#edit: just saw that the fic is from 2015 and suddenly it all makes sense

[padfootastic]

if you’re writing james & sirius in a way that atleast one person doesn’t ask ‘are those two dating’ then sorry but that’s actually two random OCs with familiar names

[thefaultinmyhyungs]

To Be Continued...

Genres: Romance, Fluff, Slice of Life, Multi-Chapter Fic

Word Count: 5,674

Jeon Jungkook x OC (Lee Sora)

July 5, 2015

I’m not really sure where to begin with this. Starting with the moment we first met seems too abrupt and quite frankly, it wouldn’t be a fair representation of where we both came from.

Instead, I think it’d be more appropriate to start with an idea. Perhaps the concept of love? Because that’s exactly what it is - a concept. Nothing more, nothing less. Does love truly exist in a definitive form or does it remain subjective and ever-changing? I would be lying if I said I knew exactly what love is or how it should feel.

So no, our first meeting was definitely not the elusive “love-at-first-sight” that we all chase after. Not a cell in my body is willing to believe that such a thing exists because our definitions of love are too different, too unique, and too twisted to live up to even our own expectations. Ultimately, maybe the phrase “attraction-at-first-sight” is more fitting.

I say “attraction” because I’m inclined to believe that it was mutual. Whether or not it truly was, I can’t be 100% certain.

But back to the reason I started this.

It was a dreary Tuesday afternoon when we first met. Not exactly the ideal weather conditions for a picturesque meeting. But then again, I suppose our story was destined to be unconventional in more ways than one.

I was anxious as our car entered campus. Our aging sedan rolled smoothly under the gates of the Busan School of Performing Arts. It was unfamiliar territory, filled with both strangers and new opportunities. I was here to make a good impression and the pressure to do well was constantly in the back of my mind.

I was about to enter what my peers would come to call a modern-day concentration camp for young pianists like myself. Ten days of intense practice in an artistically challenging environment, coupled with private lessons and master classes from highly-educated, world-class professors. It was a festival that many musicians could only ever dream of attending.

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard of the car and took a shaky breath. It was time.

“We’ll circle back to your dorms and drop off your luggage, Sora-yah,” my mother said from the passenger seat. “Make sure you greet the professors politely.”

“I will,” I promised, reaching into the front of the car to squeeze my mother’s hand. “You guys have fun in Jeju and I’ll see you in a few days.”

“You better not mess this up,” Chanwoo, my younger brother, teased from behind the screen of his smartphone.

“Don’t forget to call or text us if you need anything,” my dad urged, grinning at me through the rearview mirror.

“I’ll be fine,” I tried to smile but it came out as a grimace instead. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

After a chorus of goodbyes were exchanged, I was out of the car and racing towards the music building. Five more minutes and I would be considered late. Late was unacceptable, especially on the very first day.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I chanted to myself as I dashed through the hallways, panting heavily. Just where was the auditorium-

Ah.

I gulped before steeling myself and entering.

“Lee Sora?” a friendly voice immediately greeted me. My ears picked up on the infamous Seoul accent many of my friends dreamed of having, my eyes scanning the room to find its source and landing on a pair of warm brown eyes that were shining with excitement and a touch of frenzy. “Glad you could make it here on time!”

“Hello...Professor Lim?” I managed in a timid voice, not completely sure how to address the program coordinator of the festival. She had seemed nice enough through the thread of emails that had been exchanged between us but her almost manic energy made me hesitant in sharing her enthusiasm.

“Go ahead and call me Yujin! It’s so nice to finally meet you face-to-face! We have some refreshments outside if you wanted something to snack on before dinner. The introductory workshop will start in just a few moments since we’re still waiting on a few late stragglers.”

And just as suddenly as she had appeared, she swept past me with her fingers flying across a small tablet and mumbling about flight delays.

Taking Yujin’s advice, I grabbed a bottle of water and a small banana, before turning around to come face-to-face with the very professor that had invited me to the festival.

I had first met Professor Min when I traveled to Busan for a national competition the previous year. Although the results of the contest had been less than satisfactory, Professor Min had been so impressed by my playing that she had personally reached out to me and asked that I attend her very own festival. It was no secret that the generous lady held many connections to renowned faculty members around the world. Being on Professor Min’s good side would broaden one’s musical horizon, so to speak.

“Professor, it’s so nice to see you again! I wanted to thank-” I was cut off as she wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug.

“It’s been too long, my dear Sora,” she pulled back to give me a warm smile. I returned it, surprised at the amount of strength she possessed despite her age. “I’m looking forward to hearing more of your playing this summer. From what I recall, your Abegg Variations were quite exquisite.”

“Thank you, Professor,” I mumbled in gratitude, touched that she had remembered a performance from nearly a year ago.

“I hope that you’ll continue to grow in your stay here,” she rubbed my arm encouragingly before ushering me inside the auditorium. She left to greet another participant as I continued to observe my surroundings, trying to determine which seat would allow me to socialize the most effectively.

I spotted a girl a few seats to my left, making small talk with a few other participants and gesticulating wildly.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” I approached her, a bit wary of her hyperness.

“Not at all,” she smiled at me kindly, dimples appearing in her cheeks. I smiled when I heard a touch of the Daegu dialect in her otherwise flawless Seoul accent.

“Mind if I sit?” I continued hesitantly, not even bothering to hide my Gwangju accent, secretly breathing a sigh of relief when she shook her head and patted the spot.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, slipping my backpack and jacket off before re-adjusting my hat and settling down.

“I’m Tae Gayoung by the way,” she held out a hand for me to shake.

“Oh!” I turned to her curiously, gripping her outstretched hand firmly. “Lee Sora. You must be the roommate that Professor Lim - erm - Yujin mentioned in her emails.”

“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed, straightening in her seat. “Please tell me you’re still in high school.”

“P-pardon?” I cleared my throat, my brows scrunching in confusion.

“Although you do look a bit mature for a high schooler…” Gayoung trailed off, rubbing her chin as she mulled over the thought.

“I’m going to be a senior in the fall,” I confirmed.

“A senior?! You must be freakishly talented then,” she smiled in wonder at me.

“N-no, I’m afraid I don’t quite follow your...logic on this,” I admitted, wondering what exactly she was getting at.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but this festival is actually geared towards college and graduate students,” Gayoung leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Take a look around. I guarantee that everybody here is at least 19.”

I did as she said and realized that she was right. There was a general air of maturity that permeated through the room, a sense of responsibility that often escaped the minds of high schoolers.

Just as the thought of being the youngest one here was beginning to overwhelm me, I spotted a boy with a lanky frame sitting towards the back of the auditorium next to a woman that I could only assume was his mother. He was dressed fashionably in monochromatic colors, his pitch black hair styled impeccably to frame his pale face.

“What about him then?” I asked Gayoung, waiting expectantly to see what kind of explanation she’d offer up this time. “Wait, are you even in college?”

“I did hear that the festival was making some exceptions this year for prospective music majors,” Gayoung didn’t miss a beat. “They’re hoping to start young and wheedle more kids into staying in the music field instead of running off to pursue the sciences or something. And yes, I’m going to be a freshman in college this fall. I just haven’t decided what to study yet so I was hoping to change that by coming here.”

I sighed pitifully before slumping in my seat, accepting my fate of inexperience and resolving to spend the next ten days never leaving my practice room.

“Listen,” Gayoung grabbed my shoulders and squeezed softly. “If you weren’t good enough for this program, you wouldn’t be here. So stop doubting yourself.”

I nodded my thanks before busying myself with the task of making new friends, murmuring rushed introductions and taking the time to soak in new information about the strangers that surrounded me.

As the general excitement of the auditorium began to die down, a boy around my age gently situated himself in front of me. He was joined a few moments later by the boy I had spotted earlier, the two of them easily slipping into a conversation as if they were old friends.

I paid them no further attention, fully engrossed in a conversation about the differences in music score editions when I heard muffled coughing that was slowly increasing in volume and frequency.

I looked up, frowning in concern when I saw the boy in front of me doubled over in his efforts to recover from his coughing fit. I immediately reached down to retrieve my water bottle, twisting the cap open and tentatively placing a hand on his back.

“Excuse me, but would you like some water?” I asked.

“Thanks,” it was the other lanky boy that answered. He took the bottle gratefully, bending down to offer it to his acquaintance. I was about to return to my previous conversation when a hand reached out to grab my wrist and stop me.

“Thank you,” a new voice whispered.

I turned, distracted by the unexpected pleasantness of that single phrase in the warm tambors of the stranger’s low tenor voice.

That was my first mistake.

I had never truly believed in love-at-first-sight, in a happily-ever-after. But the moment I locked eyes with the boy, I questioned that belief for the first time in my life.

I want to say that he felt it too. Whether it was the same enchantment that washed over me was another matter entirely but I saw something in the way his eyes widened slightly, felt something in the way his grip tightened around my arm unconsciously.

I don’t know how long we remained frozen in place. I just knew that as I was drinking him in fully for the first time, I was already trying to commit his face to memory.

My eyes roamed across his handsome features, marveling at the greenish flecks that sparkled in his strange hazel eyes, the bronze glow of his skin, the crookedness of his smile. He was lean but not quite as skinny as the paler boy next to him, his skin taut against the muscles that he was beginning to develop.

I felt a nudge to my side and just barely registered Gayoung harshly whispering my name. That brought me back to reality and I blinked, unable to look away from the boy completely.

“O-oh, you’re welcome.”

My voice sounded robotic compared to the richness of tones in the boy’s voice and I winced at its plainness.

“Forgive me, where are my manners? I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

The hand that had been holding onto my wrist pulled back and grasped my limp one instead, giving it a firm shake before disappearing entirely.

“Lee Sora,” I answered shakily, clearing my throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he smirked, his Busan accent creeping out slightly. “I-”

He was cut off when Professor Min suddenly rose from her seat, clapping her hands together to get our attention. Silence fell over the auditorium and I tore my eyes away from Jungkook, twisting in my seat as I waited expectantly.

“Welcome to the Busan School of Performing Arts,” she began warmly. “My colleague Professor Shin and I are delighted to be working with such potential this summer and we hope that you enjoy your stay here. This will be your home for the next ten days so we decided to conduct a small gathering to acquaint everyone with their peers.”

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s begin the informal playing class,” Professor Shin took over. “The objective of this is to familiarize yourself with the piano and the concert hall, not to determine where you fit in level-wise amongst everyone.”

“So who would like to volunteer to be the first onstage?” Yujin appeared in the back of the auditorium, her brown eyes still wide and eager.

Everyone immediately looked away from the professors, suddenly finding extreme interest in their shoes. I hesitated, trying to decide if I should just go up and get the performance over with. At the same time, I was worried about appearing arrogant or overconfident in case the performance didn’t go well.

“I’ll go first.”

I was saved by Jungkook, who stood up and smoothed out his shirt. Gayoung’s mouth fell open in awe at his ease and willingness. I pursed my lips, unsure whether to be impressed or not by his bravery.

“Wonderful, Mr. Jeon,” Professor Min reclined in her seat. “And what will you be playing for us today?”

“The intermezzo movement in Carnival de Vienna by Schumann,” he declared smoothly as he made his way to the stage. We clapped politely as he took a bow and adjusted the height of the bench.

I sat forward on the edge of my seat, my hands clasped together in anticipation. Schumann was one of my favorite composers and I was particularly fond of the piece he was about to perform. I was curious to hear his interpretation and whether it would be pleasant or not.

His performance was enthralling but not too dramatic and I was surprised to find that I had liked his playing. It had been on the blurry side and he hadn’t followed the score entirely, but his musicality and soul had shown through his playing and I knew instantly that Jungkook found enjoyment in playing.

On his way back to his seat, I caught his eye.

“What’d you think?” he seemed to say.

I kept my face neutral and stared him down, feeling my competitive nature flare on the inside.

Not bad. But I can do better.

“Who would like to go next-”

My hand shot up into the air before I even consciously made the decision to play. Jungkook continued to watch me steadily, silently daring me to top his performance. I walked onto the stage, still unsure where the audacity to challenge him came from, panicking at my impulsiveness but knowing that it was too late to turn back now.

“And what will you be playing for us today?” Professor Min’s expectant voice made me straighten my back. I lifted my chin slightly, hoping that I wasn’t exuding too much haughtiness, and graciously lowered myself into a bow. I rose fluidly, my left hand gripping tightly onto the edge of the piano.

“I’ll be playing a Mozart sonata,” I said softly.

There was a collective intake of breath as my choice of repertoire sunk into the room. It was interesting, to say the least, definitely not as flashy as many of the romantic composers that had become stars amongst non-classically trained audiences. There was, however, a certain complexity to the simplicity of Mozart’s music that caused even seasoned musicians to shy away from attempting it, scared of the bare exposure that was inevitable in the music’s purity.

I sat down and briefly adjusted the seat for comfort before closing my eyes and exhaling once. When I opened them again, my fingers found the keys that would start the piece and pressed down effortlessly, the action almost entirely second nature as the music spilled out of me.

It sounds cliche but I forgot about everything else except for the pressure of my fingers against the polished ivory and the sound that resonated around me. It was almost dreamlike, how I seemed to fade in and out of reality as I started and ended the piece.

There was a beat of silence when my fingers first left the keyboard, the last chord still lingering in the air. Then a single clap, quickly joined by another and another until the whole room was filled with the sound of approval. I breathed a little sigh of relief, satisfied that I had proven myself for the time being at least.

I bowed once more before leaving the stage and heading back to my seat. I stole a quick glance towards the mysterious boy that had temporarily left my thoughts, quickly averting my eyes when I felt the back of my neck flush at the sight of him already looking at me. Now that I wasn’t effectively distracted, he was quickly sneaking his way back into my head and try as I might, I couldn’t find the strength to stop it.

I all but collapsed back into my seat, my knees weak as they gave out from underneath me. Whether it was leftover adrenaline from my performance or the boy, I couldn’t be sure.

“I told you that you had nothing to worry about,” Gayoung nudged my shoulder playfully, her tone teasing and almost proud. “You absolutely killed it just now.”

“You flatter me,” I chuckled, happy that even if the rest of this festival ended in failure, perhaps I would at least have gained a new friend in her.

“That was something else.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I mentally prepared myself to respond.

“The Mozart, I mean,” Jungkook clarified, clearing his throat and making me pause. Besides the piece, what else could he have been referring to?

“Ah,” I said dumbly, my eyes widening in embarrassment at the obvious lack of eloquence in my speech. “I mean...thank you. Really.”

“Of course,” he smirked, his eyes smoldering under the darkened auditorium lighting. He turned back around to face the front just as Professor Shin selected the next performer and I slumped against my seat, releasing the tension in my body.

The rest of the class passed by too quickly, with each performance revealing yet another talented pianist, their unique gifts fully demonstrating why they had been invited to attend such a prestigious program. At the end, I was left equally intimidated and inspired by these artists.

“Professor Min! Please excuse the tardiness I was trying to make reservations for-”

A tan girl with long, glossy black hair came to an awkward halt in the middle of the auditorium as all of us turned to see who had interrupted Yujin’s speech about campus safety precautions. She smiled sheepishly, conjuring up a dry chuckle from both professors and a slight huff of irritation from Yujin.

“Areum, how nice of you to join us,” Professor Min grinned warmly. “I gather that you’ve finally found a restaurant that holds a table big enough for these sixteen wonderful individuals?”

“Er, yes, that would be correct,” she nodded fervently.

“I guess this would be as good a time as any to introduce you all to Hong Areum,” Yujin interjected smoothly. “Areum’s a senior here at BPSA and a student of Professor Min. She’ll be your foster parent for the next ten days. If you need any help, just call for her and she’ll be there to assist you. You can find her number listed in the contact list that I’ve provided in your handy-dandy information packet-”

“Yes, that’s quite alright, Yujin-ssi,” Professor Min cut in. “Professor Shin and I have a lecture to attend and I do believe our guests must be tired and hungry after a day of traveling. Let’s proceed on to dinner shall we?”

“Right away, Professor,” Yujin finally relented. “Follow Areum if you’re done getting registered and unpacking. I’ll meet everyone in the lobby of the dorms for a quick tour at 8:00pm. Don’t be late!”

“Talk about a control freak. She’s probably written down a daily shower schedule for all of us to follow too,” Gayoung muttered next to me and I bit back a snort. We made our way towards the exit of our row where Jungkook and his friend were already waiting.

“After you,” he said smoothly and I had to actively fight the heat crawling up my face.

I stumbled my way to the front of the entourage, ignoring Gayoung’s calls for me to slow down as I tried to put some distance between myself and the distraction that Jungkook was quickly proving to be.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I cried as I bumped into Areum in my haste. She flashed me a reassuring smile and languidly dismissed my clumsiness.

“No worries,” she said pleasantly. “Don’t mind me, but I missed the introductory session because Yujin was having me run errands and didn’t quite catch your name.”

“I’m Sora,” I reached out a hand to shake hers. “Lee Sora.”

“Ah, Professor Min’s mentioned you a couple of times,” Areum’s eyes widened in recognition. “I was wondering who the Lee Sora would be. It’s a shame I had to miss hearing you play.”

“No, no I’m really not all that special-��

“Don’t be ridiculous. Professor Min’s got an eye for talent, that lady knows when she sees something golden. I mean she’s practically raised Jungkook and Taehyung and they’re Busan’s prodigies-”

“Jeon Jungkook? The one in this program?” I spluttered.

“Yeah the one being an idiot with Taehyung right now,” she pointed towards the back of the group and I caught sight of Jungkook messing around with his lanky companion.

“You know them well?” I broached the topic carefully.

“Well enough,” she shrugged. “Jungkook and I shared the same teacher, before I started attending BSPA. I’ve known Jungkook longer than Taehyung because of that but the two have been rivals in their age division since I could remember. Best of friends too which is kind of surprising, I know. But I guess they’ve both got respect for each other, they’re practically inseparable.”

“Wow,” I exhaled, unsure how else to respond.

“Eh, no need to be too impressed. It’ll get to their heads,” Areum laughed suddenly. “They are dethroned occasionally. It just doesn’t happen very often.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process the boy’s shared reputation. Honestly, it was quite intimidating and I didn’t need another reminder of the overbearing pressure riding on my shoulders. But it also made me curious about them. Jungkook, in particular, but I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself yet.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’ve gone on babbling for long enough,” Areum said and I grinned slightly.

“What do you want to know?” I brushed aside a stray strand of hair as I turned to face her.

“I want to know how you’ve managed-” she paused and eyed me impishly, a mischievous smirk appearing on her face. “In less than two hours, you’ve somehow managed to catch the attention of Jeon Jungkook - supreme casanova. Tell me, just what did you do to have him wrapped so completely around your pinky finger?”

I blanched, tripping over my own feet and nearly falling into a passerby as her words rolled over.

“Ex-excuse me?” I choked slightly, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Please,” Areum said. “I’ve known that kid for ages. He’s been sneaking looks your way every two minutes and you expect me to believe that he’s not interested? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“I-I…” I trailed off, unsure how to respond. Confusing emotions warred inside of me, the instinct to run and hide battling with my unsolicited pleasure at what Areum had said.

“I just came to figure out what it is I want to do with my music,” I couldn’t find the courage to answer her directly. “I’ve got to make a decision soon, figure out if this is really what I want to do in my life.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I asked,” she mused.

“I don’t have time to worry about whether Lover Boy’s got the hots for me or not,” I relented. “Although if you ask me, I think that you’re opinion is baseless and completely unfounded-”

“Getting defensive now, aren’t we?” she smiled knowingly and I abruptly shut my mouth. “I’m just teasing, of course. But then again, I wouldn’t mind front row tickets to a summer romance because I really do think you look good together.”

“It’s only been two hours-” I started to protest, unsettled at how easily the girl had tuned into my fresh attraction.

“And we’re here!” Areum paused in front of a quaint Chinese restaurant and ushered us inside. Gayoung latched onto my arm as she finally caught up to me and huffed tiredly.

“Gosh, are we going to have to walk this far everyday just to get into town?” she sighed dramatically, fanning herself.

“It was only a few blocks,” I laughed at her distress, momentarily forgetting my own.

Dinner was a quiet affair as the participants generally kept to themselves save for Taehyung and Jungkook’s witty banter and Gayoung’s determination to convince me that floral-patterned pants had been a major fashion breakthrough.

“I’m telling you, you’ve just gotta give them a chance and they’ll....”

I rolled my eyes at her stubbornness, turning to the side to refill my cup of water only to find that Jungkook had apparently had the same idea.

“After you,” he repeated the same words from earlier and a sudden trail of heat flicked up to color my cheeks.

My hands grabbed shakily onto the pitcher’s handle and it nearly slipped out of my grip until he reached out to cover my fingers with his own and steady it. He guided the lip towards my cup, gracefully filling it before doing the same with his own cup.

He helped me set the heavy pitcher down before returning to his conversation with Taehyung, leaving me to my own devices. I tried to ignore the tingling sensation his touch had left on my skin as I faced Gayoung again and threw myself into the topic of floral pants if only to keep him out of my mind.

I was overly-relieved when Areum finally offered to show us her apartment and use her fridge for our leftovers. The waitress easily poured our food into plastic white containers and after paying for our meal, we were back on the streets.

This time, Gayoung’s iron grip forced me to stay with her in the back of the group. Which also meant that Jungkook and Taehyung were the only ones close enough to keep us immediate company.

“Mind if we join you two?” a deep, baritone voice inquired softly, stopping both of us in our tracks. We looked up to find Taehyung watching us expectantly and Jungkook peering with interest over his shoulder.

“Not at all!” Gayoung was quick to respond and dragged me forward eagerly. “I must say, I absolutely fell in love with your Ondine from before.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment but accepted the praise nonetheless. “Both of you were very impressive as well. That was a lively Mendelssohn piece, Gayoung.”

“You’re too kind,” Gayoung easily fell into conversation with him.

“And Sora, Jungkook wouldn’t shut up about your Mozart, it’s really quite remarkable. You’ll have to teach us all how you do it with such ease.”

I blushed, unsure whether it was because of his compliment or his offhanded comment about Jungkook, dipping my head into a show of gratitude.

Before I could return the favor, Gayoung had released me and latched onto Taehyung, the two of them eagerly discussing impressionistic composers.

Which left me...with Jungkook.

“Taehyung was right.”

“I’m sorry?” I dropped my gaze to the ground, hesitating to look him in the eyes.

“Your performance,” he clarified. “I couldn’t get over it.”

Ah...perhaps Areum was wrong. Perhaps his interest didn’t extend beyond that.

I looked up then, more certain of the situation. That was my second mistake.

I sensed more than saw his presence next to me, so close that I was sure we were breathing the same air. Startled, I stumbled a few steps backwards before regaining my balance.

“You alright?” his arms were outstretched towards me as though he had made a move to keep me from falling.

“Yeah,” I shook my head. “I’m fine. And thank you.”

“I just think that you ought to know how exceptional you are,” he gave me a cheeky grin as we lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“Since we’re going to be stuck here for the next ten days, might as well start getting to know each other,” he suggested. “Is this your first time in Busan?”

I answered him simply and we gradually found our rhythm, the conversation never grinding to a halt as both of us became more engrossed in each other. I learned that Jungkook had moved around a lot as a child, what with his father having been a military doctor. They only settled down in Busan once it was clear that Jungkook’s penchant for music went beyond a mere fascination and it became evident that he needed the stability of staying in one place to grow as a pianist.

He told me about his older siblings: Junghyun, a doctor in the Gangnam district and Junghwa, a successful lawyer in Seoul. In return, I told him about my insolent younger brother, Chanwoo, and my childhood growing up in Gwangju.

“What brought you to this program?” he asked delicately. Being a senior as well, he understood the stress of making a decision about our futures and didn’t want to pry. I shrugged, knowing that despite his best intentions, he was only curious and doing a horrid job at hiding it.

“Music...it’s my first language,” I began. “There’s the fact that it’s the only thing I know how to do well but it’s also just not something I’m willing to give up. I wish I could tell you what I want to do with it but I just don’t know. All I can say is that it makes me happy to share my passion with others and communicate my thoughts that way.”

“I wish I had half as much dedication as you did,” Jungkook sighed. “I love music with my entire being but I also know that there’s something else out there for me.”

“So you’re not going to pursue it past high school?”

“That’s hard to say,” he furrowed his brow, genuinely troubled at the thought. I decided to drop the conversation because it was a bit distressing to see him look so lost. Luckily at that moment, we finally arrived at Areum’s apartment and she hustled us inside the elevator.

The lot of us crammed into the small space and I sucked in a breath as Jungkook pressed himself against me in order to fit. My head came to align evenly with the top part of his chest, just barely reaching the tip of his shoulders. The scent of sage and fresh rain filled my nose and I almost sighed at the heavenly combination.

Once we were in Areum’s apartment, we handled our business with efficiency and practically ran back to the dorms in order to meet Yujin’s deadline. Orientation commenced with ease and soon we were given our own time to either practice or call it an early night.

Before I could bid Jungkook a good night, Gayoung had already whisked me to our room and requested my help in unpacking her things. Once we were done with that, I made my way out of our room towards the communal area in between the girls’ and boys’ dorms that held the co-ed showers.

Halfway through rinsing my hair, I realized with horror that I had forgotten to bring a change of clean clothes. I finished my shower in a hurry, doing my best to dry myself off with the single towel I had thought to bring. I wrapped the fluffy material securely around my body, making sure that everything that needed to be covered had been, before grabbing the rest of my toiletries and preparing to run back to my room.

That was my third mistake.

You’d think that I would have had the sense to check the hallway before I sprinted into it. I didn’t.

I cursed as a bottle of lotion slipped out of my makeup bag and went crashing down onto the floor. I bent over to pick it up and-

Someone cleared their throat and I froze, screwing my eyes shut as though that would somehow make this situation go away. I peeked one eye open and almost dropped my towel.

“You, um, dropped this,” Jungkook stooped down to pick up my bottle and when I didn’t make a move to take it from him, slipped it easily into my bag. He pulled away, the tips of his ears slightly red, as he offered a kind smile and lifted up his own bag of toiletries, pointing towards the men’s bathroom.

“I was just going to wash up so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Sora?”

I blinked, finally finding some courage to respond. “Y-yes?” I gripped onto my towel fiercely, trying to hold together whatever shred of dignity I had leftover, and met his gaze squarely.

“Goodnight.”

Author’s Note: Hey y’all! I know it’s been a long, long time since I’ve posted any writing on my blog but I was finally feeling inspired to churn this story out. This will in fact be a multi-chapter story and I’m thinking that it will have a sequel as well. However, I ask that you please be patient with updates as I cannot promise that they’ll come in a timely manner. There’s just a lot of things going on in my life right now that take priority over posting and I apologize again for the waiting that you may experience. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and I promise I’ll be back with more of this story! <3

[gratitudejoyandsorrow]

My Mind Is My Folly

Prompt:  Maybe you were the crazy one. What kind of person pretended to read a book while creeping on some random man at a bus stop?

Pairing: Lin x reader

Words: 4,721 (I got carried away...)

A/N: I am still debating on whether I should take a break from writing or if I should join the write-a-thon... I already have the ideas for some of the prompts, but I’m not sure if I have time to write and edit them. We’ll see! Sometimes if I am inspired enough, I can write a story in an hour or so. Anyways, I would like to thank @how-could-i-do-this , @iwrotemywayto-revolution , and @imaginebeinghamiltrash . Thank you for being my soundboard, giving me encouragement to write, and editing. I was so close to scrapping the fic. I love you all and thanks for telling me that my writing isn’t as awful as I think it is.

You didn’t even have to stop pretending to read your book to know that he was here.

Every day for the last week, he would appear exactly at 7:30 A.M., ten minutes before his bus would arrive. He’d slide into the opposite end of the bench, coffee in hand and backpack slung over his shoulder. Then he’d sip his coffee and stare off into space, his knee bouncing up and down impatiently as he waited. Sometimes he’d come with a worn leather-bound notebook in hand or headphones in his ears; those were the days where the leg bouncing was the most intense.

Your weird fascination with him started the second you saw him. You’d been riding the bus for years now – partly because you were one of the few people that liked public transportation, but mostly because you found the inspiration to write when you rode the bus – and it was rare to see someone on this side, the “upper side” of New York City, use the bus. You were usually the only person at the stop, so naturally, your interest was piqued when he appeared.

He was a mess.

His hair was tangled, eyes puffy from the lack of sleep, and clothes wrinkled as if he slept in them. It was… not cute. He simply sat on the other end of the bench, not sparing you a glance, not asking if the seat was taken, and not even attempting to make small talk. He was so odd; you’d never met someone that was so out of touch with their environment.

But as the week unfolded and you noticed his little quirks, such as the leg bouncing and how he would pull at the ends of his hair when he wrote in his notebook, you began to look forward to seeing him, even if it was only for ten minutes until his bus came. He was interesting to observe.

You flipped a page and let out a noise of interest, pretending to have read something intriguing while you focused on him. Maybe you were the crazy one. What kind of person pretended to read a book while creeping on some random man at a bus stop?

Maybe he could be the star of my next story, you thought, trying to rationalize your actions. You bit the inside of your cheek, suppressing a giggle as you pictured your next thriller novel star as a man who was out of tune with his surroundings.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes, noticing that he didn’t have his usual cup of coffee today. He seemed more sluggish than usual as well, his posture lethargic and eyes blinking back the call of sleep.

By the time his bus pulled up to the stop and you saw that he had yet to react, you got concerned. Was he okay? You fought the urge to say something to him, but it’d be weird for a random girl who he’s never spoken to, let alone looked at, tell him that the bus he usually took was here…Right? Maybe he was going somewhere new?

You watched the bus doors shut and pull back into the street, continuing its course into the city.

Again, no response from the man next to you.

Surprisingly, when your bus came five minutes later, he stood up. He followed close behind you as you entered and swiped your bus card.

You quickly took your usual window seat right behind the exit doors in the back of the bus. Your heart was beating erratically and you let out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling nervous as you watched him walk down the aisles, his eyes glued to the ground.

To your utter horror, he stopped and plopped down on the empty seat next to you.

What. The. Fuck.

You must have let out a noise of surprise, because his head shot up and he whirled to look at you, then around the empty bus.

“Oh shit, this is not my bus. Fuck.”

Your mouth hung open as you leaned away from him and clutched your bag against your chest in disbelief.

“I…I’m sorry,” he apologized, stuttering, “I haven’t had my morning coffee yet. I ran out yesterday and I forgot to go to the grocery store last night. I told myself I would but…”

You stared at him, dazed as he rambled on and on.

“You got on the wrong bus?” you ask incredulously, interrupting him.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound loud and boisterous.

“Oh my god, this has to the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me. Sometimes I get so caught up with work that I forget to sleep. Or pay attention to what bus I get on,” he said, laughter beginning to subside. He relaxed against the plastic seat and looked over at you, brown eyes twinkling in amusement. “I’m kind of on auto-pilot right now.”

You looked at him, unblinking as your mind reeled. You thought you had him figured out, but he completely shattered your assumptions about him. The man that you thought was an aloof, standoffish individual was now replaced with a lively and chatty man that happened to have a very infectious laugh.

“Do you know what bus I have to take to get back to East 8th Street and Lafayette Street?” he asked, pulling out his phone from his pocket and checking the time.

“If you get off on the second stop, take Bus 35, then get off the third stop to take Bus 43, it’ll take you there. It should be the fifth stop,” you said, finally finding your voice.

His lips turned down in a frown. “Second stop, Bus 35. Then Bus 43, third stop,” he said to himself.

You shook your head. “No, you take the third stop to get on Bus 43, then it’s the fifth stop.”

His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion and you could practically see him visualizing the route in his head as he tried to make sense of it.

“Can I have your number in case I get lost?” he blurted out, holding his phone out to you.

Your tilted your head, taken back.

He noticed, raising his hands up defensively. “It’s not a line, I swear. I’m just horrible with directions. I’ll text you only if I’m lost.”

This is insane, you thought to yourself as you reached for his phone to type in your number. He seemed harmless and the meddlesome, artistic part of your brain that was responsible for your love of writing was mystified by his strange character.

“My name is Lin,” he said.

Of course, he’d have a unique name, you thought wryly.

“Y/N,” you replied, shaking his outstretched hand.

As you continued the small talk with Lin and found that he was harmless and quite charming, you realized you were doomed: your interest skyrocketed the longer you were in presence.

You hadn’t heard from him since he left for his stop, so you assumed that he found his way to wherever he needed to be. But the minute you stepped into your office and brought out your laptop to write, your phone pinged.

It was a series of rapid-fire texts that made you stare at your phone in bewilderment.

From: Unknown 8:30 A.M.

Mon, Jan 5th, 2015

Hi, it’s Lin…the guy from the bus.

From: Unknown 8:31 A.M.

Mon, Jan 5th, 2015

We met this morning.

You barked out a laugh, scrolling through the messages to see that he sent you a picture of the intersection of East 8th Street and Lafayette Street.

From: Unknown 8:31 A.M.

Mon, Jan 5th, 2015

Look, I made it.

Thank you for the help!

To: Lin 8:33 A.M.

Mon, Jan 5th, 2015

You’re welcome.

You waited, wanting to see if he was going to say more. When you didn’t receive anything, you shook your head, feeling silly at the twinge of disappointment. You tucked your phone back in your purse and began writing, trying to push away the thoughts of finally having a name for the man you’d been watching from afar.

The next morning you were nervous. You felt butterflies in your stomach and you’d lost count of how many times you had looked at your watch. Should you talk to him? Or pretend that nothing happened? You drummed your fingers against the cover of the book you brought for the day, weighing your options.

“Morning! Nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

Well, decision made, you thought, heart thumping wildly against your chest when he said your name. “M-Morning,” you stuttered, resisting the urge to slap your forehead as you watched him sit in his usual spot.

He raised his cup of coffee and tilted it towards you, grinning. “I bought coffee last night.”

“Good. Can’t have you getting on the wrong bus again,” you teased.

He laughed, the sound making you feel warm. “At least I would know how to get to work. Bus 43, third stop, right?” he joked.

You snorted and playfully rolled your eyes. “Right.”

The light banter ended and the two of you sat in silence until his bus arrived. He did a double-take, making sure that it was the correct one, causing you to laugh before saying his goodbyes and wishing you a good day.

“Do you always ride the bus?” Lin asked the following morning, removing the headphones from his ears when he noticed you sitting at the bench.

You gritted your teeth, willing yourself to remain calm. Don’t. Freak. Him. Out. Don’t tell him that you’ve been obsessively studying him and that you’ve noticed he wears that sweater a lot. A quick glance at his outfit confirmed your theory – it was his third time wearing it since you’d first seen him.

Realizing that he was looking at you expectantly for an answer, you tucked your hair behind your ears and cleared your throat. “Yes,” you said simply, hoping your expression stayed neutral.

His face twisted into a scowl as he sat down. “Were you here last week?”

You gave him a long look.

He was really something else.

“Are you always like this?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

He let out a sheepish laugh, not meeting your eyes. “I get lost in my mind sometimes… Well, most of the time, actually. I’m a writer,” he explained, finally meeting your gaze, “and I’m constantly consumed with ideas. Everything else kind of disappears when I’m working on something.”

Lin continued through your silence. “It’s dangerous, I know. But I can’t help it, my best ideas come to me when I’m out and about.”

It was like the heavens opened up and you heard angels sing the chorus of ‘Hallelujah”. You could have sworn that when you looked at Lin he was bathed in an ethereal light.  

He was a writer, just like you.

As if he couldn’t get any more attractive.

“I’m sorry, I tend to ramble when I talk about my livelihood,” Lin apologized, thinking you had lost interest.

“No, I get it. Don’t apologize, it makes total sense,” you agreed quickly, “every person has their own writing process.”

His face lit up at your response. But before he could say anything further, his bus pulled up to the stop. Reluctantly, he said goodbye and wished you another good day.

You watched the bus depart, suddenly wishing that you had more time with him.

“So you’re a writer,” you start, not even giving Lin a chance to sit down the next morning, “do you have any books published?”

The question had been bugging you since your conversation with him yesterday. You were tempted to Google him, but decided against it when you realized you didn’t have his last name. Plus, it gave you a reason to talk to him more.

The mischievous grin on Lin’s face made your heart skip a beat. “Nothing published under my name… Yet. I’m working on it.”

“What’s it about?” you prodded, curious.

He sipped his coffee, the motion slow enough for you to realize he was trying to buy himself some time. “It’s a mix of a biography and an autobiography of a very important person,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

“So you’re some type of historian?”

His lips twitched up in a ghost of a smile. “It sure feels like it,” he mused.

You pursed your lips, trying to make sense of his ambiguous answer. “I think being a writer, no matter what you write about, is amazing,” you said, not wanting your conversation with him to end.

Lin turned towards you. “Oh? And why is that?”

“You immortalize your characters. Without you, their stories aren’t being told. You share their narrative with the world – the bad and the good – and you let your readers follow along the ride to learn the same lessons they have. Their legacy is continued because of you,” you stopped when you saw him staring at something across the street, “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It outlives them,” he murmured, the tell-tale sign of his knee bouncing meant that he was getting wrapped up in his mind, “and their legacy is continued.”

You watched as Lin quickly reached into his backpack and pulled out his leather notebook. He drew his legs under him and flipped to a blank page. He was humming a tune you’d never heard before and his pen was flying furiously across the page. You straightened, trying to discreetly peek at his words, but to your frustration, they were too sloppy for you to read.

He remained glued to his notebook, gaze intense, fingers twiddling with the pen in his hand. You were mesmerized. You felt his creative energy pouring out of his body in waves, wrapping around you, suddenly making you want to write. You felt like you were watching a genius at work.

The familiar noise of a bus caught your attention and you hesitantly touched his arm when he didn't respond to the call of his name.

His head jerked up, surprised at your touch. His gaze lingered on your hand, and you quickly pulled back, heat spreading across your cheeks. “I, uh, your bus is here,” you stammered, heart thumping heavily.

“Sorry, you scared me,” he apologized as he tucked his pen behind his ear. He swung his bag over his shoulder and gave you a quick smile, his notebook clutched tightly in his hands.

Again, you were left staring at his bus, disappointed at his quick exit.

In the hazy recesses of your mind, you vaguely registered your phone ringing.

When it didn’t stop, you groaned, using your pillow to cover your head to block out the noise. You let out a shout of frustration when it persisted. Your annoyance intensified when you looked at the clock, the blaring red numbers reading 3:00 A.M.

This better be an emergency, you thought, reaching for your phone.

You stared at the device, now fully awake, registering Lin’s name on the screen.

You answered the call. “Lin?”

“I did it,” he breathed, “it’s done.”

“What’s done?” you asked, confused.

“I’ve been hit with writer’s block for so long, but what you said earlier today… It was exactly what I needed to hear,” he laughed, almost hysteric, “I’ve been working on this for weeks and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner but Eliza… Eliza is who my story is all about.”

You sat up and rested your back against your headboard, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. “Are you talking about your book? You finished it?”

“Eliza tells his story. She’s the one that lets his legacy live on,” he stopped, voice cracking.

You heard a sniffle over the receiver.

“Lin, are you crying?”

He let out a shaky breath before chuckling. “Sorry. You must think I’m really lame.”

You clutched your phone tightly in your hands, heart thundering against your chest, knowing the feeling all too well. “No, I don’t. You’ve fallen in love, Lin. That’s what writers do. That’s the reason why we write, why we get so obsessed with our work, and why we get that feeling of satisfaction when we complete our stories… Our job is to fall in love and then make people feel the same way. You have nothing to be sorry for.

After a long pause, he let out another soft chuckle. “I could kiss you right now.”

Your breath caught. What did he say?

“I, uh, sorry,” he apologized again, sighing, “it’s late, I don’t have a clue what I’m saying. I just felt like I needed to let you know first since you’re the reason why I’ve snapped out of my funk. At 3 A.M… Wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m honored, thank you for telling me,” you whispered, stunned.

“Thank you…I’ll see you in the morning, Y/N.”

You didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

You couldn’t deny it anymore.

You had a massive crush on Lin.

You were captivated by how he carried himself – how he’d shift towards you when he talked, how his eyes reflected every emotion he felt, and how he’d have a smile on his lips as he listened to you talk – it was hard to ignore his charm. You knew he was passionate about his work, but you wanted to know more. What was he writing about? Who was Eliza? And was he serious about wanting to kiss you?

You fought back a smile, still feeling giddy from last night. You should’ve said something, but he changed the subject so quickly that you hadn't gotten a chance to reply. You’d spent all morning wracking your brain as to how to let him know that you were totally okay with him wanting to kiss you. In fact, you welcomed it.

A cup of coffee entered your line of sight, cutting off your mental tirade. Surprised, you looked up to see Lin hovering over you, a small smile on his face.

“I feel awful for waking you up last night,” he winced, “and among other things my delirious sleep-deprived self said. So here’s my version of an apology.”

You playfully scoffed at him but took the cup anyways. “An apology isn’t necessary, Lin. But thank you for the coffee.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and plopped down next to you. You gulped, seeing that he was much closer than usual, feeling the butterflies in your stomach. You sipped your coffee, barely registering the taste because of how nervous you were.

It was either now or never.

“I remember you mentioning that you’ve had a difficult time with writing lately,” you said nonchalantly as you inspected the designs on your coffee cup.

He smiled. “It’s been a stressful couple of weeks. My car broke down, I’m in the process of moving…” he paused, his eyes shifting to the ground, “offices, so it’s been pretty hectic.”

You eyed him warily, recognizing his habit of breaking eye-contact with you when the topic of the conversation shifted to work, but you chose to ignore it. “When I have writer’s block, I usually pick up a book that’s the complete opposite of what I’m writing,” you lifted the book sitting it your lap and offered it to him. “It helps distract me for a little a while before I start writing again.”

Lin took the book and scanned the cover. “Is this…?”

You felt your cheeks warm. “I’m a writer too,” you confessed, “That’s the first book I ever published. Maybe it’ll help with your writer’s block.”

He shook his head as he flipped through the pages, reading a passage every now and then. “You continue to amaze me, Y/N.”

You beamed, your confidence growing from his compliment.

“If you ever need help or just need a day to take your mind off things, I’m your girl. I know a few places in the city that I can show you that’s inspired me to write…” you trailed off, hoping that he’d get the hint.

He looked up from your book, his eyes wide. He opened and closed his mouth, jaw clenching tight. “Thanks… I appreciate the offer,” he said slowly, voice low.

The punch of rejection hit you hard.

“In case you change your mind, I’ll be here,” you said lamely.

How could be so stupid?

You both remained silent, the atmosphere awkward. When his bus arrived, you heard him let out a noise of relief.

“Well... Thanks for everything, Y/N,” he said, gaze lingering on your face.

You managed a small smile.

He let out another sigh before wishing you a good day and boarding the bus.

You watched it leave, feeling humiliated.

The weekend gave you a chance to recuperate. Much to your amusement, it was raining both days, a reflection of your mental state. You were past the embarrassment of Lin’s rejection, but now you were at the stage where you dissected each and every conversation you had with him. Did you imagine the spark of interest in Lin’s eyes? The way he’d lean towards you when he laughed? When he said he wanted to kiss you, was it all in the spur of the moment?

You became even more frustrated at Lin’s text you received the day before:

From: Lin 1:00 A.M.

Sun, Jan 11th, 2015

Just finished the book.

It’s amazing. You’re amazing.

I’m off to write some more.

You resisted the urge to chuck your phone onto oncoming traffic as you waited for your bus Monday morning. What was that all about? Why would he send that?

You felt hurt when he didn’t show up that morning.

Or the day after that.

And the day after that.

You angrily brushed your teeth as you got ready for bed Wednesday night, your thoughts running rampant. This is why you mind your own business at bus stops, why you don’t obsess over some stupid, airheaded man who’s totally consumed with his writing career, no matter how cute or charming he is. You huffed. He probably isn’t a great writer, anyways.

But you were immediately proved wrong the second you typed his name into Google.

His full name was Lin-Manuel Miranda.

He had his own Wikipedia page.

He was the creator and star of the critically acclaimed musical, In the Heights. He worked on The West Side Story, wrote the music and lyrics for Bring It On and 21 Chump Street, was in the revival of Tick, Tick…Boom!, and had guest appearances on numerous T.V. shows.

And now, after 8 years of writing and composing, he was on the cusp of something revolutionary. Hamilton was going to premiere at The Public Theater in a week. An interview that you stumbled upon revealed that he was still composing and editing songs, making sure that Hamilton would be perfect when the time came for its Broadway debut.

You sat back in your computer chair hours later as you listened to his music, stunned.

Eliza was the wife of Alexander Hamilton. That was his Eliza.

Moving offices? More like moving from the workshop to Off-Broadway.

You thought back to the day he was writing in his notebook, completely shutting out the rest of the world, and how you felt like you were in the presence of greatness. You were right – Lin was a genius.

Your phone buzzed.

He was calling you. Right now.

You stared at your vibrating phone, his name displayed on the screen. You let it go to voicemail, not knowing if you were ready to talk to him.

When he tried for the second time, you answer the call, not caring if you were going to regret it.

“Y/N?” he said, voice slurred.

You frowned. “Are you drunk, Lin?”

“I can’t – I can’t get distracted,” he said, completely ignoring your previous comment.

“What are you talking about?”

“You. You are so dangerous.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. You were tired of his riddles. “Lin, please. I don’t think I can talk to you right now.”

“No, wait! Don’t go.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Why were you so secretive about Hamilton? About who you were?”

“You know who I am?”

“I had to Google you,” you admitted sheepishly, your face heating when he laughed.

“Of course, like a true writer, you do your research.”

He continued to drunkenly babble on about your book: his thoughts, questions he had, and his favorite scenes.

“Lin, why are you doing this?” you said exasperatedly, interrupting him.

His voice turned somber.

“I can’t get attached. The more you know about me and the more I get to know you… I’ve worked on Hamilton for 8 years. I’ve slaved over it and it’s consumed every single moment of my life. I’m so proud of what I’ve created. I can feel it in my bones, Y/N. Hamilton is going be something great. I can’t afford to be sidetracked.”

You gritted your teeth in anger. “So you’re calling me to let me know you’re not interested? I got the picture when you turned me down the first time, Lin.”

“No, I’m calling because… Because…”

You held your breath as you waited for his answer.

“I’m sorry.”

You closed your eyes, disappointed.

“Yeah, me too,” you said before hanging up.

It was raining again, but you decided to ride the bus anyways. You sat on the bench, enjoying the sound of the rain against the roof of the bus canopy. Typically, you’d just stay home and write on days like these – a perk of being your own boss – but a tiny part of your brain pushed you to get up and go to your office.

You heard footsteps approaching.

“My car was fixed last Wednesday,” Lin confessed, taking a spot next to you.

When you didn’t spare him a glance, he continued.

“I thought my life would go back to normal,” he said, “That I’d go back to writing, rehearsals, and making sure that we’re ready for opening night. But for some reason, I couldn’t. Every morning, I had the urge to come here and see you.”

You refused to acknowledge your quickened pulse, your heightened sense of hope.

“You brought me out of a hole that inspired me to rewrite a song in the musical – it made everyone in the whole room cry when I played the demo. But it’s far beyond that… I wanted to come back here and spend time with you, make you laugh, and to get to know you better.”

You turned to him, heart thundering in your chest when you saw his soft expression. “What are you trying to say, Lin?”

“I can’t ignore my feelings anymore, Y/N.”

You stayed silent, facing him.

“Ten minutes here with you isn’t enough,” he whispered, placing his hand on top you yours, “If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my lifetime being inspired by you. Kissing you. Loving you.”

Your heart soared.

He guided your hand, placing it against his cheek.

You didn’t hesitate. You cupped his face with both hands and leaned forward to give him a kiss. His hands wrapped around your hips, helping you scoot closer. You lost yourself. You couldn’t think past the feel of your lips on his soft ones, the brush of the stubble of his beard, his soft breath against your skin.

You drew back, panting. “I will let you on one condition: no more secrets, Lin,” you whispered. “You can’t ignore me, can’t shut yourself off from the rest of the world because of work, none of that.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

June 13th, 2016

You held onto Lin’s hand tightly, ignoring his sweaty palms.

This was it.

The moment of truth.

The months of staying up late, not seeing each other for weeks on end because of your opposite schedules, arguing when he’d lock himself up in his office and refuse to come out because he was feeling inspired to write a song, and the recent devastating events that plagued him…

“…Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

Applause rings in the Radio City Music Hall.

You kiss and hug him, tears in your eyes as you watch him run to the front stage.

“My wife’s the reason anything gets done…”