’ve mastered since your youth.

Though the warm tones made the room feel homely, the curtains were drawn back and the windows were opened ajar allowing a short breeze to flow in every two minutes. You knew better then to turn on a fan around your hand-crafted instrument. You understood the fluctuation it would cause if the temperature changed drastically day by day. This is why you were careful to turn the air conditioning off before you opened the window, keeping the temperature relatively steady through the day.

Harry watched you in pure concentration- he was truly enamoured by the way you lost yourself in music. He wanted to understand what you were saying but it was hard- he enjoyed music but was completely deaf when it came to describing the mood of a piece.

He worked with numbers, and loved it. A born accountant in your presence, watching you play your clarinet with what seems to be ease. But you seemed so distant from him. A whole world away. And how was he going to sweep you off your feet when he can hardly understand your career?

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as the technique became more difficult, effectively making you let off your clarinet and huff a breath of disapproval. Your heart was clearly pounding after the page you played at full tempo for effect, but you tried not to show the effect the music had on your body.

You reached for your pencil before erasing a note you had written and writing another one in, a higher register G#. The graphite smeared on the yellow-tinted manuscript book that sat on the music stand before you, everything shaking lightly as vigorously colored in the line and drew in a staccato articulation above the sixteenth note.

Forgetting Harry’s presence, you picked up your clarinet once again and played the same measure in sets of five, increasing the tempo by four beats each time, before deciding it is satisfactory for now.

Your face only showed a slight upturn, as you wrote in a new measure, testing how the chord would resolve with some soft air and incomplete vibrations through the wooden block. Minor chord or major? you asked yourself.

Harry’s eyes watched yours as they darted across the room from your clarinet, to your manuscript, to your metronome, which was silently flashing a red light at a tempo of 180 and a subdivision of eighth notes.

He wondered who taught you so harshly- he’d never seen someone so critical of their own work. You liked to make everything very perfect in a meticulous way- you knew just when to linger on the seventh of a chord to leave an uneasy feeling in the pit of one;s stomach and you were stellar when it came to expressing a story and emotion through your music. At least that’s what Harry thought.

“So where does your tone need to get fuller?” he asks again.

You looked up at him, slightly shocked. You had forgotten he was there, “When I get higher, like, near the F#. It has no depth to the note and it sounds like a playground piece,” you explain softly, watching as his eyes furrowed in confusion.

“So you want it to sound darker when the octave goes up?” he confirms one more time.

You nod, “Yeah. Want it to sound more emotional and thoughtful. It also makes me sound like a stylistically competent player,” your eyes flicker back to the page in an instant.

“I think your style is good. You have a good variety in the symphony, too. They’ll like this one. Get the solo down and then ask some people to come and play with you,” Harry comments, rubbing his hands on his corduroy pants as he sits back further in the chair. The heavy fabric makes a dissatisfying pulling noise as Harry moves around in the chair, resting his hands on the dark wooden arms with ornate carvings on the ends.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “They haven’t taken my last three. If I can just make one good one, I can take some more risks and possibly compose a whole symphony,” you pause, making eye contact with Harry again, “But that’ll take years. Probably only when I retire from the orchestra.”

“They are good,” Harry argues weakly. He doesn’t know how to convince you because all he knows is that he likes it.

“Well clearly they’re not as good as you and I think,” you counter with a huff, picking up your clarinet once more before playing the same piece from the beginning.

After an overextended work week, Harry was excited to go out and have some fun with his friends. He was still a ripe twenty-six year old, working long and hard hours as a starting budget analyst, hoping to be promoted higher within the job and lighten his workload- at least that's what everyone promised will happen. Nevertheless, he still enjoyed the simple pleasures of going out and celebrating his friends.

It was an all too familiar setting- a sticky, trashed bar with little to no care given to the seats that were falling apart at the seams. He found himself thinking of the frat parties you had described to him when he asked what Greek Life was.

But, he was there to celebrate one of his colleagues' birthdays. It was her twenty-fifth, so he found himself understanding the want for a big party. The bar might have been trashed but it was large and suitable for the hundreds of people she seemed to invite.

And among the hundreds, he only viewed one. You.

You wore a dress that you pulled from the back of your closet and hadn’t seen the light of day since you were in college. You wore it to special events and networking parties, but you found it all too nice to wear to most other situations you found yourself in.

Harry had definitely forgotten your connection to his colleague, or better known as your sister. He watched as you greeted her with a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek, an awkward side hug was exchanged as everyone around you both cheered in excitement. You were pretty loved.

“Happy birthday Mon,” you repeat for the second time that day, “Hope the year treats you well.”

Your sister smiled in response, “Off to a great start,” she eyes the party reviving behind you, “I’m glad you could make it. Thought you’d have a performance tonight.”

You shook your head, “Nope. Requested this day off a year ago. Couldn’t miss my favorite day of the year!”

Your sister glances at you with a look of amusement, “Happy Monica day is your favorite of the year?”

“Yup, love happy Monica day,” you reiterate.

Monica opened her mouth to reply but was swiftly cut off by a deep British accent, “Happy birthday Mon!” you hear from behind you.

You turn around quickly, side stepping to allow Harry into your conversation. He leans into your sister before granting her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, “How are you?” he asks, replacing your spot in front of her.

You smile at Monica and halfheartedly wave a goodbye as you slowly make your way over to the bar to order some food. You decided a year ago that you were going to stop drinking. At first, it was a hard choice to make. You were used to having a drink in most social situations, especially being a young adult working with people of all ages. It was a common scene to find you in- an after party with hundreds of musicians having a glass of champagne or white wine in celebration.

You sat yourself on a deep crimson stool, swirling slightly as you waited for your sliders to be given to you. Watching as people met and reconnected was isolating for you. You knew very few people Monica worked with and found yourself just shy of saying hi to someone who looked friendly every time you were at a gathering such as this one.

Nodding a silent thank you as your sliders were placed in front of you, your attention shifts. It was the loud talking and blaring music that made your brain want to go into overdrive, never quite getting used to noises you couldn’t control.

“Hi, Y/N,” you feel a body slide into the seat beside you. You couldn’t exactly pin whose voice it was at first listen so you shift your body towards them and slide the plate between you two as a peace offering.

“Hey,” you reply, making eye contact with one of Monica’s friends you met when she first started working at the firm.

“How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’m alright, Louis. And yourself?”

“I’m quite alright. Been working a lot. Itching to get promoted,” he lets out a small laugh, “But who isn’t.”

You shoot him a grin, “Not sure, I love my job.”

“When’re you playing next? Love to come see you play. Haven't been to the new show yet,” he leans in towards you and takes a slider before leaning back again.

“Play Thursday to Sunday every week until November. Then we switch to Christmas ballets,” you tell him with a grin, “I recommend Thursday or Sunday, though. Best prices and best crowd.”

He nods in confirmation, “I’ll have to take Harry with me, know he’s been bugging me to go with him for a while.”

“Yeah, bring him! It’ll be fun, we can all go out after too!” you counter, dismissing Louis' comment about Harry’s insistent nature. That was just him, you thought.

“Definitely,” he agrees, “Plus it’s a nice way to unwind. I’ll definitely see if I can come soon.”

“Oh, please! I love seeing a familiar face. Feel like I play better,” you laugh, “Still get nervous, but Harry always tells me I’ll do amazing.”

“Harry’s good at that,” Louis agrees, “Always makes sure you don’t undersell yourself. And he’s right! You’re amazing.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment, “Thank you! He’s definitely everyone's biggest cheerleader,” you joke. Turning around entirely in your stool, your eyes sift quickly through the crowd in search of Harry. “See, there he is,” you chortle, “Hyping up Niall as he chugs a,” you squint.

“A beer, probably,” Louis completes for you.

You both laugh and watch as Niall shoots up from his spot on the ground in victory before immediately falling back onto the ground with great dramatics. The room roars as Harry helps his friend stand back up and walks him over to the bathroom before swinging the door back open, “Ladies and gentlemen,” he pauses for effect, “The boy lives!”

The room once again falls into a unison form of laughter as Niall appears behind Harry moments later, “Where’s the beer?” he shouts over the laughs, which quickly turn into cheers at his sportsmanship.

While Louis lets out a loud laugh at his friend's antics and moves towards the crowd to see more clearly, you looked up towards Harry. He dressed himself impressively well considering his lack of knowledge in the arts. Though he wore a simple outfit consisting of a red button up and black jeans, his confidence soared higher than anyone else’s you’d seen in a while.

His smile was infectious and seemed to fill his whole face and as his eyes raised to meet yours it grew to a tenfold. Speaking with his body language, you somehow sensed that he wanted you to get up and join him.

You shook your head with a smile and mouthed ‘I’m fine here!’ only to receive a ‘What!?’ in response. You shook your head in defeat and stood up, mouthing the same phrase only slower.

Harry replied with a look of realization and instantaneously, a pout replaced his smile. You frowned at your effect on him, not wanting him to feel upset because of you of all people.

You stood up and slowly started making your way over to him, allowing the smile to rediscover its place on his lips. He was watching you near him, when his head suddenly snapped towards a high pitched scream coming from your sister, “It’s midnight!” she shouts.

Harry chuckles at her dramatics and smiles when he feels your body press up against his side. He didn’t have to look to know it was you, he could smell your distinct perfume as you neared him and he was happy knowing you found comfort around him- though that should’ve been clear from the nights upon nights you spend together, him listening to your music and you listening to his rants.

Monica was handed a bottle of champagne and she stepped into the middle of the corner you all occupied, people filing in suit around her and forming a circular crowd.

“Hey everyone! Uh- thank you so much for coming- I mean it. It means a lot to me to be surrounded by a bunch of people I love on my favorite day of the year!” She jokes, earning some light laughs and a few words of endearment thrown back at her. “No, seriously, thanks a lot, and,” she trails off, her thoughts too blurry for her planned speech, “Here’s to twenty five!” she cheers, shaking the champagne bottle, allowing it to pop and spray all over. She quickly spins in an attempt to spray everyone, but the champagne bubbles over and only gets half the group.

You and Harry both laugh, shaking your hands to get the sticky substance off your bodies. “She tries every year and never succeeds,” you tell him.

He chuckles in response, “She gets too drunk to remember.”

“Or she just thinks that she’s sober enough to get it this year,” you laugh back.

Harry laughs and nods, “Definitely. She thinks she’s perfectly fine,” he points at Monica who is going around the circle and hugging everyone in thanks. “To be fair she looks okay,” he adds.

“She always does,” you agree with Harry.

The two of you fall silent and you stand back watching your sister make rounds. Harry’s hand creeps onto your back as he steps closer to you, bringing you in front of him. He hums along to the song you couldn’t remember the name of that was blaring on the speakers and he basks in the glory of being in your presence.

Soon enough, your sister had made her way over to the two of you, hugging you both and exchanging her thanks for coming and just as quick as she came, she left you two alone.

“So, uh,” Harry starts.

“Hey, um, I’m gonna leave. Got an early start tomorrow,” you tell Harry, pointing at the door.

“Oh, yeah, definitely. Yeah, you should go,” he stammers.

You smile at him, “Okay, cool. I’ll see you later?” you asked, stepping towards Monica to say a final happy birthday and goodnight.

“Yeah, definitely,” he nods in confirmation.

You wave before finding your sister and saying goodnight, then driving yourself back home.

Harry was sitting in bed with his laptop on his lap and a blanket covering his legs. He was doing some research in an attempt to find books that could teach him about music theory.

He told himself he wanted to be more involved in his friends' lives and further his education in one of his weakest subjects- music. But in reality, it was clear to those around him that he wanted to impress you and be more involved in your life and yours only. They had never seen him pick up a book on physical therapy or take a quick online course on python- he was doing it all purely for you.

He was contemplating if he should invest in a book or just take a free online course, both seemed like viable options but he wanted to optimize his time. He wanted to make it click faster.

He decided he’d try the online course and take his chances and if he still didn’t understand he would invest in a book.

So there he was on a Tuesday evening sitting in bed with his headphones in learning how basic chords were made. He wrote notes as if he was still in school and studied them after each lesson. He wasn’t fully immersed in the world like you were, but he felt as though he could carry a bit more of a conversation with you about music, especially when compared to before.

Harry was learning slowly but surely and in about a week he could, in theory, explain how to develop a minor chord from it’s major among various other basics (that you would probably think were common knowledge) but he had no recollection of learning.

As per usual, he spent every Monday and Wednesday evening with you. On Mondays, you would have movie night and on Wednesdays, he would get some work done in your office while you played. It never truly distracted him, either. Honestly, it made him feel very peaceful and he found that the routine was more about being in the presence of each other rather than making memories.

One Wednesday, he had completed his work early and as usual, he would sit and see what you had composed to help give his limited input on your compositions.

Typically, he would sit and listen silently with a slight tilt to his head while he thought up a thoughtful comment about your playing. You would always sit there anxiously, with your posture beginning to slouch since you were not playing anymore, waiting for a comment that you both knew would be neither helpful or negative.

Harry was good at that. He was good at making you feel like you were doing good with absolute sincerity and not a single waiver of his voice. His face would stay straight and he would find the good in it all. It was probably your favorite part of the man who sat with you on the particular day.

This time, unlike the last, your window was shut tight and you were trying your hardest to keep your hands steady. You couldn’t make the piece sound right. It sounded okay but that would not get you signed. It needed to be calculated and perfect in a theoretical standpoint. It also needed to be simple enough to split into parts for larger groups but difficult enough to have solo excerpts from each instrument- in case a full orchestra didn’t work.

And that was difficult to accomplish.

Harry knew that and he agreed- how could one person who hadn’t ever been signed make such an elaborate piece? He thought it was absolutely absurd that to maximize your chances you had to make the piece a combination of just about everything.

You sat with the same face as you usually did, one pleading for some sort of advice or criticism. What you weren’t expecting was for Harry to deliver.

“Think if you made it a minor chord instead of a major and ended on the seventh it could bring some edge,” Harry eventually says.

Your eyes widen slightly in confusion, “Yeah, uh, let me try that,” you stammered.

You covered what you had written with a sticky note, drawing on the new scale. You showed Harry the note and asked him if that was what he was thinking, to which he replied yes. You nod lightly and play the piece once again from the beginning, swaying slightly as you approached lyrical bits and narrowed your air stream to control your volume.

Harry nods along with your playing, pausing slightly in places he could tell you didn’t like much. Eventually, he watches as you play what he had suggested, anxiety rising up his throat in fear of not being accepted.

“Think I like it. But I need to fix some of the other stuff too,” you told him once you finished. “It would definitely feel right that way.”

Harry nodded and stood up. He rounded the long desk and joined you where you sat by the window in an uncomfortable chair made to help keep your posture near perfect. He crouched down so he could be eye level with your music and furrowed his brows.

You watched as he read the notes carefully, taking his time as he took in each technically challenging measure and the lyrically soft measures in contrast. You grew anxious for his approval so you busied yourself by taking the sticky note off of the manuscript and erasing and redrawing the notes for the new scale Harry advised you to add.

You took your time, slowly coloring each eighth note, the graphite crumbling down the page, leaving a light smear as you wiped it away with the side of your hand.

Harry looked up at you, “I think you should change this,” he points, “Make it flat and get rid of this note entirely,” he spoke slowly. You watch as his finger indicates each note and you nod along softly.

“Okay, I’ll try,” you agree.

He nods in response and rests his hand on your thigh, you hardly notice the action that felt natural in the moment.

You temporarily wrote in each suggestion and played the piece again from the beginning, a process the two of you were becoming increasingly annoyed with. As you approached the measure he had pointed out, your mind wondered: how did he know all this and why didn’t he mention any of it before?

Your air slowed down as your mind wandered and your fingers followed closely after, a ritardando, Harry noted. He hadn’t mentioned tempo but he found that bringing the piece down to cut time brought a new feeling that he couldn’t put his finger on.

Abruptly, you stopped, and Harry knew you didn’t realize. You both sat in silence for a moment before Harry stood up and moved back over to where he was sitting previously. He cleared his throat, “I’m gonna head out. Good luck Y/N,” he rushed out.

You shook your head in disbelief. You truly didn’t understand what just happened. But, you shook it off and tried again, keeping the ritardando.

Harry on the other hand, was in a state of panic. He had realized what he had done and he thought she did too, resulting in her abrupt stopping point.

Harry had begun to understand that he was in love with you. And he didn’t know until just then. But he had done everything just for you.

The following Sunday Harry finally managed to drag Louis out of his city apartment and downtown to the Meyerson Symphony Center where you were to perform Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Neither Harry or Louis have seen you perform this particular show so they were late to learn that you had auditioned for and successfully got the clarinet solo in a particular piece from the Symphony named Scherzo.

You had explained to Harry your appeal to this particular symphony- you found it to be unique of all the others that accompanied Shakespeare's work. Instead of relaying a difficult emotion or putting a satirical spin on a human issue like his other works did, you found Midsummer to be a pure romp into romance and the abnormalities of love.

And though you hadn’t been in love for a while, you found yourself feeling the emotion wholly through both the piece and music in it of itself.

Harry had read midsummer before- in fact he had seen it live with his mum and sister when he was younger, but he never understood the effect the music had on the play. He never looked into the contextualization of the play, let alone the deeper aspirations of it.

He understood music theory but he still had trouble analyzing music itself. He couldn’t pinpoint moods by just listening- he needed to see it written out which he believed hindered his ability to enjoy music to its fullest extent.

Needless to say, Harry entered the theater with Louis with a thought of determination. All he wanted was to find a way to understand the music and appreciate it as you did. They were both clad in matching suits, a simple black and white for the symphony, and made their way to the middle where their tickets directed them. Harry sat in the aisle and Louis sat right next to him, whispering in excitement of the show.

“I fucking love this story,” Louis says.

Harry lets out a quiet laugh, “I hardly remember it.”

Louis joins Harry in laughter and shrugs, “Oh well, it’ll still be good.”

Harry nods in agreement and turns away from Louis as the curtains open and the lights dim.

It wasn’t the first time he had seen you on this stage, but he found himself mesmerized as he found you with his eyes. He watched as you scanned the crowd quickly, your eyes jumping past him and Louis a few times before you recognized your friends. You shot them each a relieved smile and sat up straighter in your chair.

The conductor cast a smile at everyone before beginning the first piece, the Overture making its debut in the room. Just as Harry was used to, the melodic sounds filled the room to the brim, every last corner feeling the pure emotion that was put into the piece.

Harry couldn’t describe the feeling but he knew he was proud. He understood that watching you in your element is probably the worst thing he could do for himself, but he had to. It was pure torture to watch you fall in love with something that wasn’t him, but he loved the way it happened.

You lost yourself so easily and he felt as though you were the loudest in the room. He could hear your sound over everyone else's, your instrument being isolated from all the others in his mind. Harry could swear he had never been so proud in his life to see someone do what they love.

As the overture came to a close, his hands met in applause and he felt the need to stand up just so you would know how much he loved it. But as quickly as he started, he stopped his applause and the next piece was beginning.

No. 1 Scherzo. It was the second piece on the track and your personal favorite for reasons you would not disclose to Harry. He had heard you practice it a few times before, nodding along as he recognized fragments of the piece.

It was around three minutes into the piece when Harry learned why it was your favorite. Because it was just you. You were the only one playing- your solo bringing tears to his eyes. It was just that moment when you looked up and made eye contact with Harry, him nodding with a large grin on his face with reassurance, you’re doing amazing, it read.

When you looked back up at your music, your eyes narrowing in concentration, you failed to notice the look on Harry’s face. His phone had buzzed and he found himself confused- he was sure he put it on silent. The feeling that was elicited was nothing but good, so he decided to go check just for some peace of mind.

He stood up, pointing at his phone when Louis questioned him silently, gaining a nod of approval as Harry exited the theater in a rush.

The second he exited the room that was beginning to become overly stuffy and constricting, he took a deep breath and told himself you’re probably just overreacting.

Harry was anywhere from overreacting. It was that exact moment that he had received a text that was pushed through do not disturb. The text was from his mum and read nothing but horrible news. The five words that found themselves on his screen that illuminated his face as he stood right next to the door called him a coward. They read: This contact has dialed 999.

Harry understood the severity of the situation but he didn’t know what to do. All he knew is that she called- he didn’t know why or where she was. He didn’t know if he had to book a flight back home or not.

Just as Harry was getting up and leaving for his own agenda, you had finished your solo. You looked up once again, hearing the applause and searching for Harry once more. But this time, you found Louis sat alone with a large grin creeping across his face and his applause filling the space next to him.

You had never felt as hurt as you did in that moment. He had left you. Harry, the man you now realized you love, found something more important than you and your aspirations, and there was no physical way that it wouldn’t sting. What you didn’t know was that as your heart was breaking, Harry’s mum’s was.

It had taken two hours for someone to answer the phone. Two hours for Harry to spend most of his savings on a red eye to the London airport. Ten hours for him to touch down in London. Three to make his way to the hospital next to his childhood home.

He was distraught to say the least.

He had left without mention of what was happening, his phone exploding with texts from Louis and Monica making sure he was okay, but not a word from you. He felt betrayed, but he understood. You had things going on too and he wasn’t the center of your universe.

The hospital looked sterile, not a single thing out of place. The walls were coated in a pristine white color that nearly blinded Harry’s bloodshot eyes, and he spent a few minutes catching his breath before he asked where his dad was.

He walked sluggishly onto the elevator, the weight of reality crushing him as he waited for what seemed like ages but really was hardly forty seconds for the elevator to jolt to a stop. When it stepped off, he saw what he imagined to be organized chaos.

People were walking quickly up and down the lengths of the corridor and he found himself passing by far too many crying people to think anything good could ever happen in a hospital- not revival nor birth.

He walked the length of the corridor in silence, taking in his surroundings. He was in shock- he could hardly even process that he was in England, let alone why he was there. It was only when he stopped shortly at the sight of his mum and sister sleeping, their heads resting on each other's, that he realized the severity of what was happening.

And so, with a deep breath, he sat down on the floor before them, resting his back lightly against the leg chairs and he rested his forehead on his knees. It didn’t seem like his life that he was living- he felt like this was all a vivid dream, but it wasn’t. It was less than twenty four hours ago that he was with Louis watching your performance and now he sat with his family outside of his father's hospital room praying he would be okay.

Harry was one of hopeful thinking and that was made apparent when a doctor exited his father's room with a stack of papers.

Harry was the first to stand, followed by his mother and sister, who were unsure of when he had arrived. He shook hands with the doctor, who he learned was named doctor Wilson. He was clad in the same scrubs as every other doctor but Harry found his to be a special type of unattractive- or maybe that was his subconscious distracting himself from the situation at hand.

Doctor Wilson cleared his throat as Anne made her way next to Harry, Gemma shielding herself from the news from behind him, “So,” he cleared his throat “Mr. Styles came in about a year ago to have his lungs screened, as you may know, and he was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer,” he nodded.

“Well, Mr. Styles seems to have,” he left a pregnant pause in his sentence, “He seems to have the cancer cells spreading rapidly. We would like to put him on a self contained respirator and monitor him closely to give you some more accurate information about his cancer and give you some answers within a few hours,” he says slowly.

Harry shook his head in disbelief- his father had never mentioned cancer let alone a screening.

“Thank you doctor,” he heard Anne speak from behind him. He sent a last glance at the broken family and moved back into the room.

It was the first you had heard from him in about half a week. He had called you on Wednesday after not answering your messages asking if he will make his way over on Monday for your movie night.

“Hi,” you answer softly.

“Hey- uh,” you heard some shuffling, “Hey.”

Your eyes furrowed in confusion, “Are you coming over?”

There was a long pause on Harry’s end and you just about opened your mouth to confirm that he could hear you when he replied, “No,” he said shortly. “I- uh- I’m at home.”

“Do you want me to come over?” you asked in confusion.

“No, like, I’m in the UK,” he quickly corrected you.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, leaving a pregnant pause on your end, “Oh,” you replied.

“Yeah, I-” you could hear a few other voices in the background and you imagined they were his mum and sister, “My dad- he’s not doing so good. He has stage four lung cancer.”

“Oh,” you let out again. “I- uh- sorry, I really just don’t know what to say right now.”

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, which you could tell had bitter undertones, “That’s alright… don’t exactly know what to say myself.”

“I- uh- I’m really sorry,” you tell him sincerely, “God I feel like such an ass,” you expressed.

Harry’s eyes furrowed in confusion and he looked up at his mum to ensure she wasn’t listening, “No need, I promise it’s fine you don’t have to say anything.”

“I just- I was so mad at you for leaving and not saying anything and ignoring me. Thought I did something wrong or you were mad at me,” you explain. “Didn’t know what was going on and I was scared that I lost you.”

“Couldn’t lose me if you tried,” Harry laughed softly, you joining his laughter momentarily.

“Are you still mad I didn’t tell you I was going?” Harry asked after a long moment of silence.

“No- not at all. Was mainly just worried,” you reassure him, “I totally understand,” but you didn’t. How could he not tell you? Did he not think you deserved to know why he left when you were playing for him?

“I’m really sorry. Kinda just fell off the face of the Earth for a few days. Was anticipating the news and trying to stay strong for my mum and Gemma,” he explains.

Before you could reply, Harry starts again, “Hey, uh, we’re going back to the hospital so I’ll talk to you later, alright?” he says quickly before hanging up and leaving you alone in your study, clarinet in front of you.

You truly didn’t know how to cope with what just happened- it felt like heartbreak on two spectrums- family and lover. But he was neither, which hurt even more.

You picked up the piece of handcrafted wood that sat in front of you and tried your hardest to pour your heartbreak into the piece- adding pain, edge, and suffering to the nearly- done piece in an attempt to exert your feelings into something productive.

It worked like a charm, which was something you felt bad mentioning. You found yourself falling in love with the piece, fractures of your heart making up every line and the composition falling right into place as your muse fell right apart across the world.

It was the next morning when you received the message from Harry: He’s gone. In his sleep. I’ll be home in a week. Gotta sort some things out. -H

Harry arrived home that following Tuesday and he was exhausted but grateful to be back to his tiny townhouse in the middle of a city with his friends surrounding him.

He felt as though coping wasn’t an option anymore- he had taken up a whole week for that and in this moment in time he felt as though he had already done enough coping.

There was a memorial service the weekend after his father died and to say Harry’s family were crushed would be an understatement.

Anne, Gemma, and Harry each had prepared a speech for the service and none of them felt as though they could do the senior Styles any justice. He was a good man and they couldn’t even begin to explain that to everyone there. Nobody could understand the pain in the same way as they did, so they did their best to remember him in the best light.

Harry was mainly happy for one thing- the following day was Wednesday. He had taken off the rest of the week so he could recover from any jet lag and start the new week back with a fresh start, so he knew that tomorrow would be a great day to catch up. With work and with you.

He hadn’t seen a single person since he was back but upholding the tradition was important to him. He favored you over most all his friends anyway, so when he parked his old car in the driveway of the large house you inherited from your grandparents, he was excited.

He knocked twice and rang your doorbell once,queuing you to open the door in shock less than a minute after. “What are you doing here?” you ask confused, pulling Harry into a long hug. You had missed him on his ten days of abstinence from you.

“Got back yesterday, can’t skip out on tradition,” he shoots you a smile, letting go of your warm embrace. You took a moment to look at him before deciding he wanted a distraction from everything going on in his life.

You open the door further, beckoning him to come in, “Well come on, I need your opinion on my piece,” you gesture towards your office dramatically.

Harry chuckles and bows in thanks, “After you,” he says with a posh accent.

You both laugh, heading inside to where your things were set up and ready to go. He sat down in the same chair as he always does and you round the desk to sit where your clarinet was standing and your manuscript laid.

“Okay, so I added, kind of a lot, while you were gone,” you warm him.

He nodded and gestured for you to play, “Well go on then. Show me what you added,” he crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair.

You glanced at Harry and your music a few times each in an attempt to correlate the two in your mind- this was your Harry and he would never hurt you. You began to play the piece that you had become sickly familiar with but Harry found himself utterly perplexed at the sound of a new beginning. You had nearly changed the entire beginning and Harry loved it.

He found it to be oddly comforting to listen to you for what felt like the first time ever but in reality it was just another sense of stability in the world you two had created- the world that was exclusively Harry and Y/N.

The moment you reached the end, a bit he had helped you with, you found yourself stumbling over your composition, making Harry's brow furrow together. You were a perfectionist when it came to music- you loved the control that came with being able to play flawlessly and change how it all came together and he found it odd that you of all people were messing up something you had written in for weeks.

“Sorry,” you let out a huff, running a hand through your hair, “I’m really stressed and it’s really making this all worse.”

Harry nodded in understanding, “You should take a break,” he tells you with full seriousness.

You look at him with a blank face for a moment before bursting out into laughter, “You can’t be serious.”

Harry looked at you confused, “I’m serious.”

“Harry this is my job. This is equivalent to me getting a promotion. I can’t stop!” you explain harshly.

Harry nodded, “I understand. Just-” he paused, “Just come with me, okay?”

“No, Harry, I can't, I have to do this,” you stood your ground.

“Y/N,” he spoke firmly, “If you hate this and want to kick me out for a week and let you compose on your own after this, you can. Just come.”

You let out a sigh and deliberated your options, “Fine. But there is a high chance you’re not showing up at my door for a week,” you point an accusatory finger at Harry.

He raises his hands in defense, “Okay, noted. Let’s go slowpoke,” he teased.

You flashed him your middle finger and a toothy grin before packing up your clarinet and setting it on your desk. You follow Harry out to his car and get in the passenger seat as he starts the car and makes his way out of your neighborhood.

“Can I ask where we are going?”

“Patience is a virtue,” Harry replied, making you roll your eyes dramatically.

“You’re so annoying,” you reply.

“You love me,” he states smugly, making your eyes grow the size of saucers.

“Not right now I don’t” you tease once you recover from your previous state of shock.

Harry shakes his head and says, “Home Depot. That’s all you’re getting out of me.”

You wondered why he could be taking you to Home Depot of all places- not getting food or going shopping to find another piece of clothing you don’t need.

Harry parked easily before exiting the car, you follow after him in a haste. You have to job to catch up with Harry who seems to be walking a mile a minute to get into the building, “What the fuck are we doing here?” you ask again.

“We,” Harry says, pointing at the two of you, “Are going to paint that white wall in your office,” he says with a smile.

Your face mirrors his, a grin of your own making its way across your face. You had mentioned to Harry months ago that you were itching to paint the room but you never made the time for yourself to do that.

This time, it was you who took the lead, teasing Harry for taking too long to make his way into the store. You find your way to the back of the store where you see a few employees mixing paint for customers and you find your way to the pantone swatches, Harry immediately picking up a brown one, “I think it’ll match the wood, no?”

You laugh and shake your head, “No I want it to be your hair color.”

Harry’s mouth opens in realization before grabbing another strip. He squints, reading the name aloud, “Werge,” he says confused.

You fall into a fit of laughter before moving down the wall to look at the blues, the color you were actually hoping to get.

With Harry’s unwillingness to be serious and your contagious laughs, it took you forty five minutes to find the color you had seen online a few months ago and had screenshotted on your phone.

You make your way over to an employee and ask for a gallon of the deep navy color, paying and making your way back into Harry’s car within a few minutes.

Your knee was bouncing in anticipation on your way home and you didn’t realize until Harry rested his palm on it, asking you, “What’s got you so nervous?” to which you reply:

“Not nervous, just excited.”

Harry chuckled and kept his hand there for the rest of the ride to your house, which you found to be far too close then you wanted it to be.

You both found yourselves in your garage loading your arms with painters tape and tarp to ensure your room is painted to perfection and not too messy afterwards.

You spilled some paint into the tray and used a roller to begin putting the fresh paint on the middle of the wall. Harry gasps when he sees the color in contrast with the wood that covered every other wall in the room, “It matches so well,” he comments, using a smaller brush to begin on the bottom strip of the wall where the painters tape stuck.

He sat on the floor, his legs crossed beneath him, and you stood a few feet to his left, the paint sitting between the two of you.

You nod, “I know, it compliments the wood really well.”

Harry shakes his head, “Not the wood. I meant it matches my eyes,” he draws out.

You roll your eyes and let out a shut up before looking at him.

“Seriously,” he persists, setting his head next to the gallon that sat on the floor.

You raised your eyebrows and nodded slowly, dipping your roller back onto the tray, allowing the residue to fall off before you rolled a bit on his face and shirt.

“What the fuck?” he laughs, sitting up immediately.

“I had to check!” you exclaim innocently. “You know, now that I look, I think you’re right. It does match, we should use more,” you conclude.

“Now that I look,” Harry starts, with an evil glint in his eye, “I think this is the color your shirt is missing,” he concludes, flinging his brush in your direction allowing the paint to fall on your face and shirt.

“Oh my god!” you shout as Harry doubles over in laughter.

You bring your brush into the paint once more, taking a threatening step towards Harry. He flinches, making you chuckle and redirect the paint onto the wall again, making him breathe a sigh of relief.

He begins again on the bottom edge and before you could think you're safe, Harry gets paint on your ankle from where he sat on the floor.

You let out a loud gasp, “This is war!” you exclaim.

“Or you can just admit that you needed a break,” Harry shrugs, “It’s quite simple.”

You narrow your eyes and look at him, “I am going to cover you in paint. It’s quite simple,” you mock him childishly.

He shakes his head with a laugh before painting the rest of your ankle, making a ring around your foot.

It had taken two hours to complete painting the wall and to complete your paint war. You and Harry found yourselves in your backyard while your sprinklers were spraying the grass.

“Best way to clean,” Harry breathed out.

“You say you’re one with nature but what are you going to say when my grass is blue?” you ask him as you scrub at your legs to get off the paint.

“I’ll say part of me is really with nature this time,” he says shaking the water out of his hair as he walks towards the hose that was attached to the side of your house.

You shake your head in disbelief, ��I don’t think that’s how it works,” you say, looking at Harry as he walks towards you with the hose gushing water out.

You step towards him and let him spray you down and you watch as the paint falls off your skin and into the grass, your shirt clinging to your body.

Harry tries to keep his attention on your face and not on the black bra that begins to show from your wet shirt that stuck to your body like a second skin.

You fiddled with the fit of your shirt, trying to make sure you were comfortable, before scrubbing your arms and legs clean.

Harry and you had decided after the first hit that you would do your best to avoid each other's faces just to make everything easier when it came to cleaning.

You rinse your hair fully before deciding you're as clean as you’d get without using a proper shower (which you didn’t want to turn blue from the paint), so you stepped towards Harry with your arm extended towards him.

“My turn,” Harry says softly, handing you the hose before spreading his arms out and letting the water hit his entire body, “This feels nice,” he comments.

“You’re crazy,” you reply. Harry shakes his head and takes his shirt off in an attempt to get everything off and you almost look away instinctively- you weren’t supposed to see your friend like this.

He allows the pressure of the hose to get most of the paint off his body but he seems a bit carefree about the cleanliness of his body at this point- you’re assuming this is the distraction you both needed from your mundane lives.

Harry finishes off with the hose and you run inside to grab the two of you towels, opting to stay outside for the rest of the night.

You both sit outside on the back porch swing that sat in your yard, wrapped in towels so you don’t get too cold in the autumn air. “You were right,” you mutter, leaning your head onto his shoulder.

“About?” Harry edges you on and you can practically hear him smiling through his words.

“I needed a break.”

What felt like a year was only two months and in those two months you had accomplished what you had been attempting since eighteen. You finished what seemed to be the perfect piece from a technical standpoint.

It told a story of betrayal and heartbreak and it included a plethora of twists in tone and changes in tempo and unresolved keys to add edge and lead the listener on. The piece, in theory, was among the most perfect ones written.

At least that's what Harry told you and that's what you tried to tell yourself.

You had just finished the process of getting it all recorded, recruiting some of your friends from the orchestra to take home your manuscript that you wrote in harmonies and new melodies to.

You spent a week editing the music together, sending recordings back, asking for retakes, and adjusting volumes, tempos, and tone before you were satisfied with the music.

All in all, it was a musically complex and fundamentally difficult piece that could be extended into a show or turned into a series of simpler solos- whatever would get your music sold to a publisher, you were willing to do.

You had contacts from your previous attempts at selling your compositions, contacts that rejected you but told you to come back if you had something new. You did not take the suggestion lightly.

You had mastered an email with your pitch- stating your name and your credentials, attaching a file of the piece, along with the score which separated individual parts and showed their dynamic together. It was your life's work and a story you were excited to sell, and that is why you were particularly excited when you received an email back the following week.

The email, in short, explained that a publisher would like to meet with you and is interested in helping you publish the music and help you get on the radar of a symphonic orchestra.

You were a giddy mess leading up to your meeting, your leg shaking in anticipation and your heart beating so loud you swear you could feel it in your throat. So, when it arrived it felt surreal.

You stepped into the tall building in a haze, your hands clutching onto your score and your body clad in your favorite orchestral dress that you find to be the one you wear to the majority of your auditions. You call it your good luck charm.

The receptionist was short and directed you to the fifth floor and gave you strict instructions to wait to be called in by Flynn Bradford’s assistant. You sat in the waiting room with a warm overcoat covering your body in the meantime.

When you got called up your hands began to sweat. You find your way into Bradford’s office and with a nervous step forward, you take your jacket off and sit down on the small chair before his desk.

“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you introduce yourself with a handshake, Bradford immediately recognizing your name.

“Flynn Bradford, a pleasure,” he returns with a friendly smile.

He was a middle aged man with a few silver hairs peeking through, but he wore a friendly smile and seemed very composed nonetheless. He took your score and opened it immediately. He looked over it in silence for a few moments, you sitting on the edge of your seat.

“I do have to say, Ms. Y/L/N, I was waiting to meet you so I could go over this with you. I think you’re a brilliant composer,” he speaks slowly.

You swallow harshly, “Thank you so much,” you gush, “I’ve been at it since I was a kid so I’m glad you liked it.”

He nods again, sifting through the pages, “And I have to say I’m impressed by the tone in the demo and the overall markup of the piece. I think there are a few minor changes that we’d like to see done but all in all I think it’s good.”

You nod your head quickly, “Of course and I was expecting to do so. I- uh- how many changes are we thinking about here?”

“Well it’s still your piece, so quite minor ones just to increase your chances of having it sold to a school or a symphony. Or, you could keep it how it is but that might not be the easiest to sell.”

“Right, so hypothetically, if I get all the changes done and we’re satisfied within a few weeks, it can go off to you?” you ask in shock.

“It seems to be that way, yes. I’ll send you a contract and some markups once I get to talk with my team about this. It would be best to get your own lawyer to look over this for copyright purposes and to make sure you’re alright with all the fine print,” he advises.

“Yes, I will definitely do that, yeah. Thank you so much,” you reiterate.

He hums a reply and hands you back your score with a tight lipped smile, “So this meeting was a bit quicker and the other might be too depending on what you like and want. Remember all the corrections we send are suggestions so you do what you want and we’ll be alright with whatever you choose to do,” he reminds you.

You nod and shake his hand once more, leaving the building with bright eyes and a winning score in your hands.

The first instinct you had as you sat back into your car was to call Harry but you were so overwhelmed with excitement you decided that going to see him at his house would be a better idea.

After all, he deserved to be the first person to know because he helped you so much when it came to the composition of this piece.

You were smiling incredibly wide as you made your way over to his townhouse in the city. His complex was very modern, a clear juxtaposition to your victorian styled home, but you welcomed it warmly. You enjoyed the prospect of having a place to go that is more minimal in comparison to your cluttered property.

It was hardly fifteen minutes before you parked outside of his home, your car finding its normal spot in the driveway of his garage.

Your legs carried you faster than you could have imagined, rushing you to the front of his house and your hand pounded against his door with a sense of urgency.

Harry took his time making his way downstairs, a towel around his waist and an impatient girl he had hardly met waited in his bed upstairs.

He opened his door slightly, allowing his head to peek out of the small crack he created, “Hey!” he exclaimed when he realized it was you.

“Hi! Can I come in?” you ask excitedly.

“I’m not exactly decent,” his hand scratches the back of his neck, “Can you wait down here as I get some clothes on?”

“Sure, take your time,” you nod in understanding, allowing Harry to make his way back upstairs.

“Who’s at the door?” the girl asks from her spot on his bed as Harry changes quickly into some sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

“Just a friend, she should be gone soon,” he replies.

“You sure? She seemed really excited to see you.”

Harry lets out a sigh, “Logan, I promise she's just a friend. And what does it matter anyway?”

“Well I don't want to be the other woman,” she pouts, “But if you say she’s just a friend then I believe you.”

“Thanks,” he called over his shoulder briefly as he made his way back downstairs to where you were waiting on his sofa.

“So whats up?” he asks, “Want anything to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. I have some news, though,” you say, enthusiasm raising once again.

“Okay, lay it on me,” Harry joins you on the sofa.

“So I met with Flynn Bradford today,” you lead on, hoping Harry could understand what the news was.

“No way,” he exclaimed after a moment of silence. “He picked you up? That’s amazing holy shit! Congrats!”

“Thanks! You helped so much, I thought you had to be the first to know. And on Wednesday you can help me decide what corrections to add, too. This is all so exciting! It’s happening so fast!” you ramble quickly, standing up and pulling Harry into a hug.

“No you did that all on your own! I knew they’d pick you up, too. So fucking talented,” he mumbles, returning your embrace.

“Thank you oh my goodness! Okay, I just wanted to come over quick to tell you that. I have to work on some audition music so I’ll head out in a few,” you say.

Harry opens his mouth to reply when you both hear his bedroom door open. Harry’s eyes widened in realization and your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Harry?” you hear an unrecognizable voice, “You done?”

You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes as you start to realize what was happening. He was with someone. He found someone and it wasn’t you.

She walks down the stairs and your head immediately turns in the direction of the girl. You inhale sharply, trying to keep your tears in the ducts of your eyes as you see her in a t-shirt you know Harry absolutely loves.

“Hey, uh Logan. This is Y/N,” he trails off lightly, waiting for you to introduce yourself.

“Hi,” you smile falsely and extend your hand for her to shake.

“Hey, I’m Logan. You’re Harry’s friend?” she presumes, looking at the two of you.

“Yeah, we’re pretty close,” you pause, “Sorry, I didn’t know H was seeing anyone. This was kind of unexpected.”

“Oh that’s alright, I was going to leave soon anyway. Have to meet some friends for dinner,” she shrugged carelessly.

“No, no, you can stay. I feel bad. I can be out in a few minutes,” you tell her with a soft smile.

She looked at you and Harry intervened before she could get a word out, “That’s alright, you can both stay if you want?” he suggested.

“I really do have to go,” Logan trailed off.

Harry quickly jumped at this, “Oh! Sorry, love. Yeah, go ahead, don’t mean to keep you here if you need to be somewhere.”

“I’ll just grab my stuff,” she smiles at the two of you and heads back upstairs to where you assume she was staying in Harry’s bedroom.

You and Harry stand in silence for a moment, “Sorry I should’ve asked to come over. I’ll go, you can spend some time with her before she leaves,” you finally stammer with a slightly wavering voice.

“No!” Harry exclaims a bit too loudly, making you flinch at his tone. “You can stay,” he whispers.

“That’s alright, I have to practice anyway,” you say in a rush, leaving his house at once without looking back at him.

It was two days later when Logan showed up at Harry’s house with a soft smile on her face and her eyes filled with lust.

Not only two minutes after Harry opened the door, his lips were on hers and they were making their ways upstairs to his bedroom. Logan had come to Harry’s for a quick fuck and Harry was there to provide.

It had taken them a few weeks to get into a flow and get a general idea of each others bodys and needs and now that they were getting good sex, they didn’t take many moments to stop and catch their breath.

There were a few moments, though where Logan knew she fell short of your company. She could tell with a quick glance at Harry that he was a lovesick puppy when it came to you and it became more and more apparent the more time they spent together.

When they weren’t fucking, he spent most of his free time talking about you. The girl of his dreams and the funniest, prettiest, nicest, person he’s ever met.

She had her hands in his hair and he had his hands tugging on her waist when his phone began buzzing from his bedside table.

Logan sat up from where she laid, straddling Harry’s lap. He let out a soft groan and ran and hand through his hair as he checked who had called him.

His lips fell into an effortless smile as he answered your call, leaving Logan breathless and unfulfilled. She resulted in getting up from his bed and walking out of his house once she realized it was you he was talking to.

That following Monday, you watched as Harry made his way into your home, an uncomfortable silence encompassing the two of you as you sat on your sofa.

“How was your date with Logan?” you ask eventually.

“Oh, it was- it wasn’t a date,” Harry tried to describe, leaving you confused. Harry wasn’t one for casual hookups.

“Then what was it?” you ask timidly, hoping for an answer you can understand.

“Just meeting an old friend from college,” he coughs.

“A friend?” you ask confused.

“Yeah, uh, a friend,” he emphasized.

“Oh,” you let out softly, “Why’d you get back with her?” you ask.

“I don’t think the girl I like likes me back, so I wanted a distraction” he replies vaguely, turning on your TV in search of a new film to watch on Netflix.

You swallow the lump in your throat before replying, “I don’t see why she wouldn’t.”

Harry looks at you for the first time that day, “Well she doesn’t act like it at all, so I think I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me.”

“I think you should tell her how you feel,” you shrug, “What is there to lose?”

“A person who I value a lot in my life,” he replies almost instantly.

You didn’t reply after that, allowing the film Harry chose in a haze to begin and you sink further into the sofa.

It had been an eventful week. You had sent back your manuscript twice between today and your original week and yesterday you had auditioned for the live orchestra for the annual Nutcracker production.

This had been your fifth year playing in it- you were very confident in your ability to get a spot in the orchestra- but it was the solo that brought you grief. Every year, each section had a competitive fight between musicians for the solos that are littered through the production.

You found that the busy week that had followed you around became the main reason you were able to get your mind off Harry. No matter what you did he meandered his way into your thoughts and you were beginning to feel pathetic that your mood relied on him.

It was when you came home from auditions on Tuesday evening when you got a phone call from Harry. You hesitantly picked up the phone and allowed him to speak first.

“Y/N? You there? Can you talk for a second?” he asked.

“Yeah, what’s up,” you reply.

“I need your advice. I think Logan wants to start seeing someone but she won’t admit it to me so I don’t know what I should do because I don’t want her to hold back on it just because of me,” he pushes quickly.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Well why wouldn’t she admit she wants to see someone? She probably likes you, H, don’t worry. She’ll talk to you if she likes someone else.”

You heard a heavy sigh come from Harry’s end of the line as you picked up all your belongings from your car, your phone sitting between your shoulder and ear. “Yeah, I just- I don’t think she wants to tell me for some reason.”

What you didn’t know was that Harry was trying to prolong this call in an attempt to see if you would tell him to cut it off with Logan. It had only been a few weeks, and to be fair he hadn’t hooked up with her more then three times.

He knew he loved you but he needed confirmation that you liked him back. Logan insisted that you did but he didn’t trust her judgement as much as he trusted his own.

As you learned through numerous conversations with Harry, he is a charming man, but he is also a confusing one. He isn’t direct and he seems to beat around the bush when it comes to serious things in his life.

“Okay,” you say, confused, “Well just tell her that if she can’t be honest then she’s never going to be able to break it off with you. And if she says the same thing and you still don’t believe her just cut it off,” you advise selfishly.

You wanted to help Harry, you truly did, but you were also a human. You were selfish and needy and you wanted Harry to yourself. So, you did what a selfish, and jealous, girl would do and you hinted at breaking it off.

“Thanks,” he let out a huff of air, “Sorry, I have to sort some stuff out and I’m really stressed so I wanted your opinion about this,” he apologizes.

“It’s alright. Let me know how it goes, yeah? I gotta run some errands but I’ll see you tomorrow?” you confirm.

Harry hums in agreement and you hang up first, leaving him with the dial tone on his phone.

The first thing you do when you get in your office is check your email. You were waiting on a reply from Bradford- you had just sent in another round of corrections and asked him for minor technical critiques to finish off the piece. You were proud of where it was and you were thoroughly in love with it.

Just as you opened your laptop, you saw the taunting icon saying you have an unread email. You attempted to calm your nerves before opening it, preparing yourself for almost all senders.

But calming your nerves turned into a loud scream. Bradford had replied and informed you that he loved the piece and accepts it as your final draft. He also mentioned that he will fax over the legal documents to look over before meeting with him officially and signing all the necessary contracts.

Just as he said, later that night you received a thick stack of papers to sift off to your parents to help you look over and make sure everything was alright for you to sign.

You bind all the pages together with a few paperclips and make a quick drive into the suburbs to give your parents the good news and ask them to help you find someone to look over all the papers for you.

Your parents weren’t the most enjoyable people to live with but they were great to see in moderation. It was a large showcase of love every time you or Monica came home- they cooked, cleaned, and helped with just about everything you asked.

So, when you arrived home, you got the full treatment. Your mom had cooked a nice dinner for you all and your dad helped you look over the contracts in their entirety as you waited for dinner to be served. You deemed the papers safe and the three of you decided you could sign on them as soon as possible and get all the proper licensing.

You were overjoyed on your drive home and the moment you arrived back, you sent Bradford a quick email from your phone saying you can meet anytime to sign and that you had looked over the contracts.

The following morning, you had gotten back a response stating he was free later that afternoon and you took him up on his offer to sign on the fine Wednesday.

You met him back at his office, similar to the first time, and you had brought all the papers he had sent you, giving him a solid rundown of what you were expecting and negotiating royalties.

You had taken half an hour to settle on a final deal and Bradford had gotten the contracts readjusted for you to sign.

It was nerve wracking but exciting to be holding the pen in your hand and you signed page after page, ensuring your music could be sold and would be given proper care and proper copyright laws.

“Last one right here, Y/N,” Bradford encouraged you. Your wrist grew tired but you refused to complain considering how much you wanted this and how long you waited.

“Okay,” you grunted, signing your name sloppily and allowing Bradford to pull all the papers out from under your hold.

“So, what this all ensures from our relationship standpoint is that we are the primary distributor and we will be helping with copyright and making sure you get your money's worth,” he briefs with a chuckle. He straightens out the stack and stands up with a smile on his face.

You follow in suit and stand up at the desk, straightening out your pants, “Thank you so much,” you gush.

“Thank you for thinking to work with us,” Bradford countered, making you shake your head.

“Of course,” you say kindly, “And I appreciate all you’ve done for me these past few weeks. Been a huge help.”

“Oh it was our pleasure, Y/N. You're a wonderful artist. I think we all enjoyed working with your piece.”

You shake Bradfords hand and exchange pleasantries as you exit his office with a smile on your face.

It was the rush of relief that went through your body that helped you realize the gravity of what just happened. Your music has been sold and now has the opportunity to be in music shops, orchestras, and played all across the globe. And that was a great feeling.

It was indescribable, to say the least. It had taken over a year to compose the piece and you had multiple failed attempts prior to this one. The piece you named Domicile was quite literally a love letter to your life.

The piece went through the ups and downs of love. Domestic love, platonic love, romantic love. It was all encompassed in the piece you titled home.

Written from the back of your mind, you had no idea how to articulate how proud of yourself you were. It was self expression and it was beautiful.

Later that evening, Harry arrived at your home as he usually did. He held a small calculator and his laptop in his arm as he abandoned his car in your driveway and made his way up to your door.

He knocked before opening it, knowing you always forget to lock it when you came home from work, and he followed the noise of soft jazz down the hall and into your office.

The paint smell had finally vanished the room and he found you sitting comfortably on the floor with your legs folded beneath you. “Hey, how was your day?” He asks, walking in and sitting across from you on the floor.

“Really fucking good,” you grin, making eye contact with him.

“Care to explain?” he asks with wide eyes and an encouraging smile.

“Yes,” you say dramatically, “I, Y/N Y/L/N, am officially,” you pause for effect.

“Oh come on,” Harry groans in anticipation.

“I am officially a signed artist,” you squeal in excitement.

“No fucking way,” he says softly, “No fucking way!” he yells. “I knew you would oh my goodness! This is amazing! We have to celebrate-” he rambles on.

“Harry!” you exclaim with a giggle, “No need to celebrate this is enough!” you assure.

“No, no, no,” Harry says, “We gotta do something. Even if it’s just a dinner with Mon and I. We gotta.”

“No,” you reiterate firmly.

“Fine,” Harry says, “But you’re coming with me,” he says standing up. He extends his hand out and helps you stand before leading you to your living room.

He gently tugs your arm towards him and he presses his chest up against yours. “Play it on the speaker, love,” he whispers.

“Okay,” you say softly, pulling back and using your phone to play the symphony over your speaker system per Harry’s request.

Harry smiled at you and gently put his hand up to yours, interlocking your fingers and holding you tightly. “Dance with me?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

“Of course, sir,” you tease, stepping into his hold, his arms wrapping around your waist and your hands draped over his shoulders lightly.

“I’m really proud of you,” he whispers, swaying back and forth.

“Thank you so much,” you hum, “Seriously, you helped with so much of it. I really appreciate it.”

Harry ducked his head in a bashful manner, unsure of how to reply to your high praise, “I’d do it again if I had to.”

You shake your head, looking out the window next to you two. The sun was setting and the sky was a painting of oranges and pinks, “God, Harry.”

“What,” he chuckles, following your gaze.

“I cannot believe you’re real,” you whisper, you hand moving to meet his jaw. You graze your thumb over his skin in utter disbelief.

“Harry?” you call out softly. He was zoned out, staring at your profile.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course.”

“Can I kiss you?” you breathe out timidly. You don’t know where exactly you got all the courage that consumed your body at that current moment, but you were thankful for it.

Harry swallowed thickly before his eyes met yours, “Yes please,” he whispers back at you.

Your hand that rested on his jaw caressed the skin for a moment before you leaned into his warmth. Your lips met his lightly, you pulling away too quickly for his liking. Harry looked at you once more before leaning forward and allowing his lips to meet yours heavily.

You smile into his mouth, absolute joy coursing through your veins as he kissed you so carefully but so harshly. Your bodies stilled into the kiss, your mouths moving in sync slowly, absorbing every inch of each other.

Harry lets out a small groan as you grind slowly against him, his head threatening to roll back if it weren’t for your hand holding his head still.

His hands moved along your back comfortingly making your body melt into his expertly. You pull away again, Harry looking at you with dimmed eyes, you completely out of breath, “Songs over,” you whisper.

“So restart it,” he replies with a small grin.

Harry ended up seeing the full performance of Midsummer the last night it was performed at the theater. He apologized profusely and insisted he’d see the last of the show if it was the last thing he did, so you let him come and sit right in the front as he wished.

Just as the first time, he sent you smiles of luck before your solo and a few more afterwards to show he was proud of you. Just as you anticipated, he is the best person to cheer you on during a performance.

You knew Harry would be waiting for you in the lobby, so you held off on putting your overcoat on and allowed yourself to step out of the backstage area with your black dress and short heels, your clarinet and jacket in hand.

He held his arm out for you once you became close enough for him to wrap his fingers around your waist and you walked into his hold, “I got something for you,” he tells you.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you ask with a smile creeping its way onto your lips.

Harry smiles at you before handing you the flowers that sat in his other hand. It was an assortment of long stem red roses, what he read to be the traditional rose to give after a performance.

“Thank you,” you whisper in awe, your eyes meeting his as he looks at you.

Harry hums in response and tugs you closer to his body before leaving a quick peck on your lips and pulling away just as fast as he approached you.

You and Harry were confused to say the least. You had both confirmed you liked each other the night you got signed but you found it difficult for the two of you to label what was going on. Harry wanted it to be exclusive and you wanted to give it a trial run to see how it would work. And though you did give it a trial run, the two of you were yet to discuss what was going on.

You assumed this would be like any other relationship you had been in- after a few months and a handful of dates, you’d consider yourselves partners- but this was vastly different. You have known Harry for a few years now and he has always been a part of your life. So what counted as a date and what was as normal?

Well, tonight constituted a date. Harry had told you before he arrived that he would be taking you out for a nice dinner after your show and to be ready for the best night of your life. You rolled your eyes at his antics and humored him by showing him the outfit you had picked out- the dress you found yourself wearing every Sunday- and a different jacket then you usually wore- this one more flattering for the body.

Harry nodded in approval at this and made his way to the theater, you asking one of your friends to give you a ride so you could go home with Harry later that night.

Now you sat in Harry’s car with his hand resting on your knee, your hand covering his as he drives you both to dinner. He was clad in the same suit he wore the first time he saw you and it subtly matched the black dress and white coat with pleats that you wore next to him.

Harry informed you when you got in the car that he would be taking you to his favorite (fancy) steakhouse in the next city over. Before you could protest her told you it was in celebration of your final performance and being signed, therefore your protests would only further encourage him.

“Will these flowers be alright sitting in the car during dinner?” you ask him.

“Not sure,” he chuckles, looking over at you, “I’ll get you new ones if they aren’t.”

“No!” you’re quick to stop him, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well what if I want to? You gonna stop me from fulfilling my inner desires?” he asks you teasingly.

You roll your eyes at him and look out the window. The soft sounds of Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac fill the silence as Harry exits the highway and turns into the parking lot of Del Friscos, the steakhouse.

Harry exits the car first, rushing to your door so he can open the door for you. You smile at him as you step out of the car and walk in the building hand in hand.

The restaurant was dimly lit and had high, round booths around the perimeter of the room, tables with pristine white tablecloths among the center. Harry met the host with a small smile and a, “Styles, party of two,” before being led to a corner booth with you in toe.

You smile at Harry as you slide into the booth, your hands making their way to the hem of your dress and tugging on it, “This place is really nice,” you comment your voice laced with insecurity.

“Yup, that’s why we look really nice,” Harry reminds you.

“I feel like this is normal,” you chuckle, “I wear this every Sunday.”

“My girl looks this nice every Sunday and I never knew? Might have to make a pit stop Sunday nights too,” Harry compliments.

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, “I’d be alright with that.”

Harry smiles at you as a waitress comes over and asks what drinks you’d like.

The dinner was filling and well-made, you found yourself laughing harder than you ever had and eating the best food you’ve had in awhile.

Harry held your hand as you left the steakhouse and he opened the passenger seat door for you, rushing to the other side to turn the heater on for you, “One more stop before I bring ya home,” Harry tells you.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Alright, where?”

“Oh, Y/N, you should know by now that if I don’t tell you it’s a secret!”

“Well it was worth a try,” you shoot him a smile, your hand finding its place in his.

Harry hums in agreement, “Just know if I want you to know, you’ll know.”

You let out a laugh at his stubbornness, “Alright sir,” you say in a posh accent.

Harry lets out an exaggerated hey before saying, “That’s what I sound like when I talk to my boss.

You burst out in laughter and Harry goes on to tell you an embarrassing story from the first time he met his boss.

When Harry’s car reverses into a spot, your eyes shoot up in surprise at your arrival at the hardly-built riverwalk in your town. It was a new location and half the restaurants were still in the process of being built but it was still a nice place to go.

You catch the door before Harry can, you send him a smug smile and take his hand as he tugs you gently towards the ice cream shop he seemed to be eyeing.

The location was dimly lit with blue tinted lights and a few wall sconces that gave a warm orange glow.

“How did you know I wanted to come here?” you asked him finally, coming to a stop and stepping inside the building.

“It’s just about the only thing you’ve talked about for about two months,” Harry teased you with an accusatory finger.

Your lips curve upwards as you exhale a laugh, “Okay, you got me there.”

Harry smirks at you as you look at the menu before you, stepping up to the teen worker who looked far too tired to be awake, “Can I get a scoop of chocolate? And he’ll have,” you point at Harry.

“Uh- I’ll have a scoop of vanilla with graham crumbs please,” Harry gives the worker a cheeky grin and wraps his arm around your waist as you wait for your cones.

You smile in thanks as Harry pays, heading out of the building almost immediately to be met with a gust of wind and a lit up river beside you.

Harry stays by your side as you both walk in silence taking in the scenery, eating your ice cream peacefully. It was a really nice way to spend your evening and you found yourselves enjoying each other's presence more than each other's conversation.

“Okay,” you swallow the last bit of your ice cream, “What’s your dream travel destination?” you ask.

Harry's eyebrows raise in amusement, “What, did you look up first date questions?”

You stifle out a laugh, “Maybe, I didn’t know if it would be awkward.”

Harry lets out an exaggerated, “Ha!” before redirecting you back in the direction of his car, “That’s cute that you care so much.”

“What and you don’t care?” you tease.

“I care just not enough to google first day questions,” he pokes your side playfully.

You laugh out a “Fine!” and redirect the conversation to your performance from earlier that night.

It was a full week apart from Harry and you were excited to reunite with him. Your week had been full with auditions for different parts in the Nutcracker every day so you found yourself unavailable to spend your Monday and Wednesday with Harry, having little to no time to yourself.

Now, the following Sunday, the only thing between Harry and yourself was your front door.

Harry was officially invited to your orchestra’s gala in celebration of completing Midsummer. You both had decided that Harry would arrive promptly two hours before you needed leave and you two would get ready together.

He was lying down on your bed as you leaned over your bathroom counter in an attempt to perfect your eyeliner, “Don’t know why you bother with that,” you hear him grumble.

You let out a chuckle and stood back to decide if it was even enough, “Me neither it’s too fucking hard.”

Harry lets out a snort, “That's what she said.”

You rolled your eyes and looked at him through your mirror, “You sure you’re not fifteen?”

Harry smiles, “You sure The Office is only for fifteen year olds?” he shoots back.

Your face matches his and you lean into the mirror once more to perfect your eyeliner before moving to your closet to change into your dress for the night, prompting Harry to begin getting into his suit as well.

Today, for the nicer event, you wore a nude dress with navy accents towards the bottom and a leg slit Harry thought made you look absolutely ravishing. And, in perfect coordination, Harry wore a navy suit with a white half-buttoned shirt underneath and his favorite red boots that reminded him of an old western movie you’d watched a few months back.

He held your hand as you stepped out of your closet and let out a dramatic “Oh damn!” at first sight before spinning you around so he can get a full idea of your outfit.

You fall into a fit of giggles and collapse into his hold and he sways back and forth, “I really like you,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” you reply with a grin, “I like you a lot back.”

“Well how lucky am I?”

“So damn lucky,” you tell him as you let out a silent giggle, “Come on, let's head out.”

The drive to the theater seemed all too short for the both of you. You were sitting in a comfortable silence enjoying each other's company on the way there, stealing a few kisses at a red light or a longing glance while Harry was concentrating on changing lanes during rush hour.

When you arrived at the hotel the gala was held at, you both found your way inside and to the tables that were set up with your names on small place cards. You both sat there in soft chatter as you awaited the arrival of your friends who were to sit at the same table.

Eventually, you were met with a crowd of people around your table and your voices raised in volume and excitement. It was merely 8:00 when your ears were greeted by the sound of a disconnected microphone.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Jordan Pennington, the conductor of the Midsummer Night’s Dream orchestra performance and I’m here to recognize each performer for their outstanding work over the course of these past months,” his voice cut through the room like glass.

Jordan then went on to state each performer and his favorite memory with them through the course of the orchestral production.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Jordan introduced, an image of you as a baby and you now making their way onto the screen behind him, “Y/N is a strong clarinetist we are blessed to have in our group. She works very hard in the theater and outside and has recently been signed as a composer so I’m hoping I’ll be conducting her work soon,” he paused as people congratulated you. You didn’t publicize your signing, so a lot of people were in shock and impressed.

“She’s been with us for a while so we have a few good memories with her at this theater but I think everybody's favorite is just about any time Y/N brings lunch,” he pauses as everyone starts laughing. You bury your face in your hands as Harry looks at you with a confused smile.

“When Y/N brings lunch she without fail trips on one of the steps and spills something,” Jordan informs. You let out an exaggerated groan, eliciting more laughter and Harry covers his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

“Can we move on?” you call out.

Jordan lets out a laugh and obliges, moving onto the next person on his list.

You glance at Harry who is taking a sip of wine and you raise your eyebrows at him, making him nearly spit out his drink, “Sorry, love,” he coughs out, bringing you in for a hug, “Just sounds so much like you it’s impossible,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes at him and continue to listen as Jordan goes through the rest of your orchestra.

When he finishes, your food is devoured and the middle of the room is opened to allow people to dance. You glance at Harry and take his hand, reminding him of the night you first kissed, “Come on,” you mutter.

He allows you to take him to the center of the room where some of your colleagues have begun to conglomerate and dance slowly to the tune of Ed Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud, you two joining in the mass.

Unlike last time, you knew exactly how to act, your arms immediately finding a home around his shoulders and pulling him close so your flesh is against his.

Harry smiled at this and squeezed you at the waist as a silent way of saying I love you, his head leaning in towards yours and your foreheads resting against each other.

“How is it that we always end up dancing?” he asks you.

“Not sure, I was never good at it either but here I am,” you chuckle a reply.

Harry’s eyes shoot up in disbelief, “There is no way you weren’t a good dancer.”

“Swear on it,” you say, your lips tugging upwards to make a smile.

“No. I refuse to believe that, you’re so good,” he says, his eyes shooting down to your feet and then back up to your eyes making you giggle.

“Nope,” you say confidently, “Just found you and you were good. By association I’m good.”

“So what you’re saying is you found the right partner?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You fall into a full belly laugh at his antics before agreeing, “I found the right partner.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shots #harry styles oneshots #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic

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moonbeamsung · 4 years

Text

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kisshim @radiorenjun

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

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ninjakasuga · 3 years

Text

More Sonally Headcanons!!

Well, sort of. They’re headcanons related to Sonic and Sally, but this is actually more of an in depth introduction to my fankids J.C. and Kathleen. Along with an addendum to my last headcanon I flagged for @boundforfreedomsonsal. Turns out as I re-read it, I left out a part for Sonic’s headcanon. The stay at home dad part, I barely touched and that bugs me, so here’s that segment fleshed out and then some info on J.C. and Kathleen! Sonic the stay-at-home-dad: As mentioned prior, Sonic knows he’s not cut out for the majority of what being Prince-Regent entails. Showing up for parties, events and giving back to the people of Mobius, he can do that. Ruling stuff, that is absolutely Sally’s domain. Sure he can offer his viewpoints and all that, but the long-term, big-picture view thinking isn’t his style. That said he doesn’t wanna be a lay about, nor just jam off on adventures and leave Sally doing the hard stuff either. When the children are born, Sonic sees a way he can contribute more after Sally’s maternity leave period is officially over with. Not that Sally intends to stop being maternal, but at some point she is going to need to get back to the day-to-day logistics of running the Kingdom. Motherhood is wonderful and she isn’t going to neglect it; but she has her duties she must fulfill. To help with this; Sonic figures he can handle some ‘solo parent time’ while Sally does her part of the ol’ Kingdom running bit. To which his lovely wife is very grateful for, but also concerned. She recalls some of the trouble he had babysitting his little brother and sister; plus these two MIGHT have his speed. Sonic as usual, brushes off the concerns with the ol’ charm and a smile. Of course this bites him in the ass when the kids DO start to show they have his speed. Especially when said children are still being potty-trained and their diapers don’t stay on due to the velocity of said speed. (Not trying to be gross here, but it is a scenario the two will have to deal with, I pity the cleaners at the castle). While Sally feels that she’s putting a large heft of the parenting responsibilities on Sonic, he points out it’s the least he can do. He can’t do what she does, and while they are BOTH together on the parenting journey, he can handle the tykes for some hours while she’s doing the Queen-y stuff and once she’s done; it’s family time all together. “Sal there’s gonna be times when I gotta do stuff and you’ll have the kids by your lonesome. It’s just part of the gig, you ain’t abandoning the kids, that ain’t you. Go on, be the Queen. Your Prince, will keep our babes safe and adorble!” Now onto the kids themselves: This kind of goes over their base personalities as they develop in their preteen-to-teenage years. Kathleen: The daughter of the twins (whose name is a meta-homage to Kath Soucie), who as she grows up, gains a tomboy streak and is very much the apple of her Father’s eye. Feisty, sly, and prone to mischief (at least moreso than her brother who can be mischief-y himself). Out of the two, she’s the one truly in love with their inherited speed, and the freedom it offers. While she can be a bit blunt, and snarky, she has a keen mind, and education that she can use to scary effect, when she wants. She’s not above using her ‘cuteness’ to get what she wants, as long as she uses it sparing on her parents who are WISE to her antics. As her Aunt Bunnie puts it “She’s a lovable troublemaker with Sonic’s knack for trouble, and Sally’s brains to get out of said trouble.... most of th’ time.” She also has picked up some mechanical aptitude after hanging out often with her Great Uncle Chuck, Uncles Tails and Uncle Rotor. She loves repairing things and trying to build her own gadgets or vehicles. Well once she builds one that doesn’t fall apart from her overzealous designs getting the better of practical usage. In a tense situation where trouble brews, she’s the most likely to start throwing punches, and worry about ‘why’ the troublemakers started trouble after they’re tied up from their punch-naps. Of the royal duo she doesn’t exactly try to slack in any royal duties she has, but the idea of adventuring across the planet sounds more keen than sitting on a throne or doing paperwork, or both. Despite being closest with her Father she does love and respect her Mother; if anything she sees her as the ultimate badass Queen; but she also loves to push her buttons, a lot. Lastly unlike her brother who aspires to be a decent cook, he isn’t, and she is, and she does love to rub it in J.C.’s face she can pull of ‘Uncle Twan and Aunt Bunnie’s recipes’ with gusto. Jaleel-Craig (J.C. for short): The brother of the twins (with a double homage to Jaleel White and Roger-Craig Smith), J.C. is the more serious of the pair, but in a more laid back manner compared to his Mother. Of the two royal heirs, he’s the one who takes their responsibilities to the crown seriously. That said he’s not in any rush to be crowned King either, feeling he’s still lacking qualities or the ability to see things his sister does that he feels make her just as good a potential ruler as she feels he will be. Just getting her to understand that is a tall order. Not unlike his sister, while he loves both parents equally and shares many traits with both; while Kathleen is the apple of Sonic’s eye, J.C. is Sally’s pride. Sharing a love of lore, history, and learning in general. It isn’t uncommon to find the two engrossed in going over books and tomes of lost lore they’re trying to regain after so much was lost in the Robotnik/Eggman wars. While he and his sister both were taught hand-to-hand and various self defense moves by both their parents after their kidnapping at age six; J.C. found himself favoring the use of melee weapons in conjunction to the lessons from his parents and extra martial arts from Aunt Bunnie. To this end, his Uncle Twan’ was happy to show the young man the way of the blade to which J.C. has proven proficient and capable to his Uncle’s delight. Plus it gives Antoine playful ribbing ammo to use against his Father. J.C. is also a skillful diplomat-in-training having picked up some skills from his Mother and some of the best silver-tongues on the planet. As much as he is the studious son, he still shares a streak of mischief not unlike his sister; he’s just much better at being subtle and under-the-radar about it. Alas one skill he aspires to master but for the time being, fails at is cooking. If it’s anything but his Father and Great Uncles Chili-Dog recipes, he finds himself burning water not unlike his Mother. The fact his sister who usually prefers junk food, can make Uncle Twan’s Crepes’ or Aunt Bunnie’s Peach Cobbler from scratch vexes him. Much like his sister, he does revel in the speed inherited from their Father, but he views it as a ‘with great power, comes great responsibilities’ viewpoint as opposed to his sister ‘freedom above all’ mentality of the super-speed. That said, he’s not above using it to help her preform pranks from time to time. A last bit of side information. After the kidnapping, as an extra safety precaution, Sally asked Nicole to create some helper A.I.’s to work alongside the children. A notion Nicole found not just a good tactical idea, but also endearing as it would in her eyes, foster a continued foundation of friendship and family between her own growing ‘cyber family’ and Sally and Sonic’s own. With some ‘help’ from a certain former Metal Sonic-turned-good (*cough*Shard*cough*), Nicole created her own A.I. ‘children’ to be companions for the duo, housed in upgradable ‘watches’ that would house the A.I. when they were away from the nanite-network of New Mobotropolis. Kathleen gained ‘Berri’ Nicole and Shard’s ‘daughter’ who seems split between trying to ‘reign in’ some of Kathleen’s more spastic tendencies, and yet from time to time; loves to work alongside her in her crazy endeavors as Kathleen gets her to ‘lighten up’ some, as their friendship grows. Sometimes two crazy minds work well together. Kathleen equates Berri to having a portable, nanit-hack-capable sis-in-crime. J.C.’s A.I. companion Fragment or ‘Frag’ as they coined as a nickname is a bit of an oddity. His default persona is that of a semi-stiff minder, who encourages his more academic past-times, and furthering his education. Yet at times Frag shifts into a female persona who sometimes uses ‘Fraggie’ as a nickname. Fraggie is more laid back, trying to get the young Prince to mellow out when his more serious side becomes ‘a bit much’. She also seems to enjoy trying to play match maker between J.C. and his crushes. Okay I hope ya’all enjoyed these tidbits on my fankids. Next time we return to headcanons about their parents!

#boundforfreedom #Sally Acorn #Sonic the Hedgehog #Fankids #J.C.#Kathleen #fanfic #Sonally #Sonsal

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sherrybaby14 · 4 years

Text

Moral of the Story

Summary: Steve’s girl likes to party all the time and he’s at his wit’s end. Then he meets you.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader.

Warnings: Alcohol, Smut, ANGST

Words: 5k

A/N: This is for the wonderful @captain-rogers-beard challenge. Congrats Doll! My prompt was “Party all the Time” by Eddie Murphy.

The music was a bit louder than you would have liked, but at least the song was catchy. You sipped on your drink as you watched the dance floor, your friend’s waving you over.

With a smirk you shook your head and lifted your drink, far too sober to dance.

“I think they want you to join them?” A voice boomed in your ear.

You did a jump as you turned to see a gorgeous blonde next to you.

“I don’t want to spill my drink.” You ran your hands down your now wet dress.

“Oh Jeez, I’m so sorry ma’am.” He reached for some cocktail napkins. “Let me buy you another.”

“It’s okay.” You began to pat your dress dry. “It’s probably better on my clothes than down my throat. I don’t drink often.”

“Me either.” He gave a warm smile.

“Then why are you in a nightclub?” You turned to the bar, trying to block out the loud music and not have to yell so much. “Here to pick up women?”

“A friend invited me.” His gaze went to the dance floor.

You followed it and saw he was looking at a dark haired man. You couldn’t see his face because it was being covered by a gorgeous brunette. She pulled away and you blinked a few times, she had to be a model, a perfect ten.

“I think your friend is going to get lucky.” You turned back to see his jaw clench up.

“Yeah, it looks like it.” He looked away, there was a pain in his eyes. “If I can’t buy you a new drink how about a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, I don’t think they sell coffee here.” You shrugged.

He erupted in laughter and you glanced around, not noticing the punch line.

“There’s a diner a block away.” He leaned against the bar. “Open twenty four hours. I know I’m a stranger, but I could get out of here and by the looks of it so could you.”

“I’m game.” You put your glass on the bar and started walking to the door.

“I’m Steve by the way.” He held out his hand.

“I know who you are.” You smiled. “I think the whole world knows who you are.”

A confused look spread across his face. The brisk nighttime air made your arm get some goosebumps, but you let out a sigh of relief when the music died down.

“That’s not the reaction I get from most people who know who I am.” Steve grabbed his chin. “Maybe I should grow a beard again.”

“Would you rather I asked for an autograph and a selfie?” You raised an eyebrow, then put the back of your hand to your forehead. “Oh Captain my Captain?”

“Alright, I get it.” Steve laughed. “So what’s your story? I guess your the one whose the stranger here.”

“It’s not like I know everything about you, just the headlines.” You winked. “Workaholic, I love my job, it keeps me busy. In my free time I do the basics, read, watch movies, attempt and fail at the newest workout craze.”

“Pilates man.” Steve pulled the diner door open. “It’s a lot harder than it looks.”

“I fall in every yoga position.” You followed Steve as he slid into a booth. “Zumba was fun, but I’m lacking in rhythm.”

“You?” Steve’s eyes went wide. “You look like you would be a great dancer.”

“I’m great at a lot of things.” You flipped over your mug. “But bad at more.”

“I’m really bad at board games. I flipped the board last time I played Monopoly.” Steve leaned back in the booth. “But I am amazing at tic-tac-toe.”

“Oh yeah?” You reached in your purse and pulled out a pen, drawing the lines on a napkin. “Prove it?”

“Even with all this coffee and stimulating conversation.” You brought your hand to your mouth to stifle the yawn. “Exhaustion is setting in. I’ve got to get to bed.”

“How far do you live from here?” Steve reached for his wallet. “It’s almost 4 am. Can I walk you home?”

“Four am?” You hadn’t checked your phone since you told your friends you were safe after vanishing, that was five hours ago.

Sure enough the device read 3:56.

“Damn.” You grabbed a menu. “Might as well order breakfast then.”

Steve looked shocked, but then nodded in agreement, not pulling a menu. The server took notice and came over.

“I’ll have a meat lovers skillet, side of country gravy, sub American cheese, eggs over easy, wheat toast?” You but the menu back.

“I’ll have the same.” Steve leaned forward.

“Really?” The waitress was confused. “Not the usual?”

“I’m being adventurous tonight.” Steve winked.

“Okay.” She walked away.

“I like the way you know what you want.” Steve leaned back. “Kind of no nonsense. It’s refreshing.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You laughed. “Maybe when it comes to diner food at 4 am. I’ve been eating my whole life after all.”

“So why isn’t there anyone special in your life?” Steve almost seemed fidgety.

“There’s lots of special people in my life.” You smiled. “I’m very close with my parents, my siblings, have some great friends I’d call family, my coworkers are amazing too.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Steve’s eyes showed a strange wave of vulnerability.

“No reason.” You wished you had a better answer. “I’ve dated plenty, had some serious partners, some not so serious. I guess I’m picky? What about you?”

“The friend who invited me to the club tonight, it was the girl.” Steve gave a pressed smile. “We were very serious, she broke it off about two months ago. Wanted to try being friends. I agreed to give it a go. I don’t see how it’s going to work.”

The perfect 10 brunette. Your heart started to ache for the man. He was heartbroken. It was all over his face, body language. Everything clicked.

“What a bitch.” You brought your hand to your mouth and looked at him with wide eyes.

He laughed and you relaxed.

“There you go, being honest and direct again.” Steve put his elbows on the table. “I don’t think people can be friends with exes. It’s not in the cards.”

“I’ve never tried.” You were more of the it’s done it’s done type. “My philosophy is look forward. The future. Thinking about the past, it’s a dangerous trap.”

“I’m starting to think the same thing.” Steve’s eyes lit up. “She is a big party girl, I mean, she’s a model so sometimes its a networking thing. But I never really fit into her life.”

“Wait, were you guys like a tabloid couple?” You tilted your head. “Can I read all about your breakup on instagram?”

“No!” Steve rolled his eyes. “That was part of the problem. I think she wanted that. Being with me could elevate her career and it made me feel used, so I wouldn’t allow public photos. There’s a few that leaked, but nothing confirming our relationship.”

“Wow, you celebrities are a different breed.” It never once crossed your mind to post about who you were having coffee with.

“I am not a celebrity.” Steve wagged a finger at you.

“Oh I’m sorry.” You brought your hand to your chest. “Historical figure.”

Steve cracked up. His laugh was infectious and you joined, chuckling away.

“Without being too forward young lady,” Steve reached out and grabbed your hand, sparks shooting down your arm. “Could I have your telephone number?”

You knew he was bating you for a joke. But you preferred the natural type.

“Yes.” You reached for your phone, breaking the hand touch. “You can have my number.”

Noon hit and you forced yourself out of bed, six hours of sleep was doable. You began to make your mental checklist of projects for the day while you brushed your teeth.

There was a giddy ness in the back of your mind over last night. He was a cool guy and it was a fun time. Your brain started to think about work. You had to call your parents and check in, probably explain to your friends about where you went, you would leave out the Captain America angle.

You grabbed your phone and your jaw about hit the floor. There was a text from Steve already.

Are you going to say good morning?

You didn’t think you would hear from him for at least a few days. It made you smile and wiggle as you sat on the bed.

Good morning! Or afternoon?

Before you set the device down the reply bubbles started to form. You parted ways seven hours ago. It was a Saturday. This was unexpected. The bubbles disappeared and then reappeared several times. You were on the edge of your seat.

Then your phone started to vibrate. You almost threw the thing, seeing Steve’s name pop up. Instead your smile grew as you slid it to answer.

“Was good afternoon not appropriate? Technically it’s 12:15, that is literally after noon.” You tried to stifle the excitement.

“You want to have a beer with me tonight?” Steve’s voice was just as sexy over the phone. “I would say dinner, but I know you had some things to take care of. There’s this sports bar I love, I promise I won’t spill anything on you and coffee keeps us up too late.”

“I’d love to.” You didn’t see a point in trying to act coy.

“Great, nine o’clock? I’ll text you the address.” Steve’s smile carried over the phone.

“Sounds like a plan.” You ran your hand over your hair and wondered if you could get away without washing it.

“Have a great day. I”ll see you tonight.”

“Bye.” You clicked off the phone and did a little happy dance.

You didn’t see that one coming.

Your phone lit up with Steve’s message right away. You sent a thumbs up emoji. To your surprise, Steve responded:

Emojis, it’s like hyrogliphics are coming back? Why did we skip the sonnets?

You didn’t even think before responding.

You: Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s Day? Thou art more lovely and temperate.

Steve: Sonnet 18, one of the greats.

You: I stole it from Clueless.

Steve: What’s Clueless?

You woke the next morning, at your normal 8 am. Even more thrilled with the date from the night before. It was fun. It was a fantastic time. Of course the texting all day long made the conversation flow right to person-to-person.

“I can’t sleep until noon tomorrow.” You stood up from the bar stool. “Plus I hit my three beer maximum. Maybe once I know you better you can meet four beer me.”

“You’re guarded in the strangest ways.” Steve beamed at you.

“Me?” You were shocked. “I’m an open book. Nothing to hide.”

“Well would this bother you then?” Steve cupped your cheek and before you could react his face leaned in.

Warm lips met yours. You melted into him, your body felt like it was floating. Nobody in the bar paid you any attention as his tongue slid into your mouth before pulling out. A little moan came forward when he pulled away.

There was a devilish grin on his face as he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“Let’s get you an Uber.”

All you could do was nod in a numb state. This amazing man kissed you. It was like a dream.

You were all smiles as you rolled out of bed, straight to the bathroom. Sundays were your lazy day, but you missed too much yesterday that you had to squeeze some work in. It wouldn’t be too much.

When you left the bathroom you grabbed your phone. Your heart exploded when you saw there was already a text from Steve.

Today you can say good morning. I have faith.

Steve Rogers was perfect. Three dates in a week, not including coffee night. Every other day he wanted to see you. He made you laugh, listened to you, was always available. Sent you little comics you found funny. You giggled at the last gif he sent you of a puppy eating bubble.

You: I’ve got to head into a work meeting. I’ll text you later.

Steve: Knock ‘em dead.

Supportive too. You smiled as you slipped your phone into your pocket. It had only been a week, but you couldn’t remember the last time you connected with someone this way, if ever.

“You’re smiley.” A coworker bumped you with her arm. “It’s almost like you have a glow.”

“Just a happy person.” You shrugged. “How is your son doing? Any luck on that math test?”

“Oh he did much better!” Your coworker dropped her shoulders in relief. “That tutor was worth every penny.”

She continued to talk and you tried to listen, but your thoughts kept drifting to Steve. This was the best week of your life.

The meeting got your adrenaline pumping. You left and went straight to your office, typing away the e-mails, ready to get the new project off the ground. It was almost time to call it a day, the sun was starting to set.

That was when you picked up your phone. Two messages from Steve. Fuck. Guilt set in.

How was the meeting?

Everything okay?

You grabbed your phone and started typing.

You: Sorry work got crazy. Major project. Just leaving now.

Steve: Do you want to over to my place for dinner? Unwind? I can have a meal and some wine for you, straight away?

Unwinding with Steve sounded perfect, plus you were more interested in the version that didn’t involve a meal.

You looked down at your work clothes, your makeup probably long smeared off, but did that matter? Steve didn’t seem to care about your appearance. He wanted you for who you were. And right now that sounded perfect.

You: Do you have ice cream?

Steve: Oh my freezer is overflowing. Any flavor you like. Popsicles too.

You: I’m in. Text me your address?

Every other time you arrived at a paramour’s place for the first time you were nervous. Not this time. Your brain played a slide show of the last week. The way Steve listened, hung on your words, followed up with questions. He made you feel like the most important person in the world.

Your past experiences taught you that people were either fantastic talkers or listeners. You prided yourself on being both, but Steve seemed to fall in that same category.

With a strange confidence you hit the buzzer for his apartment. The door unlocked and you walked up the stairs, speeding up with each step.

When you got to his floor you spotted him hanging out the door, waving at you. This was going to be the hard part.

“Before I step inside, I have to let you know something.” You rehearsed this in your head a few times. “Work was insane today, and I know tomorrow is Saturday, but I have to put in a few hours. This happens about twice a year, not a common occurrence. But as much as I want to, I can’t spend the night.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded and held the door open. “Again I love your honesty.”

You walked in to see all the only lights on in the apartment two candles on the clothed kitchen table. Your heart started to sink at the thought he’d put into it, but then you noticed the meal set out at each end and began to laugh.

“Full disclosure, all I had was some TV dinners.” Steve came behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “And there’s no ice cream or popsicles. But I can think of something I want for dessert.”

You spun around and put your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. He reached underneath you and scooped you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you, deepening the kiss.

Nothing had ever felt so right in your life. It was as if the cosmos had brought you together.

“You’re too perfect.” You pulled away as he dropped you on the bed.

“You’re a one-in-a-million.” Steve’s breath was heavy as he started to pull at your clothing.

Hands were everywhere, lips randomly touching whatever skin they could. Shoes and socks flying off with pants and shirts. You shoved his boxers down as he unhooked your bra, the feeling of your bare chests pushed together making you shudder.

Steve grabbed your panties and yanked them down as you settled back on his bed. On your back, legs spread, knees up. His arm encircled your thigh as he began to kiss. You moaned and fisted the blanket, lifting your pelvis up inviting his mouth.

He wasted no time and began to devour you. You tried to pay attention to what he was doing, but you couldn’t keep up. Was that his tongue? His lips? You cried out when something slid inside of you.

“FUCK!” Your body convulsed around his mouth.

Your chest heaved while your brain tried to keep up with the pleasure. Steve kept licking, touching, working you. Everything was frenzied. Your head collapsed to the side and you tried to regain control.

“I knew you were primed.” Steve kissed up your stomach. “But you have one more in you.”

He climbed until he was over you, his cock lining up with your entrance. Never had you came that fast from another person.

Steve pushed forward and filled your aching pussy. You squealed and grabbed onto his shoulders. Rolling your body against his.

“That’s it.” He nipped at your neck. “You were meant for me. Never felt this way before.”

You grabbed his face and pulled his lips to your own, enjoying the taste of yourself on him while he railed into you. He returned the kiss and sped up. Slamming his cock, teasing your clit while your g-spot came to life.

There was no hiding your moans and his grunts as your bodies melded together. Your breath started to tighten, and then your muscles started. The edge came fast and you flung yourself over.

Your head went back into the pillow as your screamed, it was impossible to tell if your vision went black since the room was too dark. But Steve let out a grunt and pulled out of you.

Instead of blowing all over your stomach he pushed your head down. You slid down the bed and opened your mouth.

His aim was perfect and for the second time you tasted yourself, enjoying the way he finished in your mouth, letting your lips wrap around his tip. Drinking him all down while your body shook.

“I think I’m falling in love.” Steve pushed forward before pulling out and landing on his back.

You nodded, breathless as you curled up to him. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.

You ignored the tears forming in your eyes, fighting them away. If pure happiness existed, this was it. How did you get so lucky?

Steve: I’m going to hug my pillow all night wishing it was you.

You glanced at the clock, it was already approaching midnight.

You: I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. Thank you for a wonderful night and a gourmet meal.

Steve: Get some sleep. I miss you.

You: I miss you too.

You grabbed your pillow. If Steve was pretending his was you, maybe you could do that same. A huge smile on your face as you drifted off.

You woke with a smile. Maybe Smiley could be your new nickname. You grabbed your phone eager to see what Steve had sent. To your surprise, there was no message.

All week long you’d woken up to messages. You smiled even bigger, maybe you’d finally worn him out and the man needed more sleep than you did.

You rolled out of bed to brush your teeth, thoughts filled with nothing but Steve.

Work was so intense, you turned your phone off. No distractions. When the team broke for lunch you flipped it on, your heart racing to see Steve’s messages. When the screen came to life you saw nothing.

Maybe it was wrong? Messages glitched sometimes. You clicked the app open, all you saw was your last message. It said read at 12:03 am.

You shrugged it off. Steve knew you had a big work day. He was being respectful. You thought about texting him, but you had to get back to it and didn’t want to come off as needy. It wasn’t like you could text him all afternoon.

The project finished an hour early, 4 pm on a Saturday. Everyone gave themselves a round of applause and you did a lazy golf clap as you reached for your phone.

Your heart exploded when you saw a message from Steve.

Steve: How was your day?

You: Good. I have so much to tell you!

There was no bubble response, or read receipt. You stared at your phone. Maybe turning it off had been a bad idea.

After saying goodbye to your colleagues and walking to you subway stop your phone dings with a message.

Steve: Can we meet for coffee?

You giggled.

You: Why not dinner? The real kind this time. It was a big day for me! I want to celebrate, you can supply dessert again.

Steve: Coffee. Now? First night?

Maybe he had a big day too. He’d been so supportive of you, it was due to return the favor.

You: Sure. I’ll be there in twenty.

You headed to the other subway line, more than eager for a sleepover tonight.

When you arrive at the diner you scan it, not seeing Steve anywhere. Maybe you beat him here. You were about to grab a random booth when a man in a black hoodie, baseball hat, and sunglasses sticks his hand in the air.

You smile, wondering if this is some Avenger’s mission.

“Are you going as the Unabomber for Halloween?” You slide into the booth. “I couldn’t even recognize you.”

“There’s no easy way to say this.” Steve cracked his jaw. “Ashley called me last night. Very upset.”

“Whose Ashley?” You blurted out the first thought that came to your mind.

“My ex.” He let out a huge sigh. “She’s a mess.”

“The bitch from the club?” You were a little interested in the drama.

“She’s not a bitch.” Steve put his hands on the table and your blood ran cold. “She has some problems. She is working on them. And we have a lot of history and she needs my help.”

“Oh.” You felt like your soul floated out of your body.

“You’re so perfect.” He reached out and grabbed your hands. “But she needs me. You don’t need me. We have a lot of history and I owe it to her to try.”

“Oh.” Everything went numb.

“I wanted to let you know in person and before things got too serious.” Steve squeezed your hand. “If I could take back last night, I wouldn’t. It was perfect, you’re perfect.”

“You already said that.” Your voice was getting tight.

“But I mean it.” He pushed the hood off his baseball cap. “I can’t leave her. Without me, I mean, you saw her at the club that night. She’s a disaster.”

The tears started to boil in your throat they were so deep. You yanked your hands away, thoughts flying to wild to speak clearly. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at him or plead with him to pick you.

“I hope we can stay friends?” He let out a sigh. “I mean, you’re amazing and you made me so happy this past week. Probably the happiest I’ve been in my entire life. You’re smart, and witty, and beautiful, and you’re everything.”

The way he said week hit home. It was only a week. Not a month, not a year. Just a week. A lot of digs ran through your mind, ways you could make a joke, ways you could state your feelings. But instead you said one thing.

“Sure.” Your brain started to scream at itself.

“That’s such a relief.” Steve dropped his shoulders.

“I had a really long day.” You stood up from the booth. “Talk soon?”

You didn’t look back as you ran to the door, the tears spilling over. With a shaky hand you pulled out your phone, screaming at yourself for being so stupid to develope feelings, but smart enough to do one thing. You highlighted his contact and clicked delete.

Friends, family, whoever would talk had to listen to you cry. You didn’t hold back for them. You made sure they alternated duty. You even took a week off of work.

“If I would have stayed that night, would he have ignored her?” You sobbed to your best friend.

“No hunny.” She ran a hand through your head. “No. You got caught in a weird game.”

Steve: How do you kill a circus?

It’s a random number not saved to a contact, but you know that’s the first text you get from Steve. You know the punchline, but rather than responding you delete it. The last thing you want is to memorize his number.

You would’ve broken down and sent some very dumb stuff you would’ve regretted. It’s only been five days. He should send his girlfriend those jokes, not you.

Three days later you get another.

Steve: How are you?

You think about deleting it, you think about screaming you broke my heart, acting cool like you’re busy, or just gushing about how much you miss him and what a great guy his is.

You: Fine.

Steve: Glad to hear.

You don’t hesitate to delete the thread.

Steve: I miss you.

Your heart races. It’s been two weeks since the night you had the best sex of your life. The tears sting your eyes. You’ve been apart longer than you were together. Did he realize he made a mistake? Was he coming back to you?

You start typing: I miss

But then you stop. No. You had to frame this right. State it right. But what was there to do? Yell at him into loving you? Did you love him? Your heart hurt like it had, but this was wrong.

With a shaky finger you highlighted the number and moved it to block. The sobs came again and you cuddled your phone, regretting your choice.

The day you hit the month mark you were trying not to think about Steve, but then the celebrity hit: CAPTAIN AMERICA ENGAGED! It ran all over the headlines.

Him and his fiance were plastered everywhere. You couldn’t escape. It hit you then. You were a rebound. You were nothing. A temporary step on his life path. It hurt. It hurt more than anything. No ice cream could repair the hole one week with Steve Rogers had created.

“I’m glad we got you out tonight.” Your friend poked you in the side as she screamed in your ear. “What’s it been, months since you’ve been in a club?”

“Yep.” Two, but you tried not to think about how your last time in a nightclub ended, how it could derail your life. “But I’m here.”

You still hated the loud music. Memories of a sports bar with Steve tried to come forward, but you buried them before they could.

“Let’s dance!” She grabbed your hand.

“Not yet.” You yanked it away. “In a few drinks.”

“I’ll wait with you.” She settled next to you. “But that dance floor is inviting.”

The bodies were moving and you scanned the area. Your eyes bulged when you spotted a familiar face, tongue down a mouth.

“Is that…..is that Captain America’s fiance?” Your friend grabbed your arm, you never told them the mysterious Steve’s last name. “She’s not kissing Cap.”

She pulled out her phone ready to take a picture, but you put your hand out and lowered her arm.

A wave of clarity rushed over you.

“His girl wants to party all the time. He buys her champagne and diamonds.” A weird smile settled over you. “He thinks he can fix her.”

That was the problem. You didn’t need fixing. And if you ever did you would figure it out for yourself, with the support of people around you. Steve hit the nail on the head when he said you didn’t need him. You never would.

“Go dance.” You gave your friend a playful spank on the ass.

For the first time in two months you felt like yourself and turned back to the bar hoping to block the music.

A finger tapped your shoulder and you looked up with no jump.

“It’s loud in here.” A handsome man with dark hair looked down at you.

“There’s a coffee shop a block away.” You stood up. “Can I buy you a cup?”

“Yes.” He nodded and set his drink down.

“What’s your name?” You yelled over the music.

“Stephen.” He was right behind you.

“Do you go by Steve and what are your thoughts on needy women?” You pushed open the door to the club.

The air was hot and you rolled your shoulders back, embracing the lack of obnoxious music.

“If I went by Steve I would have introduced myself that way.” His intense eyes glared at you. “And I am a surgeon. Everyone I encounter is needy. I don’t have time for it in my personal life.”

You stifled your laughter at the response. At least Steve had taught you to speak your mind. Having a flashback to leaving the bar with him.

“Well Mr. Stranger, I will never need you.” You grinned at him. “Except for good conversation and occasional support.”

“It’s actually Doctor Strange.” He chuckled. “I think that’s the first time I laughed in months.”

“Tell me about it...literally.” You kicked at the sidewalk. “How do you kill a circus?”

The man scoffed at you and then wiped off his sleeves.

“You go for the juggler of course.”

#Steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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fiftyyearfilms · 3 years

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50 Years Later: The Still Sweet Legacy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Image source: https://people.com/food/gene-wilder-death-willy-wonka-pure-imagination/

I first watched Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory during the summer of 2001, when I was four years old. Sometime after the end credits rolled, I waddled into our little English garden and decided to have a nibble of one of the buttercups poking through in the grass. You will be unsurprised to discover that it tasted acrid and bitter and that I promptly screwed up my face and spat it out again. ‘But— but- -’ little four-year-old me thought, ‘—but in Willy Wonka’s garden the yellow butter-tea-cups are edible and filled with a breakfast brew! The toadstools and mushrooms ooze sweet white cream! And the trees don’t sprout boring old fruit, but giant jellified gummy bears!' According to my four-year old logic, in Wonka’s edible garden these synaesthetic saccharine delights could exist and so in our garden they could too. So was the bittersweet belief that ‘Anything is possible’ the film inspired - bittersweet because, of course, it's not true. Today marks the 50-year anniversary of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, which premiered in the United States on this day in 1971. Time reveals a legacy that is more sweet than sour.

The 1971 adaptation of Roald Dahl’s 1964 book ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ has an origins story that reads like a saccharine fairytale, complete with the requisite obstacles. Once upon a time, the story of Charlie Bucket and his lucky visit to a chocolate factory found its way into the hands of a 12-year-old girl called Madeline Stuart, the daughter of a Hollywood filmmaker, Mel Stuart. Madeline approached her father and asked him to make a film out of the story. In Stuart’s memory, his daughter’s innocent plea went something like this: ’Daddy... I want you to make this into a movie!’ A self-confessed chocoholic, Stuart said yes. And the rest was history? Not just yet...

The early 1970’s wasn’t Hollywood’s happiest hour. Low attendance and a struggling national economy meant that the U.S film industry was in a state of near-collapse and financing the movie was no easy feat; studios were cash-strapped. It was a stroke of sweet luck that the producer of the film, Mel Stuart’s friend David Wrober, had a connection to the Quaker Oats Company who, by happy chance, were looking for a way to break into the chocolate industry. In an unprecedented move in Hollywood, Quaker Oats agreed to finance the film on account of the fact that it would allow them to launch a ‘Wonka’ bar. A convenient if imperfect marriage was formed between the food company and the producers. A Happily Ever After? Still not yet...

There were active forces that didn’t want the candy man to make the leap from page to silver screen. Having long been vocal about Hollywood and its poor representation of black people, the NAACP objected to the adaptation because of the colonial overtones of the Ooompa Loompas in Dahl’s story (described as “a tribe of miniature pygmies” who were imported from Africa); they didn’t want additional attention being brought to the novel. The NAACP eventually suggested that “The solution is to make the Oompa-Loompas white and to make the film under a different title.” Mel Stuart agreed. The title was changed to ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, a change that would also benefit the marketing of the Quaker Oat Company’s ‘Wonka’ bar. After Stuart consulted with some black actor friends, it also was decided that the elf-like characters would be carrot orange with grass-green hair. Whether this amounted to ‘whitewashing’ or not is a matter for the individual to decide but changing the skin colour was the only way to adapt the book without making more significant changes to Dahl’s story. After all, it was the man himself penning the screenplay.

Image source: https://www2.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/features/search-perfect-willy-wonka

Dahl’s screenplay - bloated and too close an adaption of the book, was eventually revised by newbie screenwriter David Seltzer, but the fantastical elements of the author’s story remained largely intact: chocolate rooms with chocolate waterfalls and rivers, fizzy-lifting stations that send Charlie Bucket and his grandfather floating to the ceiling, and elevators that fly straight into the sky. Harper Goff, famed for his work on the 1945 Disney film ‘20,000 Leagues under the Sea’, was tasked with bringing Dahl’s demanding vision to life in the art department. Then there were difficulties in casting too, and a cross-country search took place for the Oompa Loompas and the lucky ticket-winning children (lamentably, only white actors were cast). With scouting and sketching underway, producers had the formidable challenge of finding somewhere to shoot the movie. After considering the Guinness Factory in Ireland and – wait for it - a national monument in Spain, producers settled on the Munich Gas works and Bavarian Film Studios in Germany as the central filming locations. It was cheaper than America and the location’s foreignness to British and American audiences would work in the favour of creating a ‘Neverland’ story.

Tinged with sweetness and sourness, pre-production on Wonka came to a close in late August 1970 and principal photography began. For the adults on set, budgetary problems were an ongoing source of stress and the unusual marriage between Hollywood and the food industry was one of the main causes. Unlike Paramount or Universal, who might have expected the film to go over budget, Quaker Oats viewed the film as one long advertisement for their new bar and were unsurprisingly less sympathetic when the weather was bad and shooting had to be delayed or when something went wrong on set and more money had to be poured in (or, in the case of the chocolate waterfall, a specially sourced anti-foaming solution). The kids also had their tribulations (and were only renumerated £60 per week for their hard labour). Stuart was a tough director. So tough, in fact, that the child actors used to joke that they deserved Oscars for their roles (or for putting up with Stuart). He treated the young actors as adults and perhaps that’s one reason why the performances are so strong. But Stuart reflected that overall, it was like ‘one big slumber party’ for the child actors. Stories from the set include Paris Themmen, who played Mike Teevee, releasing bees from underneath a bell jar in Wonka’s chewing gum machine. Denise Nickerson (playing Violet Beauregarde) and Julie Dawn Cole (Veruca Salt) fought over Peter Ostroff, who played Charlie Bucket, and took turns being his ‘girlfriend’ day-by-day. After lunch breaks, Ostroff and Gene Wilder, who played Wonka himself, would walk back to set together sharing a chocolate bar. There was an excitable atmosphere on set and, filmed without storyboards or pre-production rehearsals, it translated into authenticity in the final film.

Image source: https://www.thedelite.com/willy-wonka-and-chocolate-factory-movie-facts-you-never-knew/

Filming came to a bittersweet end in November 1970, cast members said their teary goodbyes, and then seven months later, Willy Wonka premiered in the United States. While time has judged differently, the contemporary reception to the film was, at best, lukewarm. From a $2.9 million dollar budget, the film only made $4 million in theatres and ranked as #53 in the box office. There were a number of reasons for this. Several reviewers panned the movie; a critic from the New York Times called it ‘tedious and stagy with little sparkle and precious little humor’. The fun and spectacle of Willy Wonka didn’t sit well with an anxious and cynical audience. In the Vietnam era, The French Connection, The Omega Man, and A Clockwork Orange were in, and optimism and fun were out. The film also had to contend with the declining weekly movie attendance across the U.S, which reached an all-time low of 14 million in 1971 (from 44 million in 1963). On top of this, Dahl didn’t exactly enthuse about the final product. Finally - and this is what the director attributed primary responsibility to: a lacklustre marketing effort on behalf of Paramount Pictures.

But box-office results aren’t everything. Like sherbet - sour at first and then Oh so sweet, Willy Wonka has gone on to gain a mass following of fans and gained the all-desirable ‘cult’ film status. The phenomenon happened over time. Six years after the film appeared on cinema screens, it was sold to Warner Brothers and became one of their best-selling video cassettes. Then, periodic screenings on cable and network television over the following decades meant that it gained an even wider following and stayed within Western cultural consciousness. The never-ending references to Willy Wonka in popular culture - from The Simpsons to Austin Powers to Marilyn Manson’s music videos, is testament to this. The same could be said about the upcoming Willy Wonka origins story, whether it turns out to be a good film or not. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory currently stands as the second most watched film of 1971 on Letterboxd (the Goodreads of film).

Re-watching the film in 2021, it seems almost inevitable that the film has found new and wide- ranging audiences and there’s one main reason for it: a stellar and totally captivating performance from Gene Wilder. The director attributed the film’s longevity to the fact that ‘it was made for adults; it was not made for children’ and it was Wilder himself that brought the grown-up fun. Wilder’s Wonka is sarcastic and witty, ensuring that the final film ended up as a ‘story for children’ only as much as After Eights are for post-dinner treats and Yorkie bars are just for boys. Wilder created a more nuanced and entrancing character out of Wonka than what is portrayed in the book - a Wonka who is dishonest but trustworthy, sarcastic but still empathetic, indifferent but deeply caring, and aloof but charming. Sure, the sets seem slightly dated (the chocolate room in particular) but watching Gene Wilder sing ‘Pure Imagination’ is so wholly captivating that one almost doesn’t notice the set’s limitations. Creating, let alone portraying, such an enigmatic version of Wonka is a tall order, but Wilder made it looks effortless. As evidence of his skill as an actor, Willy Wonka shows Charlie little interest until the very end of the film and then within minutes conveys a parental love to the boy that seems entirely believable. Wilder’s tantalising hot then cold, sugary then sour, sweet then salty performance sustains the whole film.

From the outset, it seemed like the Wilder-Wonka synergy was made to be. Wilder was a relative newcomer to Hollywood in 1970, making his feature film debut in the 1967 film Bonnie & Clyde, but when he walked into the casting room at the Plaza Hotel in New York, Mel Stuart knew he was the man straight away – ‘That’s Willy Wonka!’ he said. Wilder himself immediately seemed to have an intuitive understanding of how to bring the character to life, agreeing to take on the role on one condition: he said to Stuart, “I would like to come out [of the factory] with a cane and be crippled because no one will know from that time on whether I’m lying or telling the truth.’’ Like a magician, Wilder’s Wonka was going to draw you in and keep you in the palm of his hand. To the child actors on set, the Wilder-Wonka symbiosis was very much real. Julia Winter recalled that between takes the kids would crawl all over Wilder yelling, ‘It’s my turn to sit on his lap!’. In turn, Wilder would tell them jokes and stories; he ‘never got cross’. I remember feeling the same captivation as a child watching the film: I wanted to spend time with Wonka. It was only some adults who missed the magic trick. Dahl criticised Wilder’s performance as ‘pretentious’ and insufficiently ‘gay’. Wilder himself recalled hearing talk of mothers saying that the film was ‘cruel to the children’, but he understood that ‘maybe some mothers felt that way, but the children didn’t feel that way...there are limits and they want to know the limits’. The continuing classic status of the film is evidence that the kids (and Wilder) were right. The Wilder-Wonka magic has survived 50 years without souring. The only bittersweetness in watching the actor sing and twirl across the screen is knowing he is no longer with us.

Image source: https://cometoverhollywood.com/2016/08/29/musical-monday-willy-wonka-the-chocolate-factory-1971/

If Gene Wilder carried the film, then what about the story itself? The plot is simple, heart- warming, and doesn’t deserve close scrutiny. Willy Wonka really is a ‘show’, the story is secondary to the individual charisma of Wilder and the spectacle of the image and music. We don’t know if Charlie will be happy or sad once he’s inherited Wonka’s factory. We also don’t know what happens to the rest of the children after they’ve been punished. But who cares? The audience is taken to a joyful fun park where you want to eat everything on screen and play with all the gizmos and gadgets, and where the music is so catchy that you can’t get it out of your head for days and weeks after.

Select ideologues have (and will) taken issue with the story, discarding it as gauche capitalist propaganda. One Marxist criticism of the story even gained enough traction that the director took notice in later years. The parts seem to be there: a businessman running a competition by hiding five golden tickets in his candy bars, competition from other candy makers, the Wonka-Oompa Loompa relationship, and a ‘Rags to riches’ story for Charlie. But one might ask if this is an unnecessary and selective reading. The parts for an alternative vision are equally apparent: from the wild and uncontrolled creativity and experimentation inside the factory to the joy found within the chocolate work itself, and from the relentless drive forward ‘You have to go forward if you want to go back’ to the end picture of the elevator shooting through a glass ceiling and into the skies. If a critic really wanted to make the comparison, such images would sit more easily in Soviet Russia than capitalist America. Wonka might have a capitalist wrapper but take a bite and look closely inside and its ideological filling is incoherent (it is, after all, entertainment). One could imagine how the film might be set in a collectivist community rather than a ‘capitalist’ factory, but it would have made for a worse film. It is the sense of unease that runs throughout the film that has made it timeless, whether its Wonka’s frustration with August Gloop for polluting his pure chocolate river, his fear over someone leaking the secret recipe for the ever-lasting gobstopper, his nightmares in the tunnel sequence, or his anxiety over finding a worthy heir for the factory, which finally manifests as a misjudged outburst at Charlie. It’s the fraught relationship between abundance and greed that makes for such compelling watching. Anyway, as the screenwriter stated in an interview, the film is ‘...not the function of sitting down and intellectualising... it’s the function of scotch tape, cardboard, let’s put on a show!’ Why spoil the fun and examine the parts individually when the sum of the parts is a universal message people need to hear now as much as they did in 1971? Reward honesty and integrity, not greed.

A moral message delivered in an almost subversive tone is another reason for why the film feels timeless. Instead of adults dragging tired and bored children around, the adults in this film are at the mercy of their kids and Wonka. Young viewers can marvel at the gluttony of August Gloop, the smart-mouthed Violet Beauregarde, the wanton bad behaviour of Veruca Salt, and Mike Teevee’s devotion to cable. It’s escapism at its best to watch other kids do what you can’t do: speak back to parents and yell and scream. It’s equally as tantalising when the naughty children are punished in fantastical ways. Augustus, drinking from the chocolate river, falls in and then gets sucked up a chocolate chute. Violet chews forbidden gum and then blows up into a blueberry the size of a small horse. Veruca falls down a garbage chute. And Mike finds himself sucked into a television. Best of all, the parents are equally guilty of bad-behaviour as the kids - and, boy, do they pay for it. Wonka might be a film for children and adults, but you can guess who’s going to really have the best time. It is little Charlie, after all, who wins Wonka’s factory at the end of the day.

In the scene where Willy Wonka drinks from a yellow flower-shaped cup and then eats the cup, the cup itself was made of wax. Gene Wilder had to chew the wax pieces until the end of the take, at which point he spat them out. Adults that once watched the film as children now know that flowers in the garden aren’t edible. Our eyes can pick up the small imperfections in the film - the sweets that look plastic and chocolate river that looks like exactly what it was - ‘dirty, stinky water’. But through a child’s eyes - even coming to the film half a century after its release, the film really can be a ‘world of pure imagination’. In another fifty years, will children still wander into the garden, pick up a buttercup, and bite into it with all the belief in the word that it’ll taste like sweet, white chocolate? As long as parents continue to show children the film, they will - and what a marvellous legacy for a film to have. Fifty years on, it’s safe to say that Willy Wonka has had a sweet and indelible impact on our sadly mostly inedible world.

Sources for post:

Mel Stuart, Josh Young, ‘Pure Imagination: The Making of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2001.

Julia Dawn Cole, ‘I Want It Now! a Memoir of Life on the Set of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2011.

Pure Imagination: The Story (Making) of Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yyev_3S_Y4

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#Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory #1971

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closer-stars · 4 years

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Gut Feeling (8)

Member: San Genre: Fluff, Feel good stuff Word Count: 10k (I’m SO SORRY) Content: food. Reunion. Tying loose strings. #Maturity. I think I provided enough hints as to where this is going Note: FINALLY FINISHED PART 8. there’s only two parts left. :D This went through a lot of stuff because of writer’s block and a thing called a short attention span. I’ve proofread this a number of times but I’ll continue to do so, especially once i update this with links in 24 hours. Network: @ateezlovenet Tag list: @barsformars @yeotlny @seoultraveller @shinyddeonghwa @frankenstein852 @miniyeo @hwaberrykiwi @jeongyunhoed

Part 7

San’s gaze stays glued to you, unwavering, as he takes in your visage. Your new hairstyle accentuates your cheekbones, you look healthier, happier even. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were doing better without him.

“Hello!! Surprised to see me, Manager Bae?” You ask in a playful tone. Your attention shifts to the eight boys who look at you with slack jaws and wide eyes. “Surprise?” You say softly, a bit of embarrassment rushing to your cheeks. Guilt washes over you when you remember you never said your goodbyes.

A few moments of heavy silence sinks in on everyone and it was Yunho and Wooyoung who break the silence, tackling you into a hug. “We miss you so much!” You weren’t sure who exclaims it, you just knew the hug and the shrill pitch shocks you. This breaks the rest of the boys from their daze and they start to whine at you for leaving them with no warning, some asking you how you’ve been.

Maybe things haven’t changed.

You laugh, hands reaching to pat their heads, just like how they liked it when you worked with them. “Guys, we can catch up during your down time. Right now I need to introduce you to the director then bring you to your dressing rooms.” Your eyes skirt over to San, giving him a double take.

He’s changed, matured, and he looks a lot like a man now. He always looked like a man but there was something about him now that had your gaze lingering at him for a moment. You snap yourself out of it and bring them to the director. After the formalities and quick rundown of the process, you bring them to their dressing rooms. San is the last one to enter as he lingers around you for a moment.

You’re at work, you remind yourself. “Yes? Is there something I can help you with?” You ask, and you kind of hate yourself for your voice changing in pitch, your default customer service voice as you’d like to call it.

It’s how even your work voice makes the corner of his lip twitch in amusement. He looks at you properly for a moment and his lips break into his bright grin. “I’m alright, thank you.”

You hate yourself for your heart fluttering at his smile but you thank yourself for keeping your composure. At his words, you nod and let him enter the dressing room. You stay with them in the dressing room, because you know the boys well enough to know that when they have questions, they’re persistent.

Hongjoong was the first one to speak up. “You never told us you did production too!” He could’ve asked for your help in his music if he knew earlier. You never really mentioned your experience in production, all you did tell them was that you’ve been in this field long enough to know a little bit of everything.

You watch his make up artist work on his eyes for some time, then shift your attention to the rest of the boys. Seonghwa asks you about how the production work will be while adjusting his clothes for the first set. Black really did suit him. You look at your clipboard, flipping through the papers for his script and art direction. You decided to give everyone a rundown of the general gist of this shoot. You were sure they already knew of the story line, shit, you can actually pinpoint which parts of the story line were your suggestions during the meetings back when you worked with them.

It’s going to be a whole day shoot for the first day while the second day focuses on all the night shoots, all of which were going to be long days. Quite frankly, you feel a little bad that they’re filming at the wee hours of the day or end when the sun’s about to rise. It’s all part of the job, you get the good and you get the bad. It’s just a matter of how much you love what you’re doing or how much food you can put on the table.

One by one, you bring the members to their set, letting them discuss the scenes to be shot with the director while taking a few runs until both are satisfied with the final output. It takes several tries until both sides are satisfied with how the rolls come out. In between the planned shots were impromptu acting and dancing from the members, you wonder if this was San’s doing thanks to Answer.

Speaking of, San was the last to leave the dressing room, the other members were already retouching their hair and makeup for the next shoot. On the way to the director, he asks how you’ve been.

“Well, I’m doing better now.” You start. “We can catch up after the shoot, if you want.” You advise as the two of you get closer to the director.

“Same number?” He asks, his heart slightly racing. He wants to reason that it’s because it’s a new production house and nerves.

“Yep.” You affirm casually. “Let’s get to work first?” You gesture, switching to formal speech as you approach the director first. You introduce him to the director, letting them do a quick runthrough of what the director wants from San for this scene.

Once all of that is done, he’s about to step onto the set before he looks back at you. “Are you going to watch me?”

It takes a moment for you to reply but you don’t hesitate this time. “Just like old times, Sannie.”

Something about that makes him flash a bright smile, a complete contrast to his darker, mature look. He stays where the director tells him to first. Once he gets the cue, he starts to move, getting into character a lot quicker than you thought before the staff could even use the slate.

Heeseok, the director, notes that you’re lingering around to watch San do his thing. “You can stay, you know.” He muses. His words make you look at him in surprise. You haven’t been with this production house as long as most of them have so you’ve kept to yourself for the most part. “I’m serious. You’ve worked with these boys before us right? At least, let yourself loosen up around them. It’s been awhile after all.”

You wonder how lucky you were when it came to finding a work environment as understanding as this. At his words, you take up the offer and step a little closer, watching San with and without the help of the monitor.

He’s improved greatly. He clearly has the experience to back up his professionalism. A gaze sharper than a dagger, colder than ice was given to the camera. You can’t help but have your breath taken away by how intense it looked. The shock wears off when you see how mischievous Wooyoung becomes next to you as he tries to make San break out of his character.

Things haven’t changed.

You watch Wooyoung pull the weirdest antics that would’ve made San probably want to punch the other. “You really think the boys would break after all these years?” You ask him, incredulous. The male looks at you, grinning ear to ear.

“Of course! It’s fun pulling all sorts of tricks to see which one makes them break. The last time was Yunho when I started dancing to one of our earlier covers while I was wearing a multicolored outfit.” He explains. You have a rough estimate of when that would be. Even if you left your job to be their manager and their publicity team, you still watched them from a distance. You still buy their albums too.

You shake your head, still entertained by his antics, before shifting your gaze back to San. He approaches the two of you and you figured that he was going to review how his performance looked on screen while the stylists retouch his makeup and dab his sweat away. “How did I do?” San asks the two of you as he takes a sip of water.

“As expected, you did great.” You return without missing a beat. Wooyoung agrees too but in his typical fashion of a praise mixed with sarcasm.

San catches onto Wooyoung’s antics and scoffs, unfazed by the other’s jokes. The two of them monitor his performance closely. Already, San takes note of which ones he needs to fix in the next shot. Now that they were busy, you thought it would be a good chance to slip off and check on the other members.

When San straightens up after watching his performance closely, he spots you about to leave. “Are you leaving me with Wooyoung?” He asks as if miffed by the fact he would be left alone with his own member.

You look over your shoulder, surprised at how bad he wants to have you watch him. “I want to check on the others, to see if they need anything..” You explain, unsure of what to make of this situation.

He has to admit you have a point but he wanted you to watch him still. Despite that, he let you do your work; you aren’t their manager anymore.

--------

The music video shoot goes on for the entire day, and will continue to do so in the next few days. You assume that the earliest you’ll finish is in three days, this being based on how the boys have been working earnestly. But like any other shoot, no matter how hard you work or how smart you work, delays still happen. The three days eventually turned into six days due to unforeseen delays along with everyone needing rest. Thankfully for both sides, the work didn’t seem to feel like too much of a burden.

In between the shoots, the photographer managed to take a few shots for the album’s photobook. A lot of b-rolls but that was fine, the more the better especially with how lore heavy this comeback seemed to be.

By the last group shot, the director finally yells cut. “Cut! Good job everyone! We’re finally finished.” Heeseok bellows out much to the relief of everyone on set. In response, the boys return the same phrase, bowing to everyone in respect and gratitude. Everyone slowly starts packing up, those who have been on their feet for hours on end find somewhere to sit to rest their weary bodies; you included. You find a corner to drop yourself onto, your hands gently massaging the knots on your legs.

You look at the time. You won’t be able to get home until sunset you assume, as you find yourself feeling guilty to even consider heading home now while everyone else is helping each other pack up the equipment. Once feeling returns to your legs, you pull yourself up to help out in packing away the equipment.

You were already done with half of the stands when your higher ops realize you were still on set, cleaning up. “What are you still doing here?” Hwayoung asks you, eyes wide with an array of emotions behind them.

The surprise and concern makes you feel a little anxious, wondering if you did something wrong. “I wanted to help pack up…” You return softly, rubbing the back of your neck after keeping the last light stand away.

“You should be home by now!” She chides. “You’ve been on set the entire time, leaving late and arriving on the dot. You need to get some rest!” She continues, patting you on the back.

“But, what about you guys..?” You ask as you look around. The bigger set pieces were going to be dealt with in the following days as it’ll still be used for the jacket photos if you remember right.

“Leave it to us. We’ll be alright, go home and get some rest. You’ll be needed back on set after tomorrow.” She reassures you. You look at your co-worker who agrees with her, echoing her sentiments about how you’ve been on set day in and day out. You really couldn’t fight them regarding their points. Somewhere along the way, you went from wearing jeans to joggers for the ease of moving around. With that, you nod at their argument.

“I’ll get going now. Please take care too!” You say, bidding them goodbye before heading to where your belongings were.

On your way out of the staff’s room, you figure you should bid goodbye to the boys. It only seemed proper after your surprise departure from the company. You knock thrice on their door, peeking in carefully. Thankfully they were already dressed in their regular clothes. “Hey, just wanted to drop by and say that I’m heading out.” You state as soon as the boys catch sight of you.

“Do you want to eat with us?” Hongjoong asks. It takes all of San’s control to not trip over his own bag at Hongjoong’s offer. Not only do old habits die hard, so do old feelings.

At his invitation, you raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t you guys tired after the continuous shoots?”

“Well, we are but..” Wooyoung trails off, taking the chance to stretch. “... food after a long day always tastes great.” He had a point there.

It takes a while for you to decide, it has been way too long and you’re sure the boys have a lot to talk about with you. That also depends on how awake you could be in the midst of everything. “Are you guys free tonight?” You ask. You know yourself better by now: eating while sleep deprived isn’t a good idea and the way home can be an issue.

“Yeah, their entire schedule for the next few weeks is just centered around the upcoming album.” Manager Bae returns as he hoists his bag up over his shoulder.

“If you guys have the energy later tonight, we can eat dinner together. I don’t think I can last long enough to eat with you guys for lunch then head home.”

“Then it’s settled, we can meet later tonight for a meal.” Hongjoong returns, clearly excited to be able to bond with you and the rest of the members. Just like old times (sort of).

-------

The ride back to their place was bustling with energy. The members were exhausted yes, but the fact they got to work with you again overrode the need for rest.

“Hyung! Why didn’t you tell us that they’d be there too?!” Mingi whines. He was one of the few who took your departure a little harder, if not just as hard as San.

Manager Bae flashes an apologetic smile, though it can’t be seen by them, they hear it in his voice. “Sorry guys, they told me to keep it a secret.” He explains how you were the recipient of the PR team’s email along with how you did everything you can to make sure this deal pulls through. You even contacted the managers (as friends) to make sure that they told the members nothing about you yet.

You were also aware of how they took your departure. Though this part wasn’t from the managers, rather from Seonghwa.

“If we can’t have dinner with them, can we at least have a meal with them one of these days?” Wooyoung pipes up. The eldest members knew that one way or another, you’d make sure to have a meal with them. You confessed how much you missed them in the months following your leave. They understood why you had to leave too. They can’t hold it against you.

“It’ll happen. They have a soft spot for you guys.” Manager Bae returns with a chuckle. The nine of them arrive outside their apartment and decide to catch up on sleep before grabbing something for dinner tonight.

--------

[ You to Hongjoong ] Are you guys still up for dinner? It’s on me.

Hongjoong looks out of his room and the boys were already getting ready to eat out. “Boys, dinner with them tonight, yes or no?”

[ Seonghwa to You ] Everyone’s ready already. Where to?

You send them the address, along with the menu. As you wait for their thoughts, you walk around the area.

[ Hongjoong to You ] See you in that restaurant! The boys are excited LOL

Somehow you can picture just how excited they were, and how chaotic the apartment was since the invite.

[ You to Hongjoong ] hehe, see you in a few then.

--------

You wait outside the restaurant, occasionally looking up from your phone to look for them. They never really said what time they’d arrive. A part of you wonders if they moved elsewhere now, it would make sense if they did, especially with how big they are now. You’re stuck in your thoughts again, staring into space despite looking as if you were looking at your phone. You hear a familiar voice call out to you and that snaps you out of your thoughts.

You look up from your phone, blinking a few times to regain your surroundings. You’re greeted by a Mingi that’s already speeding towards you. Fortunately, you were quick enough to catch him in your arms this time. “Oof--! Hey there Mingi.” You greet carefully, patting his back lightly.

Despite him being the more laid back member, he was more vocal with his emotions. You were glad to see him looking better than before. “We missed you!” He exclaims, pouting slightly at you.

An apologetic smile graces your features at his actions. It sometimes slips your mind that they were still kids when you met them. At least in your eyes they were, even with the close proximity in age. “Let’s continue the talk inside? You guys are probably hungry.” You raise, as you let them enter the premises first.

“They didn’t even eat prior to this.” Hongjoong quips with a snort. You look at them then at him in mild concern.

“Did you eat though?”

“He didn’t.” Seonghwa cuts the conversation as he drifts inside, walking past a dumbfounded Hongjoong. “It’s okay, I forgot to eat too.”

“That makes all of us then.”

--------

The dinner goes without a hitch. For the most part it was you and Seonghwa who were cooking the meat over the grills.

There were times where when you put the cooked pieces of meat on their plates, some of the pieces you cooked would appear on your plate. “Huh?” you mumble, when you catch the culprit’s hand under your line of sight. You’re able to catch the direction of where the hand retreats. It’s San. You look at him while keeping track of the sizzling meat over the grill. “Did you at least eat?”

“Yeah but you haven’t.” He shoots back, gesturing to the cooked meat on your plate.

“Let me cook this time.” Yunho offers, he doesn’t take no for an answer as he takes the tongs from your hands. Now that you were empty handed, you could finally sit and get some food into your system.

San says something that you don’t catch so you turn to San’s direction, only to be greeted by a small ssam in front of you. You stare at him for a moment, opening your hand for it but he pulls back at such action. This puts a confused frown on your face which doesn’t faze him. “I said, ‘say ah’.” He even goes the extra mile by opening his mouth for you to mimic.

Stubborn boy.

You roll your eyes but appease his wish to have him feed you. As expected, the food in this restaurant doesn’t disappoint. The other members glance at San, somehow amused at how he acts despite the time apart. None of them were caught by you, too busy eating your share after a long day.

The rest of the night goes like that, just eating and drinking (non-alcohol because of their schedule) with the boys as they tell you stories of what you’ve missed.

“Seonghwa doing rock climbing? Again?” You repeat, incredulous and rather concerned for his safety. You stare at the male at the other side of the table who looks at you as if he heard nothing. Of course he looks unfazed, the other members were praising him for having gotten through it despite his phobia. He says nothing to your question, instead taking his sweet time eating his sherbet. At his lack of a reply, you just snort at him and continue to eat your ice cream.

It’s hard to deny that he didn’t have feelings anymore. Not when he looked at you with warmth as you recount what has happened since you left. Yunho and Seonghwa could clearly see how he felt about you but say nothing except to snap a few shots to tease him with later. Maybe this explains his lack of interest in dating.

You did your best to tell them your experiences and how things have been after everything. The few months of just you being on your own, doing side jobs to keep supporting yourself as you did some reflecting. The succeeding months of landing the job you have now. “I feel happier here.” You admit, while managing them was a lovely job in itself, the fact you get to help create visual ideas into reality is something you can’t replace. “Despite all that, I still bought your albums.” You add, showing them a photo of their albums still on display at your place.

“Oh you moved?” Wooyoung notes.

Sharp boy, you thought. “Yeah, I moved elsewhere for my job, easier to get there too.” You confess. San leans a little closer looking at your photo to see how Wooyoung noticed such a detail. Though it’s not much, he could definitely tell you had plans of staying in that apartment for a longer time. The walls were decorated, their albums were on shelves, proudly displayed their achievements, even some of your jackets were resting over your chair too. It just looked so you.

Hongjoong looks at the time, “Guys, it’s getting late..” He hated having to cut the fun especially with a dear friend. The two of you catch the dejected looks on their faces. Looks like it’s up to you to save the situation.

“We’re still seeing each other for your album jacket shoot.” This slightly lifts their spirits but it’s still not the same as being able to hang out with them as friends. “We can have another dinner after the shoot. Celebratory dinner for finishing something big, y’know?” You admit.

“Is the dinner on you?” Yeosang cheekily asks.

“What are you talking about? I already paid for this dinner.” You return with a snicker. As proof, you raise the receipt up to their eyes, of course, you cover the price from them otherwise they’d pester you to no end.

“What?! How did you--” San asks, clearly not remembering you leave the table to pay for the meal.

You don’t reply to his confusion, opting to just shoot him a wink at your stealth. He shouldn’t have felt his heart skip at that but he did. Now that all of that is out of the way, you, Hongjoong and Seonghwa stand up, getting ready to leave, much to the dismay of everyone else.

San takes his time to stand up, shrugging on his blazer after he stretches. “Looks like you ate well.” Your comment catches him off guard, doing nothing but confuse him. With how lost he looks, you take a piece of tissue and wipe his cheek. Just like old times. “You had a bit of sauce that somehow landed there.” He wishes he could walk you home like old times.

Now that all of you were outside, goodbyes and hugs were exchanged with you. The amount of times you had to reassure them that you haven’t changed your numbers was insane that the two eldest members had to show proof to back you up. “Gah! You guys need sleep more than I do! I’ll see you boys in a few days' time.”

They wait with you until you manage to hail a taxi before they make their own way back. While everyone was recounting the stories you told them and the stories they failed to share, San was in his own thoughts.

[ San to You ] Thanks for today. Everyone misses you.

[ You to San ] I missed you guys too, really. Get some sleep okay? You guys deserve it.

[ San to You ] Got it! Sleep well too ^^

His last message makes you smile at your phone, even at his mature age, his eye smile never seems to change. He hasn’t lost his optimism either it seems. You let yourself absorb the good energy from tonight for a few moments before keeping your phone away, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding this entire time.

Maybe hanging out with them outside work wasn’t such a bad idea.

---------

The past few hours leading up to the shoot had the boys teasing San. “Guys, come on. I don’t have feelings for them anymore.” He shoots back, half heartedly. He still does.

“San, my guy, you had honey dripping from your eyes during dinner with them.” Yunho points out before sipping his coffee.

“I didn’t!”

Seonghwa just brings out his phone to show the photo he and Yunho took that night. It was obvious and there’s no denying from San about it. At the sight of the photo, he shuts up and eats his meal. Hongjoong watches his members act like young kids again but he holds no tension in his body this time. They’ve hit the point in their careers that any romantic relationship they have won’t heavily affect them. “San, just give it a shot this time.” He suggests carefully. This causes the former to look at him with wide eyes. The look prompts the older to explain himself. “San, you still have feelings for them. You know why they turned you down back then. Now that the two of you are in your respective fields-- and have grown, why not give it a shot? If they still say no then,” he shrugs. “Let them go. If they say yes this time, at least you gave it a shot right?”

San’s ears are burning at this point. He wanted to ask you out, properly this time. He didn’t want to regret expressing his feelings but he didn’t want to be selfish about it either. Was Seonghwa right all this time?

“For everyone’s sake, San just ask them out after the shoot. I don’t think I can handle you whining about them any more.” Wooyoung snips. His words though sounding rather sharp, held no malice in them. They genuinely just want him to be happy beyond their passion to be on stage and perform.

“Fine, fine but if it doesn’t work out?”

“Hongjoong hyung and I will take ten shots of soju.”

“I didn’t agree to that!”

--------

The boys enter the venue, now brightly lit as compared to their music video shoot. Their creative team always pulls through with these ideas and seeing your production house make them into reality is mind blowing.

On one side of the building is lit up with various plant life and neon lights, very reminiscent of their older eras. A few meters away was another one, just as well lit though a little muted compared to the other. To the boys, they knew what this set was a reminder of, it would only mean that it would take a few hints before the fans understood what part of their concept this would be. The last one seems to be unfinished, the backdrop still rolled up with the spotlights still switched off.

“Crap, how many versions are we selling this time?” Yeosang asks, dumbfounded by the amount of set designs in front of them.

“Four versions this time.” The answer shocks all of them, surprised to see you behind them. “Did you guys get some good sleep?” You ask as you try to hide the snicker from their fright. Once they get over the initial fright, you gesture for them to follow you to the dressing rooms. There you’ll give them a rundown for today’s agenda. “If you noticed, the third set isn’t done yet. It’s easy to assemble but we wanted to know your opinions on it. The last one is ideally a free-for-all type of thing. Considering that this album’s going to be released near your fanbase’s anniversary, this is more visually very relaxed, just have fun. This version of the album also will carry the heaviest lore so…” You shrug. Their marketing team really knows how to rake in the cash. “We can have the set be up for today or we can save it for once all of you are done with the first two sets.”

The members look at each other, merely communicating their opinions with raised brows, shoulders and the like. “Can we save it for after the first two sets?” Hongjoong asks. Their politeness never really went away even despite being seniors in this industry.

With that said, you nod. “Consider it done. Now get changed. The clothes in the back are labelled depending on which set they’re for.” You gesture to the back. “The photographers have the mood boards with them for visual aid for you. I’ll wait for you guys outside the dressing room.” With that, you bid them goodbye for now before leaving the room to talk to the teams for the agenda.

Now that the boys were left to their own devices with their stylists, they looked through the clothes. They decided to just split into two teams, just to make it easier for everyone. It seems that even their stylists weren’t surprised with their decisions as they immediately got to work.

---------

One by one, the members trickle out of the room, leading them to their designated sets as they get to know the photographers. Some members were already restless inside the dressing room when they visited the others who were having their photos taken.

There was music playing overhead to fill in the silence along with making sure to keep the productivity going for everyone. As Seonghwa has his photos taken in the muted set, San and Yunho are by the side, singing and dancing goofily, just to see how strong his control is. If that doesn’t work, they would look at how his photos come out, even helping out the photographer by giving advice to Seonghwa. As expected of the member, the photos come out well, even the candid ones, much to the pleasant surprise of the photographer.

On the other set is Mingi. He somehow still manages to pull off the look while being with various plant life and neon lights. Hongjoong monitors his photos while Jongho is off to the side, taking photos of them as well. From time to time, Mingi would ask the photographer how the photos were coming and how he should position himself. While the photographer has no complaints, Hongjoong asks if he can try to suggest something. The former allows it so Hongjoong asks Mingi if he can try opening himself, instead of curling in this time. The members know the overall plot of their concept but Hongjoong knows it the best without spoiling anything to the fans.

“What do you think so far?” Yeosang asks you as he’s the last to leave the room. You look over at him and you can easily tell that he had just woken up from a quick nap.

“Good sleep?” you return lightly. “So far so good: Yunho and San joking around, Jongho taking photos, Hongjoong monitoring closely… hey where’s Wooyoung?” You ask once you realize the missing member (and noise).

“Still in the dressing room, he wanted to grab a few more minutes of sleep.” Yeosang says. It’s only then that you realize how deep his sleep was from his tone.

“Looking forward to really push the doberman agenda huh?” You muse, once you take note of what he’s wearing.

He looks down at what he’s wearing then flashes a proud grin. “Of course, even until now the fans consider me a maltese.”

You walk with him to his designated set, keeping away from the camera their manager holds to grab some footage for their youtube. “Do you guys still bark for the fans?”

“Only Yunho and San do.”

That honestly doesn’t surprise you. “Anyways, I’ll leave you guys to it. Manager Bae seems to be recording for your youtube channel.” You say, patting his back, as you catch Yunho and Seonghwa talking about their album. You wanted to stay out of view, even though you knew they’d blur your face it’s for your comfort too.

“Oh yeah,” he starts. “San’s looking at us.” You shoot Yeosang a look to which he shrugs. “Best to talk to him before he starts bouncing around.”

At his suggestion, you steal a glance at the male who’s now pestering the two boys talking to the camera. Seeing that he wasn’t doing what Yeosang had just said, you return your eyes to the male, confused. He returns your look with his usual mischief. Goddammit.

Whatever, you tell yourself as you make your way to the photographer, checking in on the material he has and if he needs a break. As he shows you the photos, both of you are pleased with how they all come out. He even shows a photo of Seonghwa that he caught shocked by the propped figure behind him. “Yunho’s next but I can wait.” He tells you, stretching his sore shoulders and arms.

“You’re doing great. Hopefully we can finish the shoot in two days.” The two of you wait for Yunho to finish his thing with the members before calling him over for his shoot. Once you do, you linger around to make sure he and the photographer are on the same page. Just as you were about to head towards Wooyoung, you’re greeted by someone’s figure just behind you. “Holy sh--” you nearly shout, stopping yourself with a heavy sigh of relief.

“Whoa, it’s just me.” He returns, taking a few steps back to give you space. Once you regain your composure, he flashes a bashful smile at how you shoot him a deadpan look.

“You’re lucky I like you.” You mumble.

San looks at you with a confused light in his eyes. “What?”

You shake your head, changing the topic. “I’m going to check if Wooyoung’s awake. He’s probably right after Yeosang.” With that, you walk past him, gentling hitting his arm with your clipboard in retaliation.

He yelps at the sudden impact-- though it didn’t hurt. “What was that for?!” His tone tinted with faux insult by your actions as he follows you towards their dressing room.

“For surprising the living daylights out of me.” It gets tricky to keep yourself from smiling once you notice him catch up to you.

“I didn’t mean toooo.” He whines, stopping by the door as you peek inside the room.

There you see Wooyoung getting his makeup done. “Sorry!” He apologizes earnestly. You shake your head, not minding his apology. You can only imagine how packed their schedules are now as the preparations for the new music is looming around the corner now.

“All good, just had to check on you. Just come to the set once you’re ready okay?” You remind him. As he’s unable to move his face, he flashes a thumbs up. He catches San peeking over your shoulder, he says nothing to this but the look in his eyes results in San making a face at him. Now that’s out of the way, you turn your attention to San now. “So how have things been huh?”

“Been alright, felt weird that you left.” He admits. He just doesn’t beat around the bush anymore.

You look at the set for a moment, lively boys and music playing overhead. They won’t hear the two of you. “I’m sorry about that… leaving with no word from me.” Your voice is a little softer this time. He doesn’t mind your apology. You had your reasons after all.

“It’s okay, hey I get why you had to do what you did.” San quickly returns.

“Please know that I didn’t leave because of you.” You add before he could possibly start jumping the gun.

He stops there, surprised by what you had just said. Before he could even ask you to explain, Hongjoong calls him over to ask for his opinion on something.

“We can talk later.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments, heading over to the rest of the staff to check on what they need to attend to in the next few days. He watches your hesitant visage shifts into something more confident. Crazy how things change.

He watches you attend to your work before he heads back on set. Time to get back to work.

---------

“Thank you for your hard work!” The voices of the eight members echo through the venue. Their voices were returned with applause and cheering from the staff. You check on the photographers immediately after the words of praises have been exchanged. The photos have been backed up on the computers and hard drives. From there, you tell them that they can leave now, to leave the pack up to the rest of the staff.

With that, you keep the memory cards and cameras in a safe place, before stepping out of the office to help with packing up. By now, it’s probably night time. Truthfully, you didn’t keep track of the time, it only makes you more exhausted if you did. You pick up the tables first with your co-staff, carrying up somewhere out of the way but still easy to put back in pace for day 2 of the shoots.

The backdrops have been rolled up as well, all the heavy lifting were being dealt with by the other staff. You notice the lack of eight loud voices and check on the dressing room if they had to rush to another schedule.

You peek in and they’re still there, just now in casual clothes. “Sorry, had to check if this room was clear already or not. No rush!” You explain as you leave the room quickly, a little embarrassed. You get back to work, unclipping the gel sheets from the spotlights. At least you don’t burn your hands this time as you put them on the table next to you.

You finish folding or rolling the gel sheets into the containers. One on your hands, the other pushed forward by your feet. While you were strong enough to carry heavy duty gear, your hands can only carry so much. Additionally, you didn’t want to do repeated trips back and forth, spare mercy to your sore legs and back.

A man comes to your assistance and for a moment you thought it was one of your co-workers. “Ah thank y-- San?!” You look at the male in surprise, you thought they would’ve left by now.

“We figured you guys might want some help.” San explains as he hoists the second container in his arms. We? You look around and you see members helping carrying gears into the storage rooms or offices.

“You guys didn’t have to…” You mumble, one part touched and one part concern. They’ve worked so hard yet they’re here willingly helping out.

“We wanted to. You guys work hard too. that it would be good if you guys get some rest too.”

You had a feeling that he wanted to talk about something also, based on how careful his words were. This time, you don’t close yourself to what his thoughts are. Once you lead him to the storage room for the lights, you put the container on top of other crates. You made a mental note to make an updated inventory list with how many empty crates this room had. Once your arms are free, you take the container from San, propping it on the table. All that’s left to get were the lights.

Once his hands were free, he hid his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. “I, uh, was wondering, if you wanted to go out soon? Of course, when you’re free also..” San asks, hesitance slowing his words down. You have a feeling this outing has some sort of weight behind it but you don’t say anything for now.

“It’s just the two of us?” As if it was no big deal.

“I mean, if you want it to be with the members, it’s fine too.” San doubles back on his words, feeling embarrassed for feeling like the same kid a few years back.

You shake your head at the second offer. Maybe giving him a chance this time wouldn’t be so scary. “Sounds like a plan. You still have my kakao don’t you?” You ask, taking the container from his hands.

It was a good thing you took the container from him as he freezes up in surprise at your willingness. “Uh-” he clears his throat to regain his composure. “Yeah, I do! When do you want to hang out?”

“Next week? How does that sound?” He genuinely hopes he isn’t dreaming from this point on. “

“Sounds good.” He’ll clear out the day just for this.

You flash a smile at him as you let him leave the room first. “Awesome, let’s finish up cleaning so we can get some rest?”

When the two of you return, your higher op tells you to leave the stands where they are. For easier assembly for the next shoot.

“Next shoot?” You get a little nervous, unaware of this schedule. Did you forget about this?

“Relax. It’s an outdoor shoot for an advertisement. It’s just easier for everyone if it’s already out and ready to go.” Probably not one of your assigned projects then. With that, everyone bids each other farewell. The boys splitting from you and Hwayoung to head to their apartment.

Now that everyone else is out of earshot, Jongho breaks the silence. “I think Hyung asked them out.” The spaced out smile on San’s face is a giveaway to how the conversation goes. Yet, knowing the members, they wanted to make sure.

“What did they say?” Wooyoung prods.

“We’re meeting next week.” San simply states, and immediately Wooyoung jumps and shakes his friend gleefully. It’s thanks to Seonghwa that the dazed boy doesn’t fall over from Wooyoung’s antics.

--------

On the days leading to your meet up, the two of you agreed to meet somewhere away from the crowds. Now that today’s the day, you stroll around the area waiting for him. You weren’t sure if you’re expecting him to ditch due to schedules or hoping for him to come. This area feels new to you, one part of your mind stays aware of where you’re going and where you are while the other shuts off as you stroll and look through the shops that line your sight.

[ San to You ] Be there in five minutes!

You look at the message then at the time. Not a big deal, you supposed.

[ You to San ] Don’t rush. Just as long you arrive safely.

[ San to You ] You’re there already?

It looks like it’ll be a lengthy text conversation so you step away from the foot traffic, on the fence of either exploring some more or heading to the meeting spot.

[ You to San ] Yeah, I got curious so I explored for a bit.

Three minutes. You decide to walk back to the meeting spot.

[ San to You ] I’ll show you this new food place I found when I was with Wooyoung and Seonghwa.

You could actually picture how excited he was and you had to bite your lip from smiling like a fool at your phone.

Someone taps your shoulder and for a split second you think it could be a lost foreigner. When you turn on your heels, it’s San. This time he’s in loose clothes, an oversized white shirt tucked into dark blue slacks like bottoms. For once he isn’t in black.

“This is the first time I’m not seeing you in black, I think?” you comment, giving him a thorough look. Well save for his bag, he wasn’t in anything in black.

He flashes a pose at your words. “I wanted to change it up for once, does it suit me well?” He asks, spreading his arms to let you look at him properly.

There’s something about his outfit that makes you smile. “Yeah, I like it.” You shouldn’t have the urge to squeeze his cheeks upon seeing his dimples but here you are. Now that the greetings were out of the way, he holds on to your shoulders, gently steering you at the direction of this restaurant he mentioned in your text. “So what’s up with this restaurant that you like so much?”

Once the two of you are walking, he pulls his hands away from you. “Well, for starters, their stews are great. All of their ingredients are fresh.” He goes on about this restaurant that he’s been so in love with lately. A small part of you wonders if this is one of those restaurants he visited for his individual content. You guess you’ll find out eventually. With that, you let San talk excitedly about food, how he’s finally able to get away from the boys even for a few hours. He’s not one to talk a lot but when he does, he talks. With that said, you don’t mind listening to him, you spend too much time having to talk to others (for a living) that listening for a change isn’t so bad. Besides, you know for sure you’ll have to do your share of talking once you arrive at this restaurant.

He spots the restaurant a few meters ahead of you and he starts to bounce a little on his feet. “Do you see the restaurant with the red lettering with a crab?” He asks. There’s something in his tone that makes you walk a little faster, just for his sake.

“We’re going there?” You ask in return. He takes a few steps forward, already slightly ahead of you. You can tell he already wants to run towards the franchise, and you can already imagine just how good the food could be to elicit such a reaction from him. From there, you decide to just follow him to the restaurant, amused by his excitement for food.

The restaurant looked homey; wooden chairs and tables, with dividers per table for privacy, with some songs playing overhead. Some tables were occupied with what seems to be families and friends, tables covered with various stews and seafood that come in various vivid colors and flavors. It makes sense why San would love this place.

The two of you get settled down on a table a little further away from any eyes. You weren’t entirely sure of what to order either that you let San introduce you to the meals available instead. This of course, makes him beam even brighter. “Anything I should be wary of?” You admit to being wary of certain things; it’s not that you’re allergic but because you rarely have them. That alone gets his head working and already he knows what to order to share with you and for your solo meals.

As the two of you wait for your meals, your eyes wander around the place--, partly out of curiosity and partly because well… you’re a little shy of the mere fact it’s just you and him. The male across you lets you take in the interiors of the place for a few moments before speaking up. “So, how have things been?” It was a genuine question, one filled with wonder if life has been better for you.

This is probably your cue to fill him in on as much as you can without anyone overhearing the two of you. You fill him in on the months you were jobless, not because you couldn’t find a job but because you just needed to rest badly. You stayed on your own still but you were able to meet your friends in those few months, recharging and taking care of your health after who knows how long. You’re into new hobbies as well, making bracelets or keychains, which fortunately also gives you a bit of extra cash. At the mention of the crafts you’ve been making, you show the simple beads that wove around your wrist, along with the purple and green woven keychain that’s attached to your phone case.

“You learned all of that.. Over the months of no work?” San asks. Truth be told, when he’s on hiatus, he either just plays games, work out, or sleep. He learns things too for the sake of becoming a better performer but crafts never crossed his mind. “And yet, you know how to deal with production work?”

“I did tell you I knew a thing or two when it comes to the industry. My tolerance to things is just something I need to work on.” You admit as you keep your phone away. One by one the food arrives. It’s only when you’re greeted by the stew that you realize how hungry you are. “Fill me in on your life too.” You quickly add before the two of you get side tracked by the various dishes that slowly fill up your table.

As he hands you your utensils, he starts to tell you stories of their recent milestones and albums. The way he finds himself improving as a person and as an artist. He admits to some dips in self-confidence though not as bad as they used to be. After all, at the end of the day, he’s still a regular human with their ups and downs. He tells you as well of the acting gigs he’s been doing, even did a few radio shows on his own. In typical fashion, he even exposes some of his members, what they’ve been doing, what they’re planning, and the like. Were you surprised though? Not quite, in fact you can see a bit of Jongho’s influence in his mannerisms of exposing members. Those two were doing amazing in the drama scene after all.

“Oh yeah! Speaking of dramas, I heard from a little birdy that you were interested in taking up a horror thriller drama role?” You say before taking a small mouthful of noodles. This question flusters him slightly but he flashes a smile so bright, his dimples make an appearance.

“Yeah,” he starts as he looks for the crab meat in his meal. “If the director thinks I’m perfect for the role then why not right?” He lets himself eat for a few moments before continuing to speak. “Though, if Seonghwa-hyung gets the role instead of me that would be funny.”

“He still can’t handle horror?”

“Him and Mingi.”

That’s how the rest of the meal goes. The two of you sharing stories and jokes from the years you’ve been out of touch with each other. It’s a feat that San still plushies on his bed, some of which he had given away, some still with him after all these years. He’s just as amazed as you are for you.

It takes an hour or two before the food is finished. You’ve kept note of this place in your phone, wanting to come back here on your own in the near future. “Speaking of, did you feature this place in your individual content?”

“I have! It’s just going through post processing with the staff so expect it soon.” He chirps, beaming at how you remembered his individual content.

After he pays for the meal (which you will pay back through desert), the two of you walk around the area. He shows you where he gets his clothes, stuff Mingi has showed him as well. In some shops, he proceeds to complain about how some of his members have taste that’s too expensive for him. In response to that, you stare at his bag. You may not be as well off as he is, but you can tell a luxury brand when you see one-- his bag being one of them.

“This was a gift from Yunho!!” He tries to defend himself, which was pretty useless knowing how he had set himself up for that. Besides that, the exploring was fun. The two of you inevitably bought a few things. It was a little funny though, to see a foreigner try to flirt with San and seeing San try to shake them off by pretending to not speak any English. Once you two leave the shop, he immediately asks if the two of you could head somewhere for dessert.

“Even until now, huh?” You tease him.

“Sh..”

You don’t need to see him to see his red ears. You know him well enough for that.

Now you’re here in a bingsu cafe, sharing a strawberry and mango bingsu with him as rivers of people pass by beneath you. It’s a lot calmer now, the jitters of meeting up with an old friend having faded now. Your chats have mellowed down as well. Some topics seem to fit a night of drinking soju in the comfort of one’s home until the sun rises up. There were things that he needed your thoughts about certain things in his line of work. Not that he doesn’t get them with his own members but the unbiased approach you have also helps him in more ways than he can imagine. There are also things that the two of you needed to discuss, things that neither of you should be running away from.

“What you said in the set..” He trails off. You look up from your meal at his words, waiting for him to expound. “You didn’t leave because of what happened between us?” He asks, his eyes stay glued to the half eaten bingsu. There’s doubt in his mind that he’d be able to face how you look with this topic.

You do owe him an explanation. You set down your utensils first before speaking up. “San, I left the company cause I couldn’t keep up with the deliverables… it took a toll on my health.” It was an explanation that San kind of didn’t expect. While you didn’t delve into all the details, you gave him enough for him to understand the gravity. It only takes his expression for you to connect the dots. “You thought you were a reason for my departure?” San couldn’t really say much, only eating his share in guilty silence. “San, you weren’t a reason for that. Sure it was stressful but I can take on workmates having a crush on me as compared to deliverables that needed to be sent out at crazy times.” He still feels a little burdened, but you can’t really do much for that. It’ll take a while before the guilt really washes away, he carried this belief for so long, unlearning that would take a while. “You’re not a burden, I promise you that. Never were, never will be.” Truth be told, any shortcomings he’s had have been forgiven and forgotten. You truly believe he’s grown since you last heard from him.

He flashes a small smile, and you know it’s taking a lot of his strength to not cry. San catches the look of mild alarm in your face and beats you to it. “I’m not going to cry here, I promise.” As he says this, he proceeds to blink profusely to keep the tears at bay. You slipping a piece of tissue towards him catches his eye and he laughs lightly at the thoughtful deed. “Thank you.” He holds onto it to reassure you and to make sure he doesn’t cry in public. He’ll save the tears when he’s in the privacy of his own room. “Now, help me create a cave with this bingsu.” The man across you states, picking up his spoon again. You look at the half eaten bingsu and he’s right, for some reason he started at the edge then started digging downwards.

“San, this cave is going to fall.” You state, a little fearful of a possible mess that could happen if you indulge in his wish.

“Do you not have faith in me?” He asks, visibly hurt by your alarm now. Your gaze carries disbelief and you decide to indulge but on one condition.

“If this falls, you’re buying my coffee on the way home.”

“Call.”

--------

“Do you wanna do this again? Some other time?” San asks. It’s a little frustrating that the two of you don’t live under the same roof (technically) anymore but it does make the time spent a little more precious.

Your eyes widen at his invitation but soften up once it registers in your head. “Yeah, I’d like that. Message me?” You ask, raising your phone up. The train’s arriving soon and that means a surge of people. You take a quick sip of your nth cup of coffee for the day before you brace yourself for rush hour. You did reassure San that your coffee tasted sweeter because it was his money.

“Of course. Send me a message when you get home okay?”

The two of you quickly give the other a hug, just in time for the train to arrive. San stays near the wall, away from the incoming foot traffic from both ends of the station. He watches you enter the train, staying near the window so that you could still clearly see each other. Even at a distance, San pulls a few faces at you to which you try to stifle the laughter that wants to spill from your lips. The doors close and you wave goodbye to him. He does the same, his thumb and pinky outstretched as if to say to expect a message or a call from him soon. The last thing he sees before the train whirrs away is a thumbs up and your smile.

He lets the rush hour crowd dissipate first before making his way to his own train ride home. Somewhere along the way, he receives a message.

[ You to San ] I got home!

[ You to San ] proof.jpg

It was a photo of the clothes the two of you bought along with the coffee he bought for you, spread across the table in your place. A small air of laughter slips out of him at how you arranged the photo in your typical manner after a long day.

[ San to You ] clapping_ryan.emoji

[ San to You ] thumbs_up_apeach.emoji

It’s hard to shake the feeling that the members would annoy him about today.

--------

The door beeps a melody at his return, and already he’s greeted by some of the members playing video games in the living room. It looks like Mingi somehow managed to doze off on the massage chair despite the chaos in front of him. Yeosang who was just an audience to the entire thing notices his return and beckons him over to sit with them to watch. It was a tight match between Wooyoung and Yunho from the looks of the score.

“How was the date?” Yeosang asks before offering a piece of chicken to the now seated member. “It wasn’t a date.” San states, he wonders how many times he had to get this through their heads. Regardless, he takes the offered chicken pop. “Not the usual salt and pepper today?” He asks, a little surprised with the change of flavor. The other shrugs nonchalantly at the change. “Promo plus GC. You know I had to do it.” He looks at San with a raised eyebrow. “It looks like a date though.”

Somehow, San didn’t want Yeosang to expound on what that meant. It’s good to keep your hopes up but this is different.

“Are you going to see them again?” Yeosang asks, the two of them suddenly jumping when Wooyoung manages to score another point against Yunho. The entire room erupts into cheers. They peer over at Mingi and he’s still deep in slumber on the massage chair.

Now that they’ve mellowed down and Yunho has called for a round 2, San returns to their topic. “If we have time then yeah.”

-------

It wasn’t a matter of if the two of you have time. It was a matter of how the two of you will meet. By some strange feats of stubbornness and quick thinking, the two of you somehow manage to meet with each other still after schedules. Of course, depending on how tired the other is, it was usually just San decompressing at your apartment.

The two of you have grown closer than before. Not a day passes without either of you sending each other messages at the start or end of one’s day. Today, San asked if he can stay for the night after a CF shoot. Even though you’ve said before that you don’t mind him coming over just as long as he gives you a heads up, he still asks.

Now, he’s spread eagle across the floor, relishing on the cool feeling of your flooring after such a long day. “San, I’m pretty sure your massage chair might be more comfortable than my floor.” You say, as you set down some snacks on the table.

“We may have a massage chair in the dorm but we don’t have a Lily.” He states. Lily’s your pet ragdoll that’s been with you now for half a year. The little one was also resting on San’s abdomen. The image in front of you makes you laugh.

“I guess so, but will Lily really help with your muscle knots?”

“Her purring can.”

You roll your eyes at how weak he gets for cats. “Go get washed up. Your spare clothes are in my room. I promise, her purring will feel much better when you get out of your work clothes.” Before he says anything to stay put, you already got Lily’s favorite toy ringing clear in the room. The dainty bell already catches the feline’s attention and she hops off of him before he can say anything.

“Fine, fine.” His voice is tinged with an exhausted whine but you’re right; loungewear after a long day does feel nice. With that, he pushes himself off the floor and makes his way to your bathroom.

Now that he’s gone, you tire out your little zooming companion for some time, playing catch with her as she bounces around the room, catching her favorite ball over and over. In the course of throwing the ball repeatedly and tiring out your favorite girl, thoughts run in your mind. You’ve talked about this with Jiwoo recently but you never got to talk about this with Seonghwa or Hongjoong. With Lily still whacking at the small ball around, chasing it around the room, you decide to send Seonghwa a message.

[ You to Seonghwa ] Hey remember that question you asked me when you and Hongjoong visited me?

[ Seonghwa to You ] Yeah, what’s up?

The bathroom door unlocks and it’s sudden enough for you to jump out of your seat. You couldn’t think of a reply to make yourself look busy when San comes back after a shower and in a fresh set of clothes. Adrenaline runs hot in your body now.

“San, I have a question..” Your voice is careful and it already puts San on edge, wondering what could be in your head to suddenly sound so hesitant. Just earlier, you were teasing him and playing around with Lily. He worries what could’ve happened in his absence.

“Yeah?” San returns, repositioning himself to listen closely to whatever’s bothering you. He sits across you, tearing open a bag of snacks.

“You still have feelings don’t you?”

“What if I do?”

This time there’s nothing that twists in you.

Part 9

#my writings #ateez fanfiction #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez scenario #ateez san #san fanfiction #san fluff #im just saying but if some stuff here come true i'll deactivate /jk 1/2

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