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wavesmp3 · 10 months ago

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[csc] ode to you

inspired by 'daisy jones & the six'

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader (gn) genre: band au, strangers to lovers, angst wc: 13.7k warnings: cursing, heavy alcohol usage and often in an unhealthy way, one mention of blood (a terrible case of largely irrelevant side characters, an attempt at writing song lyrics, switching pov’s without any real indication, story existing in a vacuum of time and space loosely based off of 70s usa)

synopsis → The Numbers are a band well on their way to commercial success with Seungcheol as the dreamy front man, Soonyoung on drums, Joshua on guitar, Minghao on bass, and Junhui on keys. But all that changes the second you step into the studio to record “Begin Again” with them. The song is an instant hit, launching you from a singer-songwriter nobody to the biggest new name in music and catapulting the Numbers into a larger limelight than they’ve ever been in before. So with the entire country singing your song, the pressure is on for you and the Numbers to create an entire album that lives up to their expectations. But while pressure builds, something akin to feelings for the front man builds with it.

You go to knock again on the door, heavy footsteps and heavier breaths, but just as soon as your knuckles make contact with the heavy wood, the door swings open.

Jihoon looks disappointed. “You were going to knock again, weren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, pushing him aside and going straight for the marble bar cart you know sits in the sitting room off the formal dining area.

“You know you really have to work on your patience.” He says to you from the foyer, voice already sounding a bit far away. You always forget how big acclaimed-music-producer Woozi's house is. Although, you think, staring at the array of top shelf liquor arranged neatly on the bar cart, mansion is probably a more apt word for it.

You pour yourself a glass of whiskey.

Jihoon joins you in the room once you’ve already taken a seat in one of the brown leather arm chairs.

“How many glasses is that?”

You scoff. “I have a show at the Roxy after this.”

He hums, flicking the square paper in his hand.

You sit up slightly. “What is that?” Jihoon takes the paper over to the record player in the opposite corner of the room. He slips a clean black record out of the manilla slip and carefully places it into position. It doesn’t take long for the gentle hum of the record spinning around the platter to fill the room.

God, I love music. You think to yourself sitting back slightly in the armchair and allowing your eyes to shut.

“I want you to listen to this.” You hear Jihoon say, followed by the small pop of the decanter being opened and the quiet trickle and crack of liquor falling over ice. The sound of a bass overtakes the room. It’s somehow… gentle.

“Who’s it by?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer at first. You hear him sit down in the armchair next to yours while drums fill in the spaces of the songs and a guitar starts to hum along. And the sound that comes from the record player next–in all honesty, you don’t think Jihoon could have prepared you for. It’s a man’s voice, polished, in a way that you just know he’s been doing this for a while. His whole life maybe. There’s this rough, almost growly quality that amps the song up even more, and yet, simultaneously, his voice glides over the lyrics like honey spilling over the side of its jar. There’s so much depth in every note he hits. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard a voice–a sound–quite like this.

“Who is this?” You ask again once the first chorus comes to a close, opening your eyes and taking a proper look at Jihoon. He looks mildly amused.

“Have you heard of the Numbers?”

Seungcheol hurries into the studio from the car, guitar in one hand and lyrics in the other, fully expecting to get chewed out by his producer. “Jihoon, I’m so sorry. There was tra-”

Seungcheol stops in his tracks. The control room is empty. He steps back into the doorway and rereads the signage. He has the right room, so then… where is everybody?

“Seungcheol,” he hears a voice call for him from the recording stage. It’s Soonyoung, waving him inside and pointing at you. You smile at him, give him a nod of sorts. His eyes dart to Jihoon, giving him a look that says, who the fuck is that?

He walks into the recording booth hesitantly.

“Hey.” Jihoon says casually. “I don’t think you guys have met yet.”

You stand and approach him, sticking out your hand. Seungcheol just looks at it.

“The label thinks you guys would sound good on one track and want you to try recording ‘Begin Again’ together.”

He ignores your outstretched hand and looks straight at Jihoon. “Can we speak privately?”

—

Seungcheol had assumed he’d be the one getting chewed out in the studio today. Oh, how things have changed. He’s worked so hard on this song. More time and effort than he’s ever put in any of the band’s songs that came out before it. He can’t believe Jihoon would allow anyone else to try and taint it. “Begin Again” is his song. And he’ll be damned if he’s not the only one singing it.

Seungcheol’s ready to say all of this, but, “Before you say anything,” Jihoon doesn’t even let him speak, “I know how you feel about this. But the decision came from above me, okay. The Number’s last album didn’t do as well as the label hoped. They think another voice in the band could shake things up. And who knows, “Jihoon continues with a shrug that only makes Seungcheol fume more, “maybe this could be what you guys have been missing.”

Seungcheol cannot believe what he’s hearing. “We aren’t missing anything.”

“Don’t be dense.” Jihoon pans with a sideways stare. “I know you guys are good. I know you guys are gonna be big, but the rest of the world needs some convincing. Just try this, okay? This could be it.”

Seungcheol just shakes his head.

“I scouted them out myself. They’re a good singer and even better writer-”

“Writer?” Seungcheol nearly screams, arms flying to point at you through the control room window where the two boys are talking. “You want them to write on the song too?”

“They have a couple of…” Jihoon sighs, choosing his next word with extra precaution, “revisions.”

“Fuck that, Jihoon. I wrote a great song. It–”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You wrote a good song.” Jihoon refutes, matter-of-factly. “You wrote a good song, and they,” he points at you, “they made it a great one.”

Seungcheol is speechless.

“Here.” Jihoon pushes a piece of torn notebook paper into his hands.

If Seungcheol wasn’t so aware of the line Jihoon was drawing, he would’ve pushed harder, but at the end of the day, Jihoon is his boss and his lifeline in this business. If Jihoon says so, really says so, then there’s not much Seungcheol can do to fight it. Seungcheol is stubborn, but he’s not a fool looking to waste his own breath. He looks back into the recording stage. The band looks happy chatting to each other. And you, well, you’re staring at him.

A red light flashes on the sound board beneath him. “Talk over the changes.” Jihoon says to the band and you through the intercom. “We record in ten minutes.”

—

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say to Seungcheol sitting on the stool in front of the second mic. Seungcheol’s never even seen a studio setup with two mics before. He swallows a scoff. “Jihoon showed me the song the other day, and your voice it—“

“What does this line mean?” Seungcheol cuts in, taking his seat on the stool next to yours. “I changed my heart. I morphed my mind. You don’t have the right to tell me I didn’t try.”

Your face drops immediately. “Are you serious?”

Seungcheol raises a brow–a challenge.

You let out a breath of pure disbelief, focusing your gaze just above his head, and hands starting to make motions in the air. “It’s about changing yourself to be with someone. It’s about them never acknowledging that.”

“That’s not what this song is about.”

You give him a pointed look. “What do you think the song is about?”

It’s his turn for the disbelief. “What do I think the song I wrote is about?” You don’t falter, not even for a second. Seungcheol grasps at the words, mouth agape. “It’s about redemption.”

“That’s too easy.”

“How is that too easy?”

“Look,” you huff, mouth opening and closing like you can’t decide what it is you want to say. You end up reaching your arm out, palm open like you want a fucking hi-five or something. In the back of his mind, Seungcheol wonders if you’re still waiting for the handshake he never gave. “Give me your original lyrics.”

He does, you snatch the paper keeping your eyes on him for a second too long before finding whatever it was that you were looking for. “Right here,” you say, finger pointing at the tattered paper and eyes darting back and forth between him and his lyrics. Your face lights up. You look like you're holding back a smile. You look… excited. “Here, in the bridge you wrote: take me home, welcome me on those familiar roads, embrace me in your arms, oh please, tell me I still belong.”

“What about it?” Seungcheol asks, almost forgetting that he’s upset at Jihoon for this whole arrangement, nearly forgetting that he’s supposed to not be accepting any of your revisions because for the first time in so long, he’s able to really talk to someone about his lyrics.

You look up at him fully, and almost sadly, you say, “You really don’t get it, do you?” Seungcheol looks down at the lyrics you gave him, scanning them again. Funnily enough, that line is the only one of his you’ve kept.

“The song’s not about redemption,” you tell him. “It’s about guilt.”

—

Seungcheol, you, and the band end up recording your version of the song. It’s a good song. It’s still his melody, his hook, and his bridge, but almost none of the lyrics are his. Just like that, “Begin Again” becomes as much your song as it is his. If he wasn’t so angry at Jihoon, maybe he would’ve had the mind to notice how good you sound singing it.

Choi Seungcheol is an asshole.

That you learned in the recording studio with him and haven’t been able to get out of your head since. Unfortunately, he’s got one hell of a voice and gift for creating a good melody. And him and Jihoon together in the studio, god, they’re magic. You went out and purchased The Number’s previous record after you recorded “Begin Again”. You haven’t stopped listening to it since.

It’s one day when you’re working a shift at the diner that you start humming the song playing over the speaker while grabbing an order from the kitchen. You don’t even think twice about it. That is until you make it right in front of the table whose orders you’re holding and start to hear your own voice.

You nearly drop the four plates of burgers.

You rush over to the jukebox, not believing your ears, not believing that your voice, your words, your song is playing for the entire diner to hear.

And there, right at the bottom it reads: “Begin Again” by the Numbers ft. you

“Holy shit.”

The desert wasn’t too far from home, but it could not have been more different. There was so much nothing for as far as your eyes could see. There was dust everywhere, all over the place, sifting up through the air and in your lungs. How are you supposed to sing like this?

You hear the bands’ voices come up from behind you.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, coming up next to you and resting an arm on the same wood railing as you. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” You answer truthfully. You could barely believe it when you got the call from Jihoon saying that they wanted you to play the festival along with the Numbers. Although, considering that your song is playing on every radio station, it probably shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was.

The crowd roars as the previous artist says his goodbye.

“Have you ever played for a crowd like this?”

“Nope.”

He nods slowly. “It’s a lot. The first time especially, for sure. But just go with it, and uh,” he smiles, towards the ground, “it’s a lot of fun once you get past the nerves of it all.”

You look at him, battling against the grimace forming on your face. “Is this pep talk for me or for you? Cause I’m fine.”

His smile disappears when he sees your face. You must’ve lost the battle.

He inhales sharply. “‘Begin Again’ is last. Come out after I introduce you.”

You nod, and he joins the rest of his band.

The crowd cheers when they get on stage. The first song starts with a familiar guitar riff and the pound of the drums, followed by the crowd going ballistic. You’ve been playing on stage for a while now, but only ever in small clubs with small crowds. You’ve never seen a crowd like this, and it makes you ecstatic.

You hear Seungcheol sing the final words of the song and Junhui play the final chords. And you don’t know if its the crowd or the shot of vodka you took during the bridge or the fucking look Seungcheol gives you, but something, something, makes you forget what Seungcheol said about waiting and walk right onto that stage.

Joshua and Minghao look confused. Seungcheol looks vaguely pissed. Junhui and Soonyoung barely notice. But you don’t register any of that. All you can think as you walk onto that stage, grin flashing and arms up in the air is: this crowd was fucking waiting for me.

You step up to your mic and wait until the crowd quiets down. You introduce “Begin Again” as a song you wrote. The crowd erupts. You look over at Seungcheol, smiling, no–grinning, loving how annoyed he looks. Minghao doesn’t miss a beat, starting the song immediately. Your body moves on its own, dancing to the song, belting out each note, and loving every second of it. It’s sometime during the second verse, the one Seungcheol sings alone, that you notice how entranced he is. His eyes are half closed, and his fingers fly across his guitar like he’s not even thinking about it. He smiles at the crowd. You think you hear someone faint. He looks your way then, right before the pre-chorus, smiling still as if he wasn’t just glaring at you. It hits you almost instantly: nothing else matters to him right now. He’s in it, like really in it, and the only thing he seems to care about is putting on a good show. He’s loving this as much as you are, and maybe that’s enough to prove that you and Choi Seungcheol are more alike than either of you think.

You leave your mic stand and start dancing towards him. His entire body turns towards you, waiting for you, his eyes following. You meet right in front of his mic just as the chorus begins. And you’re left with no choice but to stand next to him, singing into the same mic with your faces so close you can feel every ragged breath he takes, see the sweat rolling off his hair, and hear the blood pumping through his veins. Take me home. You both sing with your entire chest. Welcome me on those familiar roads. You see him turn his head to face you. You mirror the motion, and sing the next line looking right into his eyes. Embrace me in your arms. Have his eyes always been this big? Oh please, tell me I still belong. And of course it’s this line you’re singing to each other like this. Of course it’s the one line in the entire song that you didn’t actually write and the one line he did.

The chorus ends, and you slowly back away from his mic and move back towards yours. He rips away on his guitar, fingers still flying like it’s the easiest thing, all while never taking his eyes off you. Staring at you like he found something. Staring at you like it’s only you and him on that stage.

You don’t even remember the song ending.

Music flows through Northside Tavern. A jazz band is playing today, and the piano player keeps making eyes at you.

“I heard the show over the weekend went well.” Jihoon says into your ear. You just nod. “And that the label really liked what you did with the song.”

You laugh. “Not just the label. The whole country liked it.” You give one last look to the pianist, before turning to Jihoon fully. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I have a number one single.”

You head over to the bar and ask for an old-fashioned.

“Not just you.” Jihoon yells behind you to be heard over the cheers after the band’s last song.

You pivot. “Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t just you.” Jihoon flags down the bartender, orders a scotch, neat. “It was the Numbers too.”

The bartender slides over three drinks.

You lean in over the counter. “We only ordered two.”

Wordlessly, the bartender points to the other side of the bar. The piano player holds up their drink. Jihoon grabs his drink, and you grab the remaining two. You lift them both up towards the pianist who gives you a rather charming smile, and then take a simultaneous sip from the straws of both drinks. You taste your old-fashioned and what seems to be a margarita.

You and Jihoon make your way over to a booth.

“What I wanted to say,” Jihoon continues, “is that the label likes you with the band, and they want you to make an album with them.”

“An album?” You suck in your bottom lip, feeling a sudden rush from all the alcohol. An album is exactly what you’ve been pushing and working so damn hard for. So then why does this feel bittersweet?

“I think this is going to be a good thing.” Jihoon tells you sincerely, eyes softening. “You and Seungcheol…” he hesitates for a moment. You hate when he chooses his words like this, picking out the bad ones and testing out all the others. But perhaps you only hate it so much because you lack the ability to do it yourself. “You guys work.”

You take another long double sip of your drinks, squinting at Jihoon skeptically. “What did Seungcheol say?”

Jihoon’s mouth parts. There. There it fucking is. Running your tongue over your top set of teeth, you say, “you haven’t asked him yet, have you?”

“No, we haven’t asked him yet–”

“I can’t believe this.”

“–but the rest of the band is already on board, and we all thought it’d be smarter if you agreed before we asked him.”

You tilt your head slightly. You thought Jihoon knew you better than this. “I’m not saying anything until he does.”

“Be honest with yourself here,” Jihoon says seriously, pushing his drink to the side and leaning forward, “it’s no secret that you and Seungcheol don’t get along. And I get it; I really do. But I know you see it.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “See what?”

“Most people in this business spend their entire lives looking for what he and you found during the ‘Begin Again’ sessions and again on the stage at the festival. And most people fail. Don’t throw that away over whatever bullshit he gave you when you first met. Don’t throw away the chance you’ve been waiting for because of that. You guys belong together. Focus on that.”

You don’t say anything after Jihoon finishes his little speech. Instead you reach for your drinks and finish them both in one long, prolonged sip. You ignore his annoyed ‘tsk’.

Putting the empty glasses down and to the side, you nod up at him, pursing your lips. “Are you done?”

He takes a long, final swig of his drink. “Yes.”

“Ask Seungcheol first.” You pull out your wallet and drop a couple bills on the table. “Then, you can call me.”

Today is already off to a bad start.

Seungcheol had come into the studio ready to record and knock out at least 2 or 3 songs off the album today, but then Minghao wanted to talk about the album’s direction and Soonyoung wanted to request everyone to add as many drum parts as possible.

And it’s as he’s listening to Junhui and Soonyoung argue about the addition of piano solos, that you walk into the studio.

Jihoon welcomes you with a hug. Hansol, the sound engineer, offers to make you tea. Meanwhile, Seungcheol can’t understand why you deserve any kindness at this moment. Your session started an hour ago.

“You’re late.” Seungcheol says, bringing the rest of the band to notice your arrival.

You look at him with a smile, gesturing to the two boys who were just arguing. “Doesn’t really look like I missed anything.”

“We were talking about the album’s direction.” Minghao says from behind Seungcheol.

You nod, putting down your stuff and taking a seat. “Okay, shoot.”

Seungcheol puts his hands up. “Well since we’re talking about it. I’ve been working on a couple songs, and,” he hesitates, pulling out a couple sheets of paper that Jihoon helped him print and handing them out, “I think I might have something good that we can build the rest of the album off of.”

Everyone takes a moment to read. Seungcheol watches the room carefully. Joshua clears his throat. Junhui plays a loose note.

Your voice is the first that comes out of the silence. “Are you serious?”

He whips his head around. “What?”

“‘Will you still love me when I’m old? Will you still love me when I’m proud.’” You read aloud, before shoving the paper back towards him, that mocking smile still plastered on your face. “I’m not singing that.”

He scoffs, tongue swiping at his lips. “Why not? They’re good songs.”

You shrug. “They’re cheesy.”

“You haven't even read the whole thing.”

“I’ve read enough.”

“Are–are you… is this–I mean, like, you…” Seungcheol only knows one thing for sure right now: you might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. “Jihoon!”

“Okay, you know what,” Jihoon’s voice comes through the intercom. You both turn towards it. “How about you two go home and figure out some way to work together instead of wasting my studio time. Write one song, just one, together, and the rest of us can go from there tomorrow.”

He slips a curse between a breath.

“Okay?”

You and Seungcheol look back at each other. It’s you who speaks first this time. “That’s fine with me.”

—

It’s a nice day out today. The sun shines through big clouds. There’s a nice breeze, and the roadways are empty. You’re sitting in the passenger seat humming something he can’t hear over the wind while Seungcheol drives. In all honesty, he doesn’t even know where he’s heading, but it might be the first time he's felt some semblance of peace with you around.

The announcer on the radio station introduces the next song. Seungcheol turns it up and sings alongside Kim Mingyu’s voice. You stop humming.

“You like this song?” You ask.

He quickly glances at you. “Yeah, who doesn’t.” The song was insanely popular a year or two ago. If you didn’t like it at first, you heard it enough on the radio and in every store until you did. Although, it doesn’t actually take anyone very many listens to fall in love with it. Unfortunately, the rest of Kim Mingyu’s songs never quite lived up to this one.

“I wrote this song.” You say to him, as if it’s the most simple thing.

“Oh, really?” Seungcheol replies with a chuckle. “You worked with Kim Mingyu?”

“Well, not all of it, but the melody and most of the lyrics, yes.” You tell him seriously, like you haven’t even registered that he thought you were joking. “I mean, worked is a strong word, but we did date for a bit.”

Seungcheol stops at a red light and spends it staring you in disbelief.

“Come on,” you say after a moment, “you really think Kim Mingyu wrote this song?”

Seungcheol listens to it again: They could never get it out of their heads. Like a scene on repeat. Like a mountain falling. Something unforgettable, but forgotten still. Something like you. Someone like me.

And instantly, it clicks–of course you wrote this song. Of course it’s the case that Kim Mingyu’s best song and one of Seungcheol’s favorites was written by none other than you.

He looks over at you while at another light. Your head leans back against the car seat, and your arm hangs over the edge of the open window. You don’t look like you’re enjoying listening to the song even if you are the one that wrote it. In fact, you look mildly annoyed, nose scrunched while inspecting your nail beds, teeth grinding.

Seungcheol changes the station thinking: why’d you let him take it?

Before he can really think about it any further, you sit up in your seat and point at the next light.

“Turn right up there. I know a place.”

—

When you had said that you knew a place, Seungcheol imagined that it’d be a coffee shop or an empty bar or anything other than the middle of the woods sitting on the rocks along a stream.

Although, he must give you credit: the setting you’ve taken him to is beautiful. There are birds humming and life strumming all around you. The water is a blistering blue that glistens and shines in the sunlight streaming through the trees like a million coins falling from the sky. The water has a small current running through it, and it beats against the rocks lightly, like the lightest, most gentle drum beat. The breeze is nice and cool on Seungcheol’s skin, sifting through his hair and past his limbs. And maybe the best part is how all around him, on every single side, he’s surrounded by green.

It would have been perfect, if not for the fact that you and him have been here for two hours and still have absolutely nothing.

“Okay,” you relent, after he turns down another one of your ideas for a song, “how about this melody?”

You start humming one of the worst melodies Seungcheol’s ever heard in his life.

“Absolutely not.”

You grunt frustrated, arms falling through the air. Your head follows suit, settling in your hands, face buried from his view.

“Why’d you even say yes to this?” You snap, looking up at him after a moment, brows furrowed and hands gesturing vaguely in the air. “If you have no intention of taking any idea I give you seriously, why did you say yes to this?”

“I didn’t.” Seungcheol reminds you. “Neither of us did. Jihoon kicked us out of the studio.”

“I don’t mean that.” You flare. “I mean letting me in to do this album with the Numbers. Why’d you agree to it?”

There’s a change in the wind. A sudden quietness that must be attributed to some insect dying. Seungcheol hadn’t expected you to ask this. He hadn’t even expected you to think it.

“It wasn’t…” he starts, looking for the words in the space between you and him. He looks up at you, hoping to find them there. Instead he finds hope in them.

Seungcheol has been in this exact spot before–sitting in front of someone that wants to believe in him and is asking him to give them a reason. He’s seen this before, and he has no interest in repeating his past mistakes. He sees no need to add you to the list of people he’s disappointed. With a short laugh, he says, “You know what, let’s just get back to writing.”

“Fuck that.” You respond immediately, grabbing at his guitar.

“What are you–”

“No. Fuck that.” You repeat, successfully pushing his guitar off his lap. “If this is going to work, you have to at least pretend like you trust me. Song writing isn’t just strumming on your guitar all day and hoping for the best. It’s vulnerability, and it’s pouring your heart and soul and life into something and praying that someone out there feels the same way. That’s what ‘Begin Again’ was. And every single person who listened and liked that song and every single person who sang with us at the festival is saying that they feel the same way. So, what are you so afraid of? Why do you feel like you can’t trust me?”

Seungcheol gulps. “Which question should I answer first?”

You inhale slowly. “The latter.”

Seungcheol just shakes his head. “I don’t know you.”

“Ask me then.” You say desperately, like it should have been obvious to him, “whatever it is that you want to know just ask it.”

Seungcheol nods. In truth, there’s a million questions he wants to ask you about everything, but at this moment, all those questions sink to the bottom of his mind and only one rises to the top and travels to the tip of his tongue. “Why’d you let Kim Mingyu take credit for that song?”

You lean back slightly at his questions. Looking away from him and towards the murky waters before answering. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this.” You tell him, laughing lightly. “I used to let guys like you walk all over me.”

His heart jumps into his throat. He’s barely able to choke out a, “guys like me?”

You nod, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Guys who don’t believe that I have what it takes.”

“I never said that.”

“But you showed me.”

“When?”

You look at him then, squinting. He hopes what you see is genuineness. He asked the question sincerely. “When you were so quick and ready to dismiss my changes to the lyrics during the ‘Begin Again’ takes. When you let me join your band on this album, and then expected me to sing an entire record full of songs that mean nothing to me. I’m a songwriter, Seungcheol. It’s the one thing about me that no one can take.”

Something between intrigue and malice slips in behind his tongue. “So what can people take?”

You shake your head, smiling ever so slightly. “My turn. What are you so afraid of?”

Seungcheol inhales sharply. “Well, I’m afraid of dying and of heights and–”

“Stop that.” You cut in, like you really mean it. “Why are you so afraid to say what you really think?”

He sucks in his bottom lip, shrugging. “‘Begin Again’ was your song more than it was mine. What if people don’t like what I have to say? What if they can’t relate and just think I’m fucked up and crazy?”

Your eyes soften, and your smile lines deepen. It takes a moment for him to register that you're smiling, really smiling, at him. He’s never known a smile could feel so inviting.

“But what if they do?”

Seungcheol takes a moment to think about what you’ve said. And in that moment, whatever insect had died gets resurrected, returning to nature’s hum, filling his ears. Seungcheol looks all around him. The hum of life, the beat of water, the tune of leaves falling. He’s surrounded not just by nature and greenery, but also by music. And it’s erupting from every corner of these woods.

His eyes finally land on you.

“I think I found our melody.”

When you come into the studio the next day, the song is done. You went to sleep humming it still and running through the lyrics over and over again in your head.

“Let us sing it for you first,” Seungcheol suggests to the rest of the band with Jihoon listening in from the control room. “And whenever you feel like you got it, just hop in with what you think works, and we can refine and shape it from there.”

You watch the rest of the band as Seungcheol explains it. Minghao looks shocked, but excited. Soonyoung looks proud. And you can’t really read what the other two are thinking.

“Jihoon, are we good?” Seungcheol asks, turning around to the window into the control room.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Jihoon replies, voice filtering in through the intercom. You nod. Seungcheol nods. The rest of the band nods. Jihoon presses a couple buttons and says, “This is ‘Can You See Me’.”

Seungcheol starts playing the chords he found yesterday. You’re not sure why or how but it reminds you of those woods. His voice starts singing the first line of the song. You close your eyes and take it in. You join him for the chorus, singing alongside his voice feeling the words flow. It’s Junhui that joins you two first, playing a couple loose notes, testing things out. By the end of the chorus, he’s found it, playing a little more confidently and adding a whole new level of depth to the song. A depth that makes you feel like you’ve only ever known two colors your whole life and in a matter of seconds Junhui added in a third. Joshua joins in next, as your voice takes over for the second verse, playing off what Seungcheol was playing but making it his own. Seungcheol goes over to where Soonyoung’s sitting and says something to him in his ear. Soonyoung nods. Seungcheol goes over to Minghao, but Minghao shakes his head, already starting to play something. Seungcheol heads back to his mic right before the second chorus starts. You turn and sing the last line of the pre-chorus to him

And I know that you never trusted me.

He joins you for the chorus, singing back.

Can you see me standing from there? And can you see the blood on my hands? If I give you all of the parts to my heart, Will you care that I’ve been scarred and stitched up?

Soonyoung starts playing then, the drums filling in the last thing the song needed. You listen to the rest of the band play and marvel at how insanely talented they all are to pick up and play something that actually works after only a minute of hearing it. The song needs polishing, yes, but it’s got a good sound and it’s heading in the right direction.

You don’t take your eyes off Seungcheol, and he doesn’t take his eyes off you. And for the remainder of the song, you sing to each other.

The song ends. The last one playing is Junhui. And for a couple seconds, no one says anything.

It’s Jihoon’s voice that comes out of the silence first. “I’m a fucking genius.”

You smile at Seungcheol. He smiles back.

After recording and polishing ‘Can You See Me’, you and Seungcheol fall into a song-making rhythm of sorts.

(We don’t always have it perfect.)

“I feel like this lyric in ‘Puzzle Pieces’ doesn’t fit.” You say to Seungcheol, before muttering the lyric outloud. “It’s too shy. I don’t know. I just think it’s missing the mark a little bit, don’t you think?”

Seungcheol groans tiredly. “God, I can’t think about this anymore. Can we take a break? Go get some food or something?”

“Yes, but before we do, do you think ‘I see us standing in the distance’ or ‘I see you standing in the distance’ works better here?”

Seungcheol just stands ignoring your question and muttering ‘no’ repeatedly.

You follow, running after him and begging him to listen.

(Boy, do we fight.)

“I think there should be more drums in the hook.” Seungcheol announces after the third run through.

“Why?”

His eyes widen, sarcastically. “Because there should be.”

“Don’t do that.” You scoff, used to his antics. “Answer the question: why?”

He sighs, resting his hands on his hips. “It’s missing something. The song still feels empty. I mean, the lyrics allude to a love that’s blooming and growing between two individuals, but nothing behind the lyrics build up with it. There’s almost a disconnect between the words and the music.”

“I disagree.”

He scoffs. “All that for–”

“I think it works just fine without the drums, and if you add the drums it’ll become more suspenseful. The song is supposed to feel like falling.”

He shakes his head. “It’s supposed to feel like butterflies.”

“It’s supposed to feel like peace.”

(Sometimes you win.)

“Let’s vote.” Seungcheol suggests. “If you’re for the drums, raise your hand.”

Only Soonyoung (the drummer), does.

(Sometimes you lose.)

Jihoon presses the red button on the sound board, announcing to the recording stage, “Take 3 of Aurora. Seungcheol, try softening your voice a little for this one.”

“Jihoon, can we just try one take with me in it?” You ask him. “I think even if I were just singing a harmony or in the background of the bridge, it would add so much.”

“No.” Jihoon says, scribbling something down in his notebook. “I’m with Seungcheol on this one.”

“Jihoon, you haven’t even heard my–”

“This song doesn’t need your voice.”

(But sometimes, we get it just right and fit like the last two puzzle pieces.)

“No,” you say, shaking your head as Joshua and Minghao finish off the last chords of the song, “It needs to sound murkier.”

Joshua, Junhui, Soonyoung, and Minghao just stare at you blankly.

“Less cymbals, Soonyoung.” Seungcheol says over the speaker from the control room. “And Minghao, ride out the low tones more.”

You turn and see him. He catches your eyes, smiling slightly, reassuring you. Like he gets you.

From behind you, you hear Junhui lightheartedly mutter, “since when do they have their own language?”

Joshua and Soonyoung laugh, but you barely notice because you see him. You see the way his brows furrow when he’s thinking. You see the way he sticks out his tongue when he’s focused. You see all of it.

And for a moment, he sees you. All of you. And he doesn’t turn away from it.

Today’s songwriting session quickly turned into a field trip from the studio to grab food which then turned into you leading Seungcheol’s car to the beach. You and Seungcheol sit on a stone ledge, right where the sand begins, 20 paces away from the ocean. Between you sits leftover fries and your untouched song notebook. You watch the sun dip into the sea and listen to the waves crash over and over again. The wind pushes furiously, tossing his hair to the side and pushes his head away from it. It just so happens that away from the wind means towards you.

“So,” you begin, popping a fry in your mouth and dusting the salt off your hands, “when are you going to answer my question of why you let me in the band?”

Seungcheol figured this question was coming. He’s been avoiding answering it. “You really want to know?”

You look at him sincerely. “Yes.”

Seungcheol looks out to the water. “After our first album, Jihoon prepared a tour for us. It was this tiny tour, not even big enough for a tour manager. We played in the smallest venues with okay-sized crowds. I mean, it was barely a tour, really more of a way to get our name out there. And after the northern leg of it, I…” Seungcheol closes his eyes and sees moments from that tour flash behind his lids: strobe lights, bodies in bed, empty glasses, and negative pockets. Sometimes memories can feel like nightmares. “I was just in a really, really, bad place. By the time we were halfway down the east coast, I was barely even able to play. Jihoon saved me then. He saved my fucking life. But he had to cancel the rest of the tour in that process. The rest of the band, man, they couldn’t even stand the sight of my face. Minghao especially. It was Jihoon who ended up being the one to convince them to let me back in. I owe Jihoon my entire livelihood and my life. So when he asked what I thought about you joining the band for this album and when I saw how badly he wanted it to happen, I owed it to him to say yes.”

It’s been so long since he’s recounted that story, even to himself. It doesn’t hurt as much as it once did. That knowledge surprises him.

“Where are you now?” You ask suddenly, pulling him out of his head.

He turns to you. “What?”

“If you were in a bad place then, where are you now?”

The wind quiets for a moment; he feels a warmth overtake him in its absence. “Someplace better.”

He looks down, not even noticing the smile growing on his face, and catches sight of your notebook. He points at it, asking, “may I?”

You look down at it as well, grabbing another fry. “Sure.”

He flips through the pages of your notebook. The first half isn’t even songs. It’s snippets, words, singular sentences taking up an entire page. It’s only halfway through the book that it actually turns into something that could be called songwriting. He asks you about it.

“Ah, that’s when I met Jihoon.” You tell him, smiling fondly. Seungcheol puts the notebook down and waits for you to explain. “Before him, I had songs, but they weren’t real songs, you know? They were just some combination of all the snippets and sentences I had written down. But then Jihoon heard me play at the Eastern, and said that I had a good voice. He asked if he could give me his card so that we could talk more, and I said that I wasn’t interested in people who only saw me for my voice and walked away.”

“You’re insane.” Seungcheol mutters, baffled. He remembers the chance encounter he had with Jihoon right after he and the band moved down here to make a name for themselves. He remembers how hard he begged for the same chance Jihoon offered to you so simply. “So, how’d you end up working with him then?”

“He found me again at the diner I used to work at after that. I told him I still wasn’t interested, and he asked if I had written the song I played that night at the Eastern. I said yes, and he said that he was only interested in my voice because my songs weren’t there yet.”

Seungcheol chuckles. “So he’s always been an asshole then?”

“Oh yeah.” You nod, mirroring the sound. “He was an asshole about it, but he was right. And it was the first time that someone believed in me enough to think that I could be better. That is what made me want to try and write a song that would make him see that I’m as good of a songwriter as I am a singer. I spent a lot of time working and got out one good song. I sang it all across the strip. He finally saw me play again at Ben’s Garage. I let him sign me after that.”

“What was that song about?”

Your lips do this half frown thing that makes Seungcheol want to peer inside your brain and figure out exactly where it came from. “It was about what all songs are about.”

“Which is?”

You look at him like it’s obvious. “Love.”

It feels like a shot of sunlight through his veins.

Seungcheol drives you back home after the beach. You had gotten nothing done in terms of the album, but you felt happy, and you felt free. You watch him from the corner of your eye. You’ve only known each other for some months now, but it feels like so much longer. You’ve told him more about yourself and your past than anyone else you’ve met in your adult life. You’ve told him your deepest worries and darkest secrets, and he never turned away from you, not once. Instead he took your insecurities and turned them into beautiful melodies. He turned all your doubts into celebrations of hope. And he did it for you.

Suddenly, it no longer feels like you only met him when you recorded ‘Begin Again’ together. Suddenly, it feels like you’ve known him since you were a teenager and like you’ve been in love with him ever since. Your palms start to sweat. Your heart sinks past your lungs. Is it all those goddamn fries or him that’s making your stomach turn?

He turns onto your street. This is it, you think to yourself. This is everything I’ve been waiting for.

He walks you to your door, and you stand facing each other on your porch.

“This was nice.” You tell him, taking another step towards him.

“It was.” He mumbles, a lazy smile on his face.

You take another step towards him. He doesn’t move back. His mouth parts. You watch his lips, trace them with your gaze. You think about what it would feel like to kiss them.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” The words come flying out of your mouth involuntarily. You barely register that you’ve said them. They didn’t come from your mind but from a tiny spot deep in your gut where the urge to take another step towards him lies. You give into that urge without thinking twice about it. You’re closer to him than you’ve been in months. The last time you were this close being that moment on stage during the ‘Begin Again’ performance. You’re surprised you remember that. His breaths then were ragged, uneven. His breaths now are barely there, like he isn’t even breathing. You can smell the mint he popped in his mouth when you left from the beach. You can smell whatever perfume he must’ve sprayed on his neck this morning.

And you’re so wholly aware of the fact that his eyes are looking at your lips.

He turns away from you and glances at your door, saying, “I should go.”

You feel something in your chest sink and sink and sink.

“I’ll see you in the studio tomorrow.” He continues. “We still gotta help Junhui figure out his part for ‘Puzzle Pieces’.”

And with that he’s off, and you’re left standing on the porch alone wondering how someone can look at you like that and then just leave. You look down by your feet and see your heart sitting there, next to your shoes. You leave it there and head it inside.

The next day, Jihoon cancels your studio time without explanation and reschedules you and the band for the following day.

When that day finally does come, Seungcheol doesn’t show up on time to help you and Junhui figure out the right notes to play for the song you wrote together like he said. Instead, he stumbles into the studio late with a song in his hand wearing the same clothes he wore with you at the beach. And that alone, feels like a betrayal of some sort.

“What’s it about?” Joshua asks.

He looks around the room, excited. “It’s about my new partner.”

You feel the urge to vomit all over the recording stage.

—

Jeonghan, it turns out, is Seungcheol’s partner’s name. Seungcheol had brought him into the studio a week after they started dating, and he’s been coming routinely ever since. As much as you hate it and as much as it makes your heart bend and break, Seungcheol looks really, genuinely happy with him. You wonder if he ever looked like that with you.

You really wish you hated Jeonghan, but you don’t. He’s actually quite nice and gets along with the whole band so easily. He even makes friends with Jihoon. You thought he might be a distraction to Seungcheol while writing and recording, but Seungcheol is more focused and productive and creative than ever. The song he wrote right after meeting him is good, like stupidly good. There isn’t a single word in it that needs changing.

With your help, Seungcheol writes another song about him, called ‘Light of My Life.’ It’s while writing that song that you find out that Jeonghan was never a stranger, and that day after the beach was not their first meeting. It’s Soonyoung who tells you how Jeonghan is from their hometown and how Seungcheol and Jeonghan used to date.

The day that you record ‘Light of My Life’ Jeonghan is also in the studio, sitting in the control room and laughing at something with Hansol.

You light up my life even when it’s dark. You both sing together. It’s an acoustic song; only Joshua stands behind you guys strumming the chords on his guitar. The rest of the band didn’t even come in today. You color my world even when I’m feeling blue. You glance over at Seungcheol. He isn’t looking your way. He’s looking at Jeonghan through the control room window. When I’m with you, I never feel alone. You think about the times when he used to look at you while recording. When you hold me, baby, I feel at home. Jeonghan looks back at Seungcheol. It hits you how beautiful he is, with his dyed silver hair and slender face. You don’t blame Seungcheol for writing such a beautiful song about him. You don’t blame yourself for helping him. I can’t believe this has happened to me. Seungcheol wrote this song for Jeonghan, but he wasn’t the only writer on this song. Right before the next line, Seungcheol finally finally turns and looks at you. I feel alive because of you.

Seungcheol turns back to the control room, and for the rest of the song, you wonder that if Seungcheol wrote this song for Jeonghan, who the hell did you write this song for?

—

A tune comes to you while you drive home that night. You scribble down a couple lyrics in your notebook as soon as you walk through your door.

Silver hair. Silver skin. Sliver of my heart you took with him.

Joshua throws a party that weekend. A housewarming for the house he bought with the ‘Begin Again’ checks. Stepping in through the foyer, you question whether you should be buying a house too. You forget that thought by the time you reach the drinks table.

After your hellos to the rest of the band and all the small talk with people Joshua wanted to introduce you to, you end up standing alone in his backyard, sloshing around the dark liquid in your cup. Truthfully, you’ve barely left your apartment all week. You hadn’t been in the mood for a party. But it’s nice out here. The air is fresh and crisp. The lights, which Soonyoung and Minghao enthusiastically and drunkenly told you they helped put up, are warm but not too bright. You imagine you’ll stay out here for the rest of the party.

“Hi,” you hear a voice say from behind you. You turn around only to find Jeonghan. You hope your face doesn’t betray you when you greet him back. “What are you doing out here?”

You gulp down a bitter sip of your drink. “Just wanted some quiet.”

“Same. Junhui started doing karaoke again.”

“Oof.” You groan sympathetically. “Already?”

He just nods with a laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen all of them.”

You like Jeonghan. You really do. It’s just taken you until now to realize that you don’t really know him apart from small talk in the studio and the two songs Seungcheol wrote about him. “When did you move down here from your guys’ hometown?”

“Oh.” His chin juts out a bit. “I moved down with the band actually.”

You don’t hide the surprise on your face.

“I take it no one told you that then.” Jeonghan chuckles darkly. You shake your head. “Uh, well, yeah,” he continues, shoving his free hand into his pocket, “Seungcheol and I started dating right when the band formed. I used to do the photography for them. And when they proposed moving out here, I thought I ought to come with. And I did.” He gulps his drink. “It was good for a while. Really fun in the beginning. But then I got my job taking pictures for the paper, and they were doing the album. And well,” he looks at you like you already know what he’s about to say. You don’t. “It already wasn’t really working anymore by the time the album was finished. And then they went on tour…”

He leaves that part blank. But based on what you heard from Seungcheol about that first tour, you can piece together what might’ve happened. You question whether Jeonghan left that empty to spare Seungcheol or to spare himself. Then you question how he knew you knew about it.

“Oh.” Is all you say. You don’t ask about when they encountered each other again. You don’t want to hear it.

“You know,” Jeonghan begins again, “I actually used to watch you play at the Tabernacle.”

You groan immediately. You only ever played at the Tabernacle when you first started. You cringe thinking about what you might’ve sang on stage in front of him. “Oh my god. I’m so embarrassed to even think about those days.”

“No! Don’t be!” He reassures, kindly. “You were really good. I especially liked that one song that went like… The days were wide open, as far as the eye could see.”

Your heart nearly soars straight out of your body. You had forgotten about this song. You used to love it dearly. You join Seungcheol’s boyfriend for the second line.

The world was mine to take, but I’ve never been good at accepting things.

“You and the band together,” Jeonghan says a moment after you both stop singing, “it’s magical, don’t get me wrong, but that song,” he smiles at you, “it’s a damn good song.”

You can’t help but smile back. “Thank you.”

“Cheol showed me a couple of the songs from the album.” Jeonghan mentions, and it instantly and heartbreakingly reminds you who you’re talking to. You hate that he has a nickname for him. “They’re amazing.” You look at him. He seems genuine. “They’re so good and real and raw that it almost makes me wonder…” his voice tapers off, losing the sound to a small exhale that appears as if it was meant to be a laugh, “Nevermind.”

“What?” You poke, instinctively leaning in towards him.

He meets your eyes, creases running along his forehead and frown lines more prominent than ever. “It almost makes me wonder if there was something between you both.”

You swallow, pointing at your chest. Your voice comes out raspy without you meaning for it to. “Me and Seungcheol?”

He nods. “Yeah, I mean the lyrics in ‘Begin Again’—“

“That song’s not about me. Or about him.” You defend. “We didn’t even know each other when we wrote that.”

“What about ‘Can You See Me’?”

Your breath catches. Truthfully, you answer, “I don’t know what that song’s about.”

—

When you get home that night, you finish the song you started writing about Seungcheol and Jeonghan.

When you breathe in his lips, do you think of mine? What kind of songs were we making? Were they all lies?

“What’s it called?” The question comes from Soonyoung.

You look up from the paper in your hands filled with the lyrics you had completed over the weekend and after Joshua’s party. You notice he looks sad. You turn your gaze to Minghao. You can’t really tell what he’s thinking in that moment.

“Uhm–I don’t know. I haven’t thought of a title yet.”

Seungcheol walks in then. “What are you guys talking about?” He asks, setting down his stuff. Then, more to himself than to you guys, he murmurs, “And where are Junhui and Josh?”

Soonyoung and Minghao don’t say anything. Instead, when Seungcheol asks what you’re doing, they both look at you. You imagine even if Junhui and Joshua were here, they’d do the same. Have you really been this transparent? At what point did they put together all the pieces?

You hand Seungcheol the song. You have no idea what his reaction will be.

He just nods, like he has no idea what the song is about. Like he doesn’t see his name and Jeonghan’s scribbled in the margins.

“Call it ‘Silver Lies’.” He says.

Minghao makes a noise. “Call it ‘Silver Linings’.”

“Vote on it?” Seungcheol proposes.

“No.” You look at Minghao. He stares back at you. Something unspoken lies in the space between. “We’ll call it ‘Silver Linings’.”

A party rages around you. Flashing teeth and flashing lights. Another drink, another riff. You don’t even know where you are right now. You remember coming home after working on ‘Silver Linings’; you remember wanting to forget your own mind. This is the only way you know how.

You don’t even know how long it’s been.

This is what you do know: You’re sitting by a pool. Your feet are wet. You haven’t been this drunk since your 18th birthday. Choi Seungcheol is standing across the pool from you.

Your face breaks out in a smile. Sober you will regret that. Sober you will also regret how your first thought is that he looks beautiful. You’ll regret the fact that you finally, drunkenly but honestly, admit to yourself how pretty you think he is, how you’ve thought so since your first time hearing him sing, and how you’ve been so painfully aware of it ever since.

You let yourself fall in the water. Head sinking for a moment, before breaking the surface again. Floating on your back, you start humming the melody to ‘Silver Linings’ in your head.

Silver hair. Silver skin. Sliver of my heart you took with him.

You can’t tell if it’s the chlorine or something more pathetic that burns the corner of your eyes and runs down the side of your cheeks.

You feel something tug on your arm. The sudden jolt makes you lose your balance, falling beneath the water. You’re so fucking wasted you forget if you even know how to swim; you almost forget to not breathe.

You feel a pair of arms pull you up and hold your head above the surface. You know who they belong to. It strikes you in the back of your mind that this is the first time you’ve been touched by him. So maybe that’s why you relish in the feel of his arms around your waist and the way his hand grips at your hip.

He looks at you like you’re filth. Just as all your partners before him did. First they’re sweet and charming, but it always ends like this. In their arms, simultaneously wanting to be far away and fighting the urge to beg: love me, please.

Even if he wasn’t your partner, even if all he was was a hope and a ‘what if’.

You barely even register it when you say, “you're just like the rest of them.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He rages back, not even acknowledging what you said.

“Nothing.” You tell him, smiling, wishing like hell that you believed it.

“You missed our studio time. We were supposed to record ‘Silver Linings’.” He fumes at you. “Do you know what time it is? Do you even know what day it is?”

“Do you know how much of a fucking mood kill you can be?” You bite back.

“What are you on?” He looks repulsed. You hate it. Hate the way that you showed him your whole heart and that he still looks at you like this.

Seething, you say, “What do you think?”

And that—that is what breaks him. What makes him lose his shit and start screaming.

“Jihoon is fuming at us!”

You barely notice it. Instead, you repeat in your head the words to the one song you truly, wholeheartedly wrote for him.

“The record label isn’t going to let this slide, you do realize that, don’t you?”

When you breathe in his lips, do you think of mine?

“You wasted an entire day of recording!”

What kind of songs were we making?

“No.” You say finally, voice coming out quiet. It sounds so misplaced and so wrong next to all the yelling between you two. “We wasted so much more than that.”

Were they all lies?

For the first time since you’ve seen him tonight, he doesn’t say anything back. He just stares at you, like he can see straight through. The party continues all around you. It never stopped. It never quieted down. And yet, it somehow feels like you and him are the only ones in this pool. Like you’re stuck in time. Like you’ve created your own world with him and that’s where you’ve retreated to now.

“Was any of it real?” You ask before you can stop the words. You hate how pathetic you sound. You hate how desperate it all is.

All he says before leaving you in the water alone is: “I’m with Jeonghan now.”

He splashes water in your face on his way out.

When Seungcheol walks into the studio, you’re already there, talking with Jihoon and someone else he doesn’t recognize.

“Hello.” He says cautiously to the group.

The man says hi back. You don’t look at him. Jihoon is the one that finally explains.

“Seungcheol, hey, this is Wonwoo. He’s from the paper, The Stones, and he’s going to be doing a piece on the band and the creation of the album. It’ll be an inside look into the process of making an album and a bit about the band itself.”

“Hey, man,” Seungcheol greets properly, extending his hand to shake. Wonwoo fumbles with a place to set down the pen and notebook in his hand for a second, before shaking it. Seungcheol doesn’t miss the way you scoff under your breath. “Wonwoo, right?” The reporter nods. “Anything you want us to do for you or for the piece?”

“No. Not at all.” He shakes his head profusely. “Just keep working on the album as you would normally. I might pop in here and there with questions, but other than that, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

Seungcheol smiles brightly. “Well, you’re in for a treat today because we have a song to record.”

For the first time that day and for the first time since that night in the pool, you look at him. “No, we don’t.” He wonders if you remember that night, what you said to him, what he said back.

“Actually,” he reaches into his bag and pulls out a piece of paper he’s been working on for the past two days. He hands it to you. “We do.”

You read the lyrics silently for a moment, then frowning, you read them aloud. “I’m used to making games out of broken hearts. Silly me for trying to play around with yours.”

Wonwoo makes a noise. “Damn. I wonder who that’s about.”

You snap, whipping back around to Wonwoo. “What happened to ‘it’ll be like I’m not even here’?”

He mutters an apology and quickly scribbles something down in his notebook. You turn back to Seungcheol. “I’m not singing that.”

He ignores you and looks at Jihoon. “Let me see the song.”

You extend the paper out to him without taking your eyes off of Seungcheol. In Jihoon’s defense, he’s been working the hardest to keep the peace as early as when you recorded ‘Being Again’ together. Nonetheless, your face still morphs from hurt to angry. Seungcheol doesn’t blame you, but he also doesn’t really give a fuck.

Jihoon, sounding more exhausted than Seungcheol has ever heard him sound before, only sighs. “How about we just try the song?”

—

Recording first starts with the instrumentals. The rest of the band recording their parts exactly as Seungcheol heard it in his head.

Finally, with the rest of it recorded, he focuses on vocals.

He only wants you singing it.

“Take one of...” Jihoon starts, speaking through the intercom. “What’s it called again?”

Seungcheol answers: “‘We Are Not Done.’”

You’re the only one in the recording stage. Seungcheol sits in the control room with Jihoon, Hansol, and Wonwoo. The rest of the band is either home, in the lobby, or behind him in the control room. Seungcheol’s already demonstrated for you the general beat of the lyrics against the instrumental. You still hold the lyrics up behind the mic, brows furrowed at them.

“Pour me a drink I–for all…” Normally, you’re a picture of confidence in the recording studio, but your first attempt to sing the song is an absolute train wreck.

Seungcheol reaches over Jihoon’s shoulder and presses the red button. “Cut. What’s going on?”

You look through the window, exasperated. “I don’t get it. The words, they just–”

“It’s–Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.” Seungcheol demonstrates again. “I can’t live with myself half past 12–and it’s just like that for this whole verse.” He waits a moment. “Good?”

You stare at the lyrics, brows still scrunched together. “Yea.”

“Okay. Take two.”

You sing: “Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.” Your voice is timid, almost. Seungcheol’s never heard you sound or act anything close to timid before. “I can’t live with myself half past 12.”

“Cut.” Seungcheol stops you again. “You have to sound larger than life singing, like you don’t care if people see how fucked up you are.”

“Excuse me?” You nearly scream at him.

“I’m talking about the song.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Take 3.”

You look mad now. At least that will be closer to what Seungcheol wants. “Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me.”

“Cut.” Seungcheol can see you biting your tongue. “Sing it looser. Less restrained. Don’t worry about hitting the notes. Take 4.”

“Pour me a drink for all the fools–”

“Cut.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Even looser. Take 5.”

“Pour me a drink f–”

“Cut. Let your voice get ‘ugly’. Take 6.”

“Pour me–”

“Cut!”

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: So, Seungcheol, I remember there being an impossible number of takes for the track ‘We Are Not Done’, specifically for the vocals. In the end, How’d you get them to sing like… that?

Seungcheol: Sometimes all it takes is a little push

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: ‘We Are Not Done’ is such a force of nature. How’d you end up singing it like that?”

You: Well, let’s just say that Seungcheol is really good at what he does.

Wonwoo: And what does he do?

You: He inspires.

—

The red light flashes again. “Take 32.”

The only thought you have when the blue recording light turns back on is that you fucking hate Choi Seungcheol, but you still want him and you hate that he knows that.

The track starts.

Pour me a drink for all the fools made out of me. I can’t live with myself half past 12. I’m used to making games out of broken hearts. Silly me for trying to play around with yours. I know you’re with someone new, But is that really true If you’re still thinking of my kiss and my tongue? I’m your wildest dream. I’m your best nightmare. You and me, baby, we are not done.

You’re beyond pissed driving home from the studio that day.

The first fucking day with the reporter and Seungcheol chose to make you look like an idiot. He chose to make you sing that song with Wonwoo sitting behind, taking it all in.

Not to mention that that was the first time you’ve seen him since he showed up at the party while you were trying to get over him the only way you know how. When he held you in his arms, made you feel so stupidly warm, and then left with someone else’s name on his lips.

You hate Seungcheol. Maybe joining the band wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth him.

Your vision goes red and all you can think is: isn’t he over this yet? Aren’t I?

Suddenly, there’s a bang. A puff of smoke. The airbag releases. Your entire body clenches, lurching forward and then back again harshly.

A crash, you register belatedly, staring at the hood of your car folded up like a piece of paper.

Paper.

You dig inside your glove box for your notebook and shove your hand in the space between the passenger seat and the center console to find a pen.

“What the fuck?” The man from the car you hit screams, stepping out of his car.

You ignore it. A song, you had it just then. You had it.

“You hit me!” He yells again, getting closer.

Your pen hits the paper, and it doesn’t stop until the song is on it. Not even when you notice blood drip. Not even when the man starts banging on your window.

Is it over now? Do you have the guts? To call it quits, baby, Say I’ve had enough. Is it over now? Can we say the words? I used to love you, Now I’m not sure.

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: What’s it been like working with the band? From ‘Begin Again’ to now?”

You: Oh, well, ‘Begin Again’ was a totally different story. I wasn’t really part of the group or anything. I was more just an outsider that Jihoon and the label had brought in. I changed up most of the lyrics, but the song was never really mine. I think it’s taken me a while to realize that. But, now, I mean, working on the album together couldn’t be more different. Seungcheol and I co-write almost all of the songs. It’s been a much more collaborative project compared to ‘Begin Again’. It’s been exhausting and tiring and life-consuming, but um, it’s been a lot of fun.

Wonwoo: So, going back a bit, if you rewrote all of the lyrics to ‘Begin Again’, how is it not your song?

You: Seungcheol already had some lyrics written for that song. I was just the one to figure out what he was really trying to say with them.

Wonwoo: Hm

Wonwoo: So what’s it been like working with Seungcheol?

You: Well, it definitely wasn’t easy at first.

Wonwoo: Why not?

You: I think we were both just used to writing alone. We learned a lot in those first couple writing sessions, and I think we’ve both grown a lot since then.

Wonwoo: What’d you learn?

You: We’re very similar people. We think about love very similarly. We have fought the same battles, and we’re both able to turn our pain and struggling into something beautiful.

Wonwoo: How would you describe you and Seungcheol’s personal relationship?

You: What do you mean?

Wonwoo: Friends, lovers, enemies, etc.

You: We have chemistry, but

You:

You: But I think that to write together there has to be love. What else would all the songs be about?

Wonwoo: Is that what ‘Can You See Me’ is about? Love?

You: That’s for each listener to figure out for themselves.

Wonwoo: You also said that you co-wrote most of the songs with Seungcheol.

You: Yes.

Wonwoo: So, did you guys co-write ‘We Are Not Done’ and ‘Is It Over Now?’?

You:

Wonwoo: No need to go into details if you’re not comfortable. I’m only really looking for a yes or a no.

You: It–

You: It’s not as simple as a yes or a no.

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: What’s it been like working with someone else for the song writing on this album?

Seungcheol: It’s been hard. There’s a lot of push and pull for each word in each song, but I think at the end of the day, we’ve been able to put together an almost complete record of songs that we’re both proud of.

Wonwoo: It’s been said that the two of you have chemistry–

Seungcheol: Who said that?

Wonwoo: –do you agree with that?

Seungcheol:

Seungcheol: It’s not what you think.

Wonwoo:

Seungcheol: Look, whatever chemistry people think there is between us, I mean, it–it’s for the music and for the songs, not for each other.

Wonwoo: Are you saying it’s all fake?

Seungcheol: No, but it’s not real life either.

Wonwoo: So you guys fabricated some of it to sell records?

Seungcheol: I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea.

Wonwoo: Which is what?

Seungcheol: That there’s something between us romantically. There isn’t.

Wonwoo: Not even a little bit?

Seungcheol: Not even once.

The photo shoot for the album they decided should be in the desert. You’re not really sure why. Probably something to do with the desert show where you and the band first played together. You didn’t have a choice in the matter. If you did, you would have suggested the opposite. Maybe something on the shore. Nonetheless, you let them tell you where to sit and exactly how to do it.

The photographers look between each other after each flash of light in your face. Thank god they aren’t actors. You can read on their faces how much they hate each photo taken.

“You know what,” the head photographer says to the band, “let’s just take 5.”

You’re up immediately, walking away from the weird set they’ve put together and heading straight to the snack table. You say hi to Jeonghan standing there with a camera around his neck.

“Did the paper send you or did you come with Seungcheol?” You ask lightheartedly, picking at some grapes.

He laughs, fiddling with the lens. “No, not the paper. I just like to bring my camera with me sometimes. Plus,” he adds with a far off smile, looking up the hill at Joshua, Junhui, and Minghao talking, “reminds me of the old days.”

You look up past those three to where Soonyoung and Seungcheol are laughing at something you wish you were privy to. “I get that.”

“Actually, Seungcheol and I wanted to talk to you.” He says. His lips look pressed, eyes bright, fighting a smile but also fighting something else far beneath that. “Once the album wraps, we’re, uh, we’re gonna get married.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I know. It was his idea, but I’m really excited about it too.” He tells you, abashedly. “We’re gonna keep it small, I think. Do it back in our hometown so that our families can be there and everything. I think most of the band is gonna travel back too to be there, and, uh, I know it would mean a lot to both of us if you were there too.”

You look at Jeonghan. You don’t really think he’s lying about the last part, but that still doesn’t make it any easier for you to swallow. “I don’t really know if that’s a good idea.”

“I do.” Jeonghan doesn’t falter. It reminds you of you before Seungcheol. You wonder where that version of you went. After a moment, his face softens, lips turning down a bit, but eyes looking as kind and as big as ever. You notice that his hair isn’t silver anymore.

“I know that it’s complicated between you and Seungcheol. And I’m not going to act like I get it because I don’t. But I like you and I know he loves you. If not for anything, then for this.” Jeonghan gestures to the shitty set they prepared. You look at it, chuckling. It’s shitty, yes. But Jeonghan’s right. This must’ve cost the label a fuck ton of money. “He and the band wouldn’t have any of this if not for you. You did that for them.”

You turn back to Jeonghan. Genuinely, you tell him, “Thank you.”

You open your arms to him. He welcomes it, hugging you back. You exhale. You can barely remember the last time you did.

“Congratulations, Jeonghan.” You feel him grin.

“Please come.” He requests.

You don’t know if you will. But you do know that you’re happy for him.

—

The next round of photos are no better than the last. You hope at least Jeonghan, who’s moved on to taking pictures of the scenery, is having a better shoot day than the label-hired photographers.

You find Seungcheol again during the next break, standing in the back at the top most part of the hill, sun shining down directly behind his head.

“Hey.” He says to you, not casually but not maliciously either.

You stop in front of him, just staring. Without you even meaning to, you frown. Seungcheol must notice. He tilts his head. “What’s up?”

You inhale sharply. “You’re getting married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. “I’m getting married.”

You shake your head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-it never..” He stops trying to find the words. You find that as more of an answer than anything he could’ve said. “I’m sorry.”

“Take me home.” You recite, thinking of the first window you ever had into Seungcheol’s heart. “Welcome me on those familiar roads. Embrace me in your arms. Oh please, tell me I still belong. It was always about him, wasn’t it?”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. You know him too well to think he would. Instead, he sucks in his bottom lip and turns his gaze to the ground. You bend your neck to see his face, see his red eyes. This is the only time you’ll have him like this again. This is it.

The only thing you have left to say to him is: “I hope you’re happy.”

—

When you go home that night, you drink yourself past consciousness. It’s only when you wake up with a pounding head the next morning do you see the song sitting next to you, written in sloppy, drunken handwriting.

Tell me was it worth all the pain Tell me would you do it over again Tell me was it worth the lights and your name Tell me was it worth the sound of my shame Tell me was it worth the album and the songs That I only sang thinking they were about us Tell me some it was true, not in my head Did we only kiss to sound how you wanted?

I know I’m not yours But let me your wildest dream You think of again On a bad night After a bad fight

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: Who wrote the last song on the album: ‘Not Yours’?

You: I did.

Wonwoo: When?

You: Right after the album cover shoot.

Wonwoo: What inspired it?

You: Well

You: I think that song had been singing in my heart for a while before I finally wrote it.

—

(Wonwoo’s interview with Seungcheol)

Wonwoo: ‘Not Yours’ is such a heart-breaking song. What was it like recording it?

Seungcheol: Believe it or not, it was one of the easiest.

(Wonwoo’s interview with Jeonghan)

Wonwoo: It’s nice to finally meet you.

Jeonghan: You too. If I can be honest, I really didn’t expect to be called about this piece.

Wonwoo: Oh

Wonwoo: I just like to get all sides of it.

Jeonghan: Okay.

Wonwoo: I wanted to talk to you about the album photo shoot.

Jeonghan: Oh yeah of course.

Wonwoo: From my understanding, the picture that was chosen as the cover, was one that you took. Is that correct?

Jeonghan: Yeah. I took it during one of the breaks.

Jeonghan: I mean props to the photography team that was hired, I’m sure they’re amazing, but it wasn’t hard to tell that they were really struggling to photograph the band.

Jeonghan: I just happened to have my camera on me, and you know, I had photographed the band in the past, so I just kind of knew what to look for. And when I saw Seungcheol and them go off to the side to talk, my eyes just happened to follow them. And

Jeonghan: Well, I don’t know what they were talking about, but you can see it in the photo, you know?

Jeonghan: They’re looking at each other like it’s a very important conversion. And well, let’s just say that I know Seungcheol very well, and he’s never been a good actor, so it must have been. And, and the sky is so blue and so clear behind them which, I don’t know, to me sort of represents how there’s nothing coming between them in this moment either. There’s nothing that isn’t being said.

Jeonghan:

Jeonghan: When I saw that, I just knew I had to capture it.

Jeonghan:

Jeonghan: I had no idea that Jihoon would want to use it for the album cover. I wasn’t thinking like that.

Wonwoo: Was it weird at all?

Jeonghan: How so?

Wonwoo: To capture a picture of your finance and his bandmate looking at each other like that?

(Wonwoo’s interview with Jihoon)

Wonwoo: So does the album have a name?

Jihoon: Yeah. Of course.

Jihoon: Aurora

Wonwoo: Can you tell me anything about the band maybe going on tour?

Jihoon: Well, can’t say anything for sure yet, but there’s definitely been some talk from the label about it.

Wonwoo: If there were to be a tour, are you able to give us a sneak peek as to what it’ll be like?

Jihoon: Hmm

Jihoon: Did you happen to see the band play the festival in the desert?

Wonwoo: No, I did not.

Jihoon: Well, I’ll tell you what anyone who saw that show would say.

Wonwoo: Which is?

Jihoon: Get ready for the best fucking show of your life.

(Wonwoo’s interview with you)

Wonwoo: I heard most of the band is heading back to their hometown for the break.

You: Yeah, they are.

Wonwoo: Do you plan on joining them?

You: No.

You: I don’t think I will.

Wonwoo: What do you plan to do during your time off?

You: Well, I bought a one way ticket to Italy, so that should start something. Maybe I’ll go to Nepal or Japan or Brazil after that. I haven’t really decided yet.

Wonwoo: So, traveling.

You: Yeah, I guess.

You: Can you believe that the festival show we did is the farthest I’ve ever been from home?

You: It’s time I saw a little more of the world.

Wonwoo: The fans are really looking forward to a tour. Can you speak to when you will be coming back?

You:

You: Who’s to say I will?

206 notes · View notes

justarandomreaderxoxo · 10 days ago

Text

Shadows of the Heart: Chapter 1

Word count: 3123

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: Violence, Drugs (Mentioned), Alcohol

A/n: Sorry for the couple hours of delay in uploading guys, i was obsessing over refining this before posting. You also may notice many grammer error. So, forgive me please as i am not a native english speaker. Also if missed any warnings please let me know as well as if you wanna be tagged in future updates. Enjoy!!!

When you get a tip that your rivals are trying to smuggle drugs in YOUR CITY, where you do not only not deal the drugs but also strongly, very strongly discourage anyone who tries to, you got to do something about it. Lucky for you, the tip included location of their consignment which was unfortunately a moving van.

So now you are on the mission to hunt down the perps using the consignment. You sit in your car, parked just far enough from the cafe to go unnoticed. The neon glow from its signage casts streaks of colour across your windshield as you narrow your gaze at the nondescript white van idling across the street. You know that van’s make and plate by heart now—one of the many moves by the Black Hand, a rival gang brazen enough to test the borders you’ve drawn. They’ve been inching into your territory for weeks, pushing product onto your streets. But tonight, you plan to send them a message.

The van hasn’t budged in twenty minutes. You lean back in your seat, fingers gloved and relaxed around the steering wheel, eyes locked between the van and the cafe entrance. Your informant tipped you off about a possible drop-off around midnight, but so far, there’s no movement. You exhale, feeling your pulse settle as you slip into the familiar rhythm of focus, watching, waiting.

Then, movement. A figure approaches the van from a side alley, pulls up his hoodie, and darts a glance around. Your senses sharpen as he taps on the driver’s window, mutters a few words to the man inside, and waits. You tense, taking in every detail, assessing your options. Now would be the time to make your move, to intercept him before he can go any further. But you’re not about to jump the gun; you need them with product in hand—ironclad proof.

The man steps away, scanning the street and even glancing toward the cafe as if considering his next move. Your brow furrows. The Black Hand’s drops are predictable, but this cafe is unfamiliar territory. It’s either a random choice or a cover—a test to see if you’ll take the bait.

You reach for your phone, ready to signal your backup waiting nearby, when a faint chime catches your attention. The cafe door swings open. You look over, expecting just another late-night customer, but a woman steps outside, glancing toward the van with a curious expression.

You frown, assessing the potential risk. An innocent bystander complicating things is the last thing you need. Calm but decisive, you slip out of your car, moving toward the cafe with purpose, your eyes darting between the woman and the van, where the dealer still hovers.

Your mere presence is enough to make him falter. He catches sight of you, nerves etched in his face, before retreating to the safety of the van. Satisfaction flickers through you as they pull away from the curb. No words were needed; your reputation alone was enough to interrupt.

Now putting on your backup to follow the van, you decide to take a breather in the café from where the woman came from. It looked cozy enough to breathe for a few minutes.

The bell above the door chimes softly as you step into the warm, inviting atmosphere of the cafe. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods fills the air, momentarily pulling your thoughts away from the weight of the mission that brought you here. You glance around, taking in the cozy decor and the gentle hum of conversations from patrons savouring their afternoon.

Then your gaze lands on the counter, and the rest of the room blurs into the background. There she stands—a beautiful woman, commanding yet effortlessly charming as she chats with a customer. Your heart flutters, and you catch your breath, feeling an unexpected thrill. Something about her presence draws you in, an invisible thread that makes your pulse quicken.

You gather yourself, steadying your thoughts as you approach the counter. Your eyes settle on the name tag pinned to her apron: “Wanda.”

“I’ll have a cappuccino, please,” you say, managing to keep your voice calm.

Wanda looks up, her eyes meeting yours with a warmth that feels unexpectedly personal. “Coming right up! Do you come here often?” she asks, her tone friendly and inviting.

“Not until today. I was… just passing through,” you reply, hoping your smile is as relaxed as hers. Leaning slightly against the counter, you feel compelled to ask, “What’s your secret? How do you make this place feel so… welcoming?”

She chuckles softly, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. “It’s all about the people. Everyone who walks through that door has their own story, and I just try to create a space where they feel at home.”

You’re captivated, not just by Wanda’s beauty but by her passion. “Well, you certainly succeed. It feels like a little oasis in the middle of all the chaos,” you say, your gaze lingering on her smile.

As she prepares your drink, you sense that this encounter is more than a simple coffee order. Maybe it’s the mission that’s led you here, or maybe it’s something entirely different. There’s a connection forming, one that feels powerful, as though it could lead to something life changing.

“Here you go,” she says, placing the cappuccino in front of you. “On the house for my new favourite customer.”

Your heart skips again, and you grin.

“Are you sure you want to be giving away free coffee? I might just become a regular.”

“Then I’d be glad to have you here,” she replies, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Just promise you’ll share your story next time.”

You chuckle, feeling warmth spread through you. “Deal. I will be back, Wanda.”

As you turn to leave, you cannot resist glancing back one last time, meeting her gaze. And in that moment, you know—this is the start of something significant, something that could change everything.

After successfully taking care of The Black Hand, which took a few days, in which you can’t stop thinking about the shy cute barista you met. So, you decided to just fuck it and go meet her now. That’s why you are here now at a not really a café hour standing outside her café.

The streetlights cast a soft glow over the quiet street as you hurry toward Wanda's cafe. You can see the lights are dimmed inside, and your heart sinks at the thought of missing her again. Since your last meeting, you’ve found yourself thinking about the beautiful barista more often than you care to admit.

As you reach the door, you notice it’s slightly ajar. Taking a breath, you push it open, the familiar chime of the bell echoing in the near-empty space. The cafe is almost dark, with only a few flickering candles on the tables and the warm glow from the kitchen lights illuminating the back.

Wanda is wiping down the counter, her focus on her work, unaware of your presence. A few moments pass before she notices you standing there. “Oh, hey there,” she says, looking up with a gentle smile that shifts quickly to a look of surprise.

“Sorry I’m late!” you say, stepping closer, your heart racing. “I didn’t realize you were closing up.”

For a heartbeat, Wanda is silent, her expression unreadable.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of your words. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this,” you add sincerely. “I just had to come back. Do you remember me? I was here a few days ago.”

Wanda’s eyes brighten at the mention of your last visit. “Of course, I remember you. It’s not every day I give away free coffee.” A faint blush warms her cheeks, and her gaze dips toward the counter.

A rush of warmth floods through you at her words. “Really? I was worried you might forget about me.”

“Not a chance,” Wanda replies, her tone playful. “I was actually hoping you would return.”

Your heart skips at her admission. “Then I guess I’m lucky,” you say, stepping closer, sensing the spark in the air. “So, what were you hoping I’d come back for?”

Wanda’s expression softens as she meets your gaze. “To share stories, maybe. I’d love to know more about you.”

You nod, feeling both curious and amused. “Well, there’s plenty to tell. I’m involved in… let’s say, interesting work.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Interesting work? Do tell.”

“I run a couple of businesses, it’s complicated.” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I can tell you it doesn’t involve making coffee.”

“Pity,” she teases, stepping out from behind the counter and gesturing to a nearby table. “Why don’t we sit? I’d love to hear all about it over some of my best pastries. I can’t let you leave empty-handed.”

As you settle into the cozy warmth of the cafe, you feel a surprising sense of calm. This is more than just a chance encounter; it’s an opportunity to connect with someone who stirs something in you that you hadn’t expected.

You exchange stories, laughter filling the quiet space as time slips by, both of you savouring the easy joy of each other’s company. As the last customers trickle out and the cafe grows even dimmer, you realize you’ve found more than just a break from your chaotic life—you’ve found a connection that feels electric.

After leaving Wanda’s you thought to get a drink before going to sleep, knowing the excitement of time spent with Wanda won’t let sleep come that easy. And come on who could blame you, it's Wanda we are talking about. With all the shit you see every day, Wanda was a nice, warm ray of sunshine in your world of shadows. You didn’t even notice when time passed when you were talking with Wanda. It felt so natural like you two were some long-lost friends who just picked up where they left things.

So, to get the said drink you go to your dad’s bar knowing it’s well past the last call. Shield was a really exclusive bar. You needed to know the right people to get in. It was also a neutral ground for all the families, not that many were left after your father combined the most prominent ones and formed The Avengers. A crime syndicate whom everyone feared.

At the centre of the said syndicate was You, the young firecracker. People who knew the name Y/N Fury knew to fear it too, everyone knew you were ruthless. But what most didn’t know is that you were also truly kind and compassionate. You weren’t just there because Nick Fury adopted you, you made that clear that you deserve to be there with your charm and your brilliance in business. But enough about you, everyone knows you’re awesome.👑

The city outside is quiet, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights as you step into Shield. The bar is dimly lit, its usual buzz replaced by a peaceful stillness; it’s open only for Avengers tonight, even after hours. It’s exactly what you hoped for -a quiet moment to savour the evening after your delightful second encounter with Wanda.

You make your way to the bar, still carrying a spark of excitement. A permanent smile lingers on your lips, a trace of the warmth Wanda stirred within you. The night air seems to hum with the thrill you feel, and you can barely contain it.

“Just a quiet nightcap,” you murmur to yourself, slipping behind the bar where you know you're allowed. With practiced ease, you pour yourself a glass of whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the low light.

Leaning back, you take a slow sip, letting the rich warmth spread as you sink into your thoughts of Wanda. You savour a blissful contentment, letting the usual worries of your life slip away, if only for a while.

From the shadows in a corner booth, two familiar figures—Yelena and Natasha—watch you, their eyes glimmering with shared amusement. They exchange a glance, clearly entertained by the blissful look on your face.

“Look at her,” Yelena whispers, nudging Natasha with a grin. “She’s like a giddy schoolgirl.”

Natasha chuckles, her eyes bright with sisterly mischief. “Oh, she’s definitely smitten.”

Lost in your thoughts, you take another sip, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes studying you from across the room. A contented sigh escapes you, and your smile doesn’t falter.

“Should we go tease her?” Yelena suggests, barely containing her laughter.

“Absolutely,” Natasha replies with a grin. “It’d be criminal to let this pass.”

They slide off their booth and make their way over, their footsteps quiet as they approach. Yelena clears her throat dramatically, and you blink out of your reverie, startled as you spot them in front of you.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our little Fury,” Yelena teases, leaning against the bar with a grin.

You laugh, surprised and delighted to see them. “You two scared me! I didn’t think anyone else would be here. And I am at least older than you Yel-bear.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk. “And here you are, grinning like you’ve just hit the jackpot. What’s got you so happy? A new mission? Or maybe… something else?”

You chuckle, feeling warmth spread to your cheeks. “Maybe a bit of both. I just had… a really good evening.”

Yelena leans in, a playful gleam in her eye. “With someone special, maybe?”

You pause, your smile turning coy. “Maybe,” you admit, still savouring the memory. “There’s someone.”

Natasha and Yelena exchange a look, their teasing softened by genuine warmth. Natasha’s smirk softens, and she says, “Looks like someone’s in deep.”

“Oh, shut up!” You swat at them playfully, your laughter filling the empty bar.

Yelena chuckles, slipping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “We’re only looking out for you. If someone makes you this giddy, they must be worth it.”

A wave of gratitude fills you, and you lean against Yelena’s shoulder, feeling the comfort of her embrace. “Thanks, you two. It means a lot.” You glance up at them, feeling the bond you share—the connection forged through battles and triumphs—wrap around you like a safety net.

Natasha’s gaze softens as she looks at you, a mix of pride and protectiveness in her eyes. “We’ve always got your back. Anyone who makes you feel like this has got to be special.”

Yelena nudges you playfully. “Just remember, if she hurts you, we’ll take care of it. You’ve got the best bodyguards a sister could ask for.”

You giggle, letting the joy of the moment sweep over you. “I know you would. I couldn’t ask for better sisters.”

The three of you settle in together, the quiet of the bar now filled with laughter, the warmth of camaraderie mingling perfectly with the whiskey in your glass. Surrounded by the two of the three people who know you best, you feel at home in a way you rarely do. Tonight, the world is small, warm, and perfect. And as the hours drift by, the bonds of sisterhood grow even stronger, leaving you smiling at the thought of the mysterious woman who sparked a new joy in your life.

Pietro was on his way to check up on Wanda that same night you both met. But as he got near to her café, he could see her talking and laughing with you over her pastries. He also notices how her eyes lingered on you a second too longer sometimes. Ultimately, he decides to leave, he is not a menace. He will just tease her later about it.

The morning sun hadn’t quite risen over the city, and Wanda was already busy in the cafe kitchen, kneading dough for the day’s first batch of pastries. The rhythmic motions of her hands and the comforting warmth of the oven filled the room as she lost herself in her morning routine. The door swung open, and in walked Pietro, looking far too awake for the hour, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Dobroye utro, sestra,” he greeted, his voice filled with teasing warmth. “Already hard at work, or are you just distracting yourself?”

Wanda looked up, wiping flour off her hands onto her apron. “Good morning, brat moj. Shouldn’t you be sleeping off last night’s adventures?” She raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden appearance.

“Ah, but how could I sleep,” he sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter, “when I saw my mila sestra sharing her cafe with someone after closing hours?” Pietro’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Now who might that be?”

Wanda felt her cheeks grow warm. She turned back to her work, forcing a casual shrug. “Oh, dosta, Pietro. She’s just a customer. She was friendly, that’s all.”

“Samo prijateljica, hmm?” Pietro raised an eyebrow, pressing on. “Well, most ‘just customers’ don’t get private late-night talks.” He smirked, crossing his arms as he watched her. “You looked… well, a little smitten.”

“Stop it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes but unable to hide a small, sheepish smile. “Not every friendly face means something, you know?”

Pietro moved closer, playfully poking her shoulder. “Ne lazi, Wanda. I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that since… ever.” His teasing softened slightly. His tone more serious. “Come on, moya sestra, you can tell me. She seemed important.”

“She’s…” Wanda paused, caught between wanting to share and keeping it all to herself. “She’s just different, that’s all. She listens.”

“Listens?” Pietro raised a brow. “It’s been two days, and already she’s got you all… like this. Look at you, smiling like lovesick puppy!”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, swatting him away with a light smack on the arm. “Stop! She’s a friend, dobro? Someone who’s interesting, that’s all.”

Pietro leaned in, whispering with a grin, “You don’t give free coffee to just any ‘interesting’ person, moya sestra.”

She shook her head, feigning exasperation but smiling despite herself. “Fine. Maybe she’s a little more interesting than others,” she admitted. “But only a little.”

“Oh, I know” he said with a grin, crossing his heart. “I won’t say a word.” He winked and headed for the door, calling back, “Remember, you can’t hide anything from me, moya mila!”

Wanda laughed softly, shaking her head as he left. She couldn’t deny it, Pietro had a point. And as she went back to her work, the thought of seeing you again brought a warmth to her smile that even her brother’s teasing couldn’t chase away.

#wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #yelena belova #marvel fanfiction #mafia au #female reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #lesbian #lgbtq #pietro maximoff

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afyrian · 6 months ago

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no. 1 - forgotten enemies masterlist

the sun filters through the thick canopy above you, slivers of light shining through your car's sunroof. it bounces over your car seats and peeks through the space between you and your sunglasses. 'til the summertime, forgive my northern attitude, "oh i was raised on little light.."

you sing along to the song on the radio, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. everything seems so familiar as you picture what it looked like when you were younger. except the budding trees are higher than your car now and the ponds are a little wider. even the tree line has widen some as the roads are fixed of their cracks.

bought some shit you searched online- your finger searches for the mute button, eyes wide at the sight of the cabin. it's certainly not as you remember it being. the dilapidated cabins are fixed up and harboring blue painted roofs. the paths are paved with sand and rock and there's a climbing wall not too far from the entrance.

even with everything changing, you can still see the large sign at the front of the camp. the blue signage still looking the same, just slightly cleaner. little balloons are tied to the sides for the grand reopening after a couple years closed. from what you can remember in the email, it was closed for something weird that went down a year after you left.

however, wondering about the past and how your formative years could've changed if your camp time had been different was not something you wanted to endure. instead, you just step out of the car and take in a deep breath of the fresh mountain air. your thoughts quickly flicker to your bag in your trunk and baseball cap in the passenger side.

you open the trunk and grab your duffel bag, throwing the handle over your shoulder. as you turn around to open the passenger side door and grab your cap, you can hear a car driving down the concrete path. out of the corner of your eye, it's a jeep-like car. great for the wilderness with some terrible inside atmosphere.

before you can even shut your door and head towards the camp, their car door is opening. the sounds of flip flops hitting the parking lot sends your head swerving around to see who has arrived. the yellow-ish hair is the first thing you spot, besides the obnoxious aviators he's sporting. atsumu miya.

a name nor a person that you had thought about in a while. especially when all you wanted that year was to forget that very same face. the only thing seemingly different is the light scruff and the stronger jawline. a part of you wants to forget everything the two of you fought over, simply because he takes some of your breath away. however, you know better, knowing that he only brings you pain.

so you pull your hat on, turning around and shutting the door so maybe he won’t see you too. that he won’t give you some snide remark about all of the years that he excelled above you. however, something else entirely occurs that sends you reeling.

just as you’re walking towards the camp sign, the sound of his loud flip flops echo through your ears, him jogging towards you, “are you another counselor here?”

“uh- yeah. yeah, i am,” you look over at him for a moment, wondering if this is him winding up to some joke or tease, “this is my first year as a counselor, l/n y/n.”

he snaps his fingers, nodding his head as soon as he hears your name. “right, yeah, we had cabins near each other, didn’t we? sorry, i don’t remember much of my time here. but it was great to see you again,” atsumu shrugs his shoulders, hurrying past you to get to the mess hall.

you narrow your eyes in his direction, wondering how he can’t remember you. for a second, you simply wonder if you’re petty and vindictive. holding onto a grudge from years ago when he’s clearly pushed past any memory of the torture he put you through. you shake your head and continue to the mess hall to meet up with the other counselors, hoping that your friends would already be there.

a/n: thinking of doing atsumu’s pov next chapter..

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfic #camp loverboy #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq atsumu #atsumu miya #hq #hq fanfic

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wildemaven · 1 year ago

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Sweet Creature: Chapter Ten

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 4177

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Lots of Fluff, these two can’t keep their hands to themselves, oral (m receiving), two dumb dumbs in love, mentions of food, Readers nickname is Poppy (no physical description at all), talks of sobriety

Series Masterlist / Playlist/ Main Masterlist

Previous / Epilogue

FLASH * CLICK * FLASH * CLICK

It’s blinding, even with the late afternoon sun perched high above Hollywood Boulevard.

The theater, El Capitan, its signage bold and ornate give the movie house its old Hollywood charm, welcoming those in attendance to the star studded movie premiere.

There are so many people, stacks and stacks of bodies with cameras and flashes barricaded behind a wall of bigger cameras with more people holding microphones— masquerading as a friend-next-door the moment the camera rolls, dropping the facade the second the interview is over.

Dieter is grateful the minute you both step out of the car that you had agreed to attend the event with him, having you by his side to ground him, not knowing what feelings or emotions this movie celebration would evoke— but having you as his plus one, as fans and paparazzi wailed and cheered for him after being away from the spotlight for close to 3 years—made it feel less paralyzing.

FLASH * CLICK * FLASH * CLICK

It’s a precise balance of excitement and jitters, mixing and swirling a heady cocktail of emotions, nerves tickling at the surface— but the dizzying sensation settles, not dissolved but thinned and manageable the minute his voice hits the chaotic noise filled air.

“You good?” A steady hand settling on the small of your back, his words a whispered question only meant for you, knowing how overwhelming this whole scene can be, even for someone who has been in the business for as long as he has.

“Yeah, I’m good— it’s just a lot to take in. I don’t know how you do this regularly?” A hint of a nervous crack in your voice.

“Honestly, I have no clue— my memory of them is a bit hazy— I do know though, having you here makes it seem less terrifying, so thank you for coming. If it’s too much, you can skip it? I can do my obligations and meet you on the other side?” His thumb draws comforting circles to the opening where your dress reveals your bare skin.

“N-no— I can manage, I’m sure once we get moving it will be fine. Would rather stick with you anyway.” Your teeth gnawing at your lower lip, keeping your focus on him only, as you both wait for the line for actors, producers and directors before you to continue down the strip of red plush carpet.

“Have I told you how hot you look in this dress?” He asks against the shell of your ear, a feather light kiss to the juncture of your jaw before pulling back to fix his gaze back on yours.

It's a simple cut, tailor made to your figure. It’s champagne in color with delicate wide straps draped down the curve of your breasts, the satin fabric flowing down the length of your body, the low-cut exposing your back and a romantic train pooling around the ground as you stand.

“Hmm, I think beautiful, sexy, gorgeous were a few of the terms you used since I slipped into it— I’ll add hot to the list— Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself, Handsome.”

His double breasted all white suit fit him so well, his white button down lacking the buttoning of the top few buttons, emphasizing the taut lines of his gorgeous neck.

“Alright Mr. Bravo, right this way. You’re going to stop on the designated tape marks briefly, let them get their shot, then make your way to the interviewers and there will also be some fans at the end of the carpet before making your way inside.”

The sweet young lady assigned to Dieter for the evening debriefed the two of you as you prepared to step out into the sea of flashing madness. Putting you both front and center to the onslaught of yelling and demanding requests from photographers, ensuring they get the angle and shot that their Big-Name-Magazine-Boss will plaster across glossy pages accompanied in tiny print ‘shot by’ next to their name.

“You ready for this?” Dieter asks, almost as if he’s giving you one more chance to bail.

“No, but lead the way Mr. Bravo.” A kiss for good luck to his cheek as he removes his hand from your back, interlocking your fingers together followed by a few squeezes as he starts to guide you to the first stop on the carpet.

“DIETER! TO YOUR RIGHT!”

“MR. BRAVO! DIETER— RIGHT HERE!”

“DIETER!”

Dieter’s confident and casual demeanor is charming, standing off to the side as he gets his photo taken, watching him as he does his dutiful requirements as the leading actor at his movie’s premiere.

You study his profile, angular and captivating, his demure half smile on display as he does his best to look in every direction is name is being called to, the way his chestnut locks look lived in and controlled at the same time, his overwhelming beauty is doing wonders to keep your nervous thoughts at bay— selfishly eager to get him home to have him all to yourself.

As the line moves, Dieter keeps you close, your body angled in towards him at the next stop, an arm wrapped low around your waist. Your noses nearly touch when he looks over to you, a silent check in and an excuse to give his eyes a break from the bright bursts of light— honestly any reason to look in your direction.

“Poppy, babe— I think they want your attention.” His husky voice breaks through the riotous hollering, his head tilting in the direction of where the ‘Miss, this way please!’ is being called out.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Dieter, no real idea where to look or who to focus on, giving your best not super forced almost toothy grin, taking a few breaks to focus back on Dieter then looking back out to the wall of intense flickers— Dieter’s constant need for his sunglasses making total sense now.

It’s near the end of the carpet, where the interviewing line begins. Reporters asking their stream of questions— some related to the movie, others more personal. But all fairly tame and revolving around the shooting of the movie, wanting to know more about how Dieter worked to bring his character to life and if his sobriety was hard to manage at any point in time during filming.

The focus directly on Dieter, letting you ride through the interview process with a front row seat.

“Dieter, this is not a role we’ve seen from you before— it’s new and refreshing I would think. How different was it from your usual rogue characters, to play this soft romantic heartthrob?” The interviewer asks, utilizing her time with many substantial questions.

“Soft romantic heartthrob? You’re feeding my ego right— give me more! It is very new and refreshing, like you said. But also kind of intimidating, since I’m usually playing some asshole— oops— Sorry! Um, some jerk in most of my roles, which kind of seemed like second nature for me at a point in my career. To then jump into this role, it felt foreign and scary when we started shooting— but I found a rhythm and I’m really happy with how it worked with the rest of the cast.”

It’s ‘nice meeting you’ or ‘great talking to you again’ before progressing further down the carpet, to the next round of questions.

“Dieter, congratulations on being almost 3 years sober now! That must be an incredible feeling? Did you find it hard to jump into this movie all while trying to manage your sobriety?” The next interviewer asks.

“Thank you, that’s kind of you to say. It’s definitely an indescribable feeling, but I’m grateful for it everyday.” He gives your hip a light squeeze as he says it. “Sure, it was hard at times— not because of temptation or anything, but because I wanted to be fully present and show the entire team that I wasn’t going to let them down, it’s just something I actively work on daily now. But coming into this movie in a new head space, I was determined to hold myself accountable, making sure I was checking in with everyone too was a big thing for me. Plus, it didn’t hurt to have this gorgeous woman in my corner— I was grateful I got to come home to her every weekend, reset before the new work week.”

It’s the first he’s mentioned you out of all the answers he’s given so far— mostly sticking to directly related to the topic and movie. Your relationship is no big secret in your small town, but this is the first the two of you have attended something of this magnitude as a couple, even after being together for 2 years.

You’re not going to lie though, it makes you melt when he looks at you as he says it, awarding you with his lopsided smile and a wink before redirecting his attention back to the reporter.

“Miss, what do you think was the contributing factor in helping Dieter stay on track for this role.” The microphone pointed at your face as the interviewer looked to you for a response.

“Umm, I don’t think it was anything I did in particular— Dieter was the one who made all of this happen, I was just there making sure he knew how amazing he was doing through it all— and supported him however he needed me. All of his success is because of him, I can’t take credit for any of that.”

The reporter seems satisfied, thanking you for answering it honestly.

“You better hang on to her, Dieter. I think you’ve got yourself a keeper with this one!” Trying to strum up some playful banter as the interviewer comes to a close.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t dream of letting her go.” No care to the cameras or anyone around you, as he softly presses a quick peck to your lips— once, twice, three times just because he can.

“Thank you for your time, Dieter. Enjoy yourselves tonight.” A hand shake to both you and Dieter, sending you off with a grateful smile for chatting with her.

Each interview had similar questions to previous ones he had already done, but he did his best to give each of them original responses.

One last interview, a major publication, waiting patiently as you both approach their little assigned space. They’re kind with their questions, which has been a relief for him the entire evening to not be bombarded with any humiliating or embarrassing comments.

“What does Dieter Bravo do in his spare time now? You’re no longer living in LA, any plans to move back?” A string of new questions are asked to finish off this interview.

“We own a gallery back in my hometown where I’ve been staying since officially leaving LA, still looking for a permanent place though.”

“He owns the gallery— I just help run it when he’s off doing his movie star things.” You interject, correcting his statement in a playful manner.

“Says the woman the gallery is named after. I call her Poppy— Les Coquelicots is poppy in French, also after one of my favorite Monet paintings, so in a weird roundabout way, she does own it— don’t tell her I put her name on the paperwork, so she owns more than she thinks she does.” The last part isn’t a secret because you signed the paperwork, but he loves using the line wherever he can, so you play shocked and laugh right along with him.

“Are you able to find time to utilize the gallery for yourself? Will we be seeing any art made by the hands of Dieter Bravo?”

“I’ve been working on some things— I won’t say what, don’t want to spoil anything, but there may be something in the works that will be debuted soon-ish.”

The report congratulates Dieter on his new movie and wishes him the best.

“That wasn’t so bad. Plus, it was fun listening to you answer all those questions.”

“I knew you’d enjoy yourself.” Pulling you close to his side as you make your way through the crowd that’s formed at the end of the carpet— agents, assistants, significant others who chose to forgo the carpet entirely, all waiting for the person they came with to finish.

The assistant from earlier, meets up with you and points to a small group of fans who are all waiting for a chance to meet the stars before they head into the theater.

You stand back and watch him interact with each of them. Signing magazine and movie posters, pausing for selfies and listening to each of them tell him how proud they are and how excited they are to watch their favorite actor perform in a new film.

It warms your heart to see him showered with love the entire time.

“Mr. Bravo, you're going to head in through these doors and there will be someone to help you to your seats.” The sweet young lady guides you both to the main lobby of the theater, indicating the direction of the main entrance to where the movie will be shown.

“Actually, can you point us to a side exit— our driver should be waiting for us outside.” Scanning the space for any potential exits that would be easy to slip out unnoticed.

“Sir, the movie hasn’t started yet— I’m not sure leaving is the best idea. I can have someone come get you and walk you to your seats, the movie should be starting shortly.” The young woman is flustered by Dieter’s attempt to leave early, but just trying to do her job.

“No offense, but I don’t watch my own shit— you never watch your own shit. You just wipe, flush and move on. I know you’re just doing what you’re told, but if you’ll kindly point out an exit, we’re gonna head home.”

The constant low humming of the car's engine and the way Dieter’s fingers aimlessly map out shapes over your thigh, head resting on his shoulder you’re tucked in close to his warmth in the small back seat, enough to lull you to sleep on the hour and a half drive back home.

“Hey, Poppy— we’re home.” Dieter murmurs softly as he kisses the top of your head.

“Hmm?” Lifting your head, dazed as you look out the windows to see the car is parked in your driveway.

“We’re home. Let’s get you inside.”

Dieter offers the driver a tip and thanks him for the ride, then grabs for your discarded shoes and your small purse as he slips out of the backseat, hand extended out to you as you follow suit.

“Oh, shit!” It’s a slight stumble out of the car when your feet hit the cool concrete, falling into Dieter’s awaiting arms, steadying your sleepy frame against his until you're upright and balanced.

“Thank you.” Voice raspy with sleep, but cognizant enough to give him lingering kiss, a buzz of desire fully awakens you when Dieter deepens the kiss.

“Mmm, why don’t we take this inside? I think your neighbors have had enough of us at this point.” He mumbles against your eager lips.

“Meet you inside then.” You purr with one last kiss, before you pull up the hem of your trailing dress and head towards the front door, peeking over your shoulder, bottom lip playfully drawn between your teeth as you wink back at him, still standing in the driveway.

Shaking his head and laughing, your purse and shoes still in his grip, he follows your lead into the house.

Dieter’s barely made it over the threshold, closing the door when he feels his body being pressed up against the wooden door, your belongings falling to the hardwood floors with a heavy thud.

Your mouth moves against his with a fiery want, Dieter falling into the motions seamlessly, his hands gripping at your hips pulling you as close as possible. It’s a dance of angles as your tongue dominates his, exploring as you lick feverishly into his mouth.

Abruptly, you drop to your knees below him, his eyes blown and he tries to catch his breath.

“Pop— Poppy…”

His sentence cut off by the sound of his zipper sliding down, rustling of his pants and boxers being pulled to his knees, his cock half hard at just the mere sight of you.

The press of your lips and tongue against his hip bone is enough to make him fall to the floor, the drag of your upper lip across his skin, breath heated and stirring as you place another to his lower abdomen, wiry hairs tickle at your lower lip— then mirroring the same effort to his other hip.

“Fuck! Poppy— shit!” His length is hard and throbbing, his mind trying to focus on the way you’re licking the pre-cum as it weeps from the head of his cock, a thick haze of arousal clouding his mind.

He moans— fucking moans as you take fully in your mouth, his head falling back against the door, a staticy sensation building at the base of his spine at the way he’s repeatedly hitting the back of your throat.

There’s a lot he wants to say, tell you how perfect you feel around him, how much he loves the way your hands roam about touching every little bit of him as you bring him closer and closer to the peak of his delirium.

His breath ragged between lovesick whimpers, body tensing in preparation, a slow hum of satisfaction as you continue to move up and down his length— hand gripping tightly at the base of his shaft igniting a hungered fuse.

“Pop— Fuck! Poppy, I’m gonna— fuckfuckfuckfuck! Babe, I’m gonna come!”

There’s stars, fireworks, bursts of light. Fists slamming into the door.

His spend hits the back of your throat, managing to take all of it as he continues to come.

Warm. Salty. Perfectly him.

Licking your lips, satisfied with your work, working his suit pants back up, fastening the button as you stand to your full height.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw then to his neck, his pulse rapid against your lips, you pull back to take in Dieter’s blissed out state.

“Th-that was unexpected— holy fuck! I just— w-when you— I don’t even know, my brain is mush now.” There’s a rasp to his voice as he tries his best to properly form words, pinched brows and breathless as his lungs desperately fill with air.

“Just wanted to make sure you know how amazing I think you are— watching you tonight, seeing how much you love being in your element— I’m really proud of you, I think everyone else is too.”

“Fuck, I love you so much Poppy.”

He tastes remnants of himself on your tongue, and if he hadn’t just come down your throat minutes ago he would definitely be hard and ready again for you.

Instead he takes his time just kissing you, pouring every ounce of love and affection he has for you into it, your dress bunching and pulling as his hands anchor your body to his, kneading the swell of your backside— your presence is overwhelming and not enough at the same time.

There’s a low grumble that cuts into two of you making out, still situated in the front entry of your home.

“I love you, Dieter. But I think I need something with a little more sustenance, though. I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick, then I’ll pull something out to reheat.” Taking a few steps back from him, wiping the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand and adjusting the strap of your dress.

“Dessert before dinner kind of woman, I like it.” A throwback to your first date.

“Mmm, you should know me better by now— I’m a dessert anytime kind of woman.” You smirked, mindful of your dress with each slow step backward.

Dieter pushes off the door, closing the space between you, his mouth molding perfectly over yours, unhurried and attentive.

“Hurry your sexy self back here.” He murmurs into the last kiss, swatting playfully at your ass before you turn and head towards the bathroom.

A soft ballad drifts through the house as you make your way back to the main living area, the flicker of light emanating from your studio lets you know where Dieter is.

“Do you want leftover pizza or some of that pasta?” You call out to him, cold air hitting you as the doors to the refrigerator open.

“Dieter?”

You pull the containers from the fridge and set them on the island counter, both options sounding like a great idea the more you think about it.

When you get to the doorway of your studio, you find Dieter sitting, his brush moving with intent over one of his finished paintings, still finding reasons to add to it.

Arms crossed over your chest, heading resting into the wooden frame as you lean into the doorway, taking in the picturesque scene before you.

Recounting the moments over the last 2 years that led you to now.

How every waking minute you want to be consumed by Dieter in some way, he nestles into every single thought or emotion you experience, always able to bring a smile to your face.

Up until this point, love was the downfall for many of your relationships, loving too much or not enough, a hindrance to your own happiness.

But with Dieter, there’s a deeper purpose, a greater feeling of being loved and respected.

His effervescent spirit radiates from his soul, embedding himself into every corner of your heart.

He’s a tidal wave of intensity, pulling you under and filling your lungs to their fullest capacity, you drown in him, never wanting to surface again.

You’re grateful for his existence, for barreling into your life at full speed and for loving you with a passion you never knew before him.

Dieter is your home.

“That one is my favorite.” You state, moving into the room closer to where he is.

“Hmm, I think you’re just saying that.”

“Could be— or it could be the truth.” Your fingers carding through his curls as you stand behind him, admiring each brush stroke and line he created. “I know you don’t think you are, but you’re more than ready— they’re all so beautiful and I’m so lucky to have been witness to you painting each one of them.”

Dieter’s first art opening was next week, but he still found himself second guessing every little detail in each painting— his self criticism lashing out as the days grew closer.

Silhouettes, every curve and crook shaded and painted in a manner reminiscent of your naked form, not recognizable to anyone but Dieter and yourself. Heads replaced with elaborate bouquets of poppies in washes of pinks, oranges and reds.

“Okay— they’re done.” He says, placing his brush in the jar of stained water.

He swivels to face you, his hands resting on your satin covered hips, three brief squeezes— I love you.

You brush a loose curl off of his forehead, fingers trailing down his face, light scratches to his patchy beard he so proudly grew out.

“So, you said you’re still looking for a place?” A cheeky smile forms on your face, looking down at where he’s still sitting.

“I did, didn’t I?” There's a hint of sarcasm as he says it, the corners of his mouth starting to quirk up.

“Mhmm— is staying on my couch getting too boring for Mr. Movie Star Dieter?” Your head tilts to the side in question, knowing well that in the last two years he hasn’t slept a minute on your couch— save for his afternoon naps.

He stands, pulling you into his chest, eyes gleaming with an unexplainable excitement as he looks at you.

“Nah, I love your couch.” He reaches into the pocket of his pants to grab for something.

“So much so, I think I want to stay on it permanently— if that’s okay with you?” He asks, holding up a shiny object in front of you.

A gold ring with a 3 carat, princess cut green emerald stone, flanked by two smaller diamonds. It’s ridiculously flashy, looking exactly like something Dieter would pick out— and you’re so taken aback by how perfect it is.

You’re shocked, speechless, in complete awe of what he’s asking you right now, without even outright asking.

“You want to marry me, Dieter?” Your eyes glistening in the candle light, a few tears managing to slip down the slope of your cheeks.

He slips the ring onto your bare finger.

“Baby, I want you to be mine forever. Marry me, Poppy?”

Both your worlds, so beautifully different but painted together so well.

“Yes! Forever— yes!”

There’s tears and laughter, between shared feelings and drawn out slow kisses, text to friends and family sharing the exciting news.

“Thank you, Dieter. I’m so glad I gave your best a chance.”

A/N: I’ve been so eager to finish this chapter, and the minute I did I cried! I love these two so much!! I’m so fucking grateful for every single one of you who took time out of your day to read, reblog, comment, like, message about this series in any way shape or form— it’s truly been an amazing journey with all of you!! Thank you!! An even bigger thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for her constant support through every single chapter, you are my hero! Epilogue coming soon!

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo #pedro pascal #dieter x poppy #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #wildemaven writes

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littlebeemarketing · 2 years ago

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akaakeis · 19 days ago

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SHOKO is in the neighbor’s room, our life jam laid out on the sheet music for $20 by boygenius … ♡!

cw: mention of smoking, occasional cursing, ooc? food is also mentioned || wc: 1.3k

— for ree @aozui !! <3 || event

🎶 — $20 - boygenius

the chill of the night hung in the air, following you inside. you felt cold, even in your pajamas. the heater in the apartment was broken, and the repairman wouldn't be there until later in the week. now, you and shoko just had to wait it out. it didn't seem to be all the hard for her, though.

shoko was out on the balcony, leaning against its rail guards. there was smoke coming from her mouth, at least you thought so. it could've just been because of how cold it was. you couldn't really tell since you were staring at her back, but she looked really at peace. after watching her for a couple more moments, you walked out to the balcony and leaned against the rail guard next to her. catching a glimpse of her face, you could tell that it wasn't a cigarette- but a lollipop in her mouth.

she notices the way your eyes dart down to what's in her mouth and she lets out a quiet huff.

"did i get you?" she asks amusedly, taking the lollipop out of her mouth and showing you it. it was a dark red color.

"maybe." you roll your eyes, smiling. "are you not cold? it's cold as shit out here and inside."

"not really. we could go for a drive, though. the car has a heater." shoko popped the lollipop back into her mouth and took keys out of her pocket. they were for the little 2015 chevrolet spark that the two of you owned. kinda crappy car, though. it had over a hundred thousand miles on it already, but as long as it still ran, it would suffice.

"isn't it broken, though?"

shoko looks at you and purses her lips, sucking them into her mouth. "no, i fixed it last week, remember?"

no, you didn't remember. "oh, i forgot," you laugh softly.

she smiles slightly, grabbing your hand and bringing you back inside the apartment. "yep. come on, let's go for a drive." she grabs a zip up hoodie off of the couch and tosses it to you. it was one of the jackets that she always wore when the two of you were at home. "wear that. stay warm."

a small smile grows on your face as you put on the jacket. it smells vaguely of cigarettes and a vanilla perfume. following her out of the apartment, you lock the door behind you.

stepping out into the brisk night, the cold air woke you up, nipping slightly at your nose. shoko unlocked the doors to the car and you quickly slide into the passenger seat. you run your hand over the dash of the car, dust pilling onto your hand. this car needed a wash. maybe you could convince her to go with you tomorrow to wash the car— it'd be fun.

after a couple seconds, shoko slid into the drivers seat, sticking the key into the ignition and turning it. the engine stalls for a moment before starting. the car lived to see another day. as the lights on the dashboard flickered on, shoko muttered a quiet, "damn it."

"hmm? what's wrong?" you ask her, leaning over to look at the dash.

"you got $20?" she asks. "we're low on gas."

"really? asking your dear passenger for gas money?" you tease.

"oh, fuck off." she laughs, gently pushing you away.

as you hold out a $20 bill to her, feigning annoyance, she takes it and smiles. "thank you, dear." she's teasing you, calling you dear. she knows it makes you laugh.

she was right about that, because the pet name got a snort out of you. that and a "whatever, let's go."

she nods, a small smile on her face as she shifts the car into reverse and backs out of the parking spot that the car is in. while she's doing that, you turn on the car's heater, turning the temperature up to 70°, and you turn on the radio.

the town is alive with bright, neon signage, all whizzing by as you travel down the highway. the two of you were headed for the gas station to top off the gas tank before going for a drive.

the radio fills the comfortable silence in the car as she continues to drive. after a couple minutes, shoko pulls into a gas station, parking next to a gas pump. getting out of the car, she motions for you to come with her. the two of you go into the gas station's store, walking to the counter.

"how much can $15 get us in gas?" she asks the man at the register. he mutters back a reply, to which shoko hands him the $20 bill. he hands her back $5 and says a quiet "have a nice night."

you cock an eyebrow, wondering why she didn't just buy $20 worth of gas. she looks at you with a mischievous smile, taking your hand and pulling you into the candy aisle of the store.

"pick something we can share for the drive." she lightly nudges you towards the candy, eyes running through the options of snacks. the bright, fluorescent lights wash both of you guys out, making you look pale. for shoko, it makes her darker under-eyes look even more prominent. she looked so pretty, though.

looking over at the candy, your eyes perusing all of the options before settling on a share size of nerds gummy clusters. you grab them off the hook and show them to shoko. she smiles, grabbing them and walking over to the counter to pay for them. that was the last of the money you guys had brought, so you'd both just be eating gummy clusters for the night.

after getting back change for the candy, the two of you headed back to the car. shoko ripped the top off of the gummy clusters' bag and took a handful for herself before handing the bag to you. you took a couple pieces for yourself and put the bag into the cup holder so both of you could eat some.

shoko filled the gas tank and slipped back into the driver seat, slamming the car door shut. she pulled out of the gas station and back onto the highway. everything in the city felt so lively despite it being extremely late.

"hey, can you give me a gummy?" she asks, opening her mouth.

you snort, grabbing one out of the bag and dropping it in her mouth. when you pull back your hand, some of her lipstick is smudged onto your fingertips.

you turn the radio back on, one of yours and shoko's favorite songs coming on.

she looks over at you with a smile, grabbing your hand. without any warning, she starts singing along to the song, lightly shaking your hand with hers. you join her in singing the song, letting her swing around your hand.

after the song ends, both of your arms go to rest on top of the car's center console. you were getting sleepy.

"tell me about your day, shoko.." you say, looking over at her while running your thumb over her hand.

"you sound tired," she says, amused. "sure." for the rest of the drive, she tells you about stuff that she had done at work that day. she also talks about the people she had to heal and transfigured humans she had gotten to identify.

if anything, she sounded more tired. her job seemed so taxing. it was amazing, the things that she did for work. the concept of jujutsu sorcery was still pretty confusing to you, if you were being honest, so it only made her job more amazing from your point of view. even if she was a curse user, you think you'd been on her side. maybe as an arsonist, or something.

that was the final thing you thought of before falling asleep in the car. you were lucky to have her.

an: WOOO FIRST TIME WRITING FOR JJK AND ITS FOR SHOKO THIS IS A WIN!!! honestly i had no idea what to write at first so i kinda just had fun w this... also said nerds gummy clusters bc i was eating them as i made this HAHAHSH

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #shoko x reader #jujutsu kaisen shoko #jjk ieiri #ieiri shoko x reader #jujutsu kaisen ieiri #shoko ieri x reader #omori's sketchbook.#a trip around headspace (100 followers special).#asks!!#ree ily ree

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sigynpenniman · 4 months ago

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AIRPORT TIERLIST OF AIRPORTS I’VE BEEN THROUGH FROM SOMEONE WHO FUCKING LOVES AIRPORTS

S TIER:

- MCO Orlando. My love my queen. Platonic ideal of airports. All the other airports wanna be her.

- MSY New Orleans - I have only seen your beautiful face once but your vibes were just impeccable. I miss you beautiful

A TIER:

- LHR London Heathrow - you’re so chill and sweet to be such a major airport. Weirdly calming somehow. Sterile, but the big boy of London airports. When you’re here you’re in London. Smells like joy.

- CDG Charles DeGaulle Paris. Dripping in stunning retro futurism and has a Concorde on stands by the runway. We love her

- DCA Ronald Reagan Washington DC. So pretty. So clean. So easy to navigate. Prevented from S tier status by being one long skinny thing with no way to get quickly across it.

B TIER:

- DEN Denver Colorado. Architecture for the gods but somehow the vibes are off. I’d fly through you again happily but I don’t feel especially warm when I think of you.

- FLL Fort Lauderdale - Hollywood. You’re permanently attached to very warm memories for me because of the trip I took from you but you’re just kind of there. Vibes are off. Meh.

- ORD Chicago O’hare. Aesthetic perfection but weirdly stressful. While I had a great time on this trip I do not think warmly of the airport other than the rainbow lighting. Jules got yelled at here. -10 points.

- CLE Cleveland Ohio. Another airport that is home of warm memories due to loved ones but just really not the vibe as an airport.

C TIER:

- LGW London Gatwick. I don’t like you for no reason. Like a disappointment, you’re in London but not at Heathrow for some reason.

- PHL Philadelphia. Again, weird aimless dislike. I cannot justify.

- BNA Nashville. Meh. Fine, which may be the worst insult I can lob at an airport.

D TIER:

- LGA New York LaGaurdia. Fuck you and your tiny spirit terminal in the middle of nowhere and your hard to access rental cars and your poor road signage that sent me round and round on the New York interstate in my rented Corolla. The bigger terminals are pretty though, and anyway. New York City!

E TIER:

JAX Jacksonville. Ew.

F TIER:

BOS Boston Logan International Airport. I loathe you. Less busy numerically than ATL and yet somehow even more spread out. Signage is bad. Directions unclear. Nothing makes sense in this alternate reality. Labyrinthine building designed by the god Hades. Never again would be too soon.

UNTIERABLE:

ATL - Hartsfield Jackson Atlanta. The biggest and busiest airport in the world. When you buy a ticket on Delta a box pops up that says “by buying this ticket you agree to see the inside of Hartsfield Jackson Airport.” Not actually a real place, but a floating parallel dimensional space you enter when you walk through the doors. When you get off the Plane Train at terminal D a sign to the left points down a hallway and says “Walk to Terminal E. Time: 45 minutes.” Bigger than many cities and some European principalities. And sometimes you’ll be forced to run clear across it when your gate gets changed. Send every domestic flight that goes near it and many that don’t through it for a completely unnecessary 45 minute layover and sautée until golden brown to birth this unholy god of a space outside all time. They have CPR training machines. They have bathrooms too rarely. They have a whole other airport underneath for international transfers. Don’t die before you see it. Everyone should, at least once. 🎶Welcome Aboard the Plane Train!🎶 next stop: the 4th circle of hell. Walk to purgatory: 45 minutes. Moving sidewalk out of order.

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slashersdaddy · 2 months ago

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Vincent Sinclair X Childhood friend GN!Reader "I'm Home"

Just some indulgent fluff, may continue this drabble but idk, lmk if you want more ;)

*The Humid air of Louisiana's summer heat beat down on you as your old beat up car came to a stop at the small house outside of Ambrose's city limits, a "Sold" sign sticking out of the dirt in the lawn showcased the dreary house behind it, old white paint chipping from years of neglect, a broken window by the old creaky front door and an abandoned playset lay on the lawn. You grabbed a box as you walked to the door, keys jingling in your hands as you pushed open the door to your childhood home, flicking a light switch by the front door does nothing and you sigh, looking to the ceiling with distain as you grumble* "Wonderful, looks like the electric still doesn't work yet." *you set the box down and wander back outside, deciding to go into Ambrose, thinking its been far too long. As you enter the town a chill finds its way up your spine, its... quiet, eerily so, for the town which never seemed to be fully quiet all you could hear was the wind and animals in the forest. As you make your way through the town you pause, looking at the signage for the pageant, the date being 8 years ago. your heart grips in your chest as you move through the ghost town towards the Sinclair house, nerves on edge as you wondered what had happened to your childhood best friend and crush Vincent. Soon you stood in front of the imposing doors, a loud knock on the heavy wood as you looked inside the windows seeing light you felt relief wash over you. A shuffling inside before the door swung open, revealing a man with long black hair, an all too familiar mask peeking out of the tangled locks. A strangled noise escapes him as you lung forward wrapping your arms tightly around his sweater-clad torso burying your face into his chest sighing in content* "I missed you Vince, I'm home." *as the words left your lips Vincent caved, body relaxing and embracing you tightly tears falling from under his mask as he held you, only one thought on his mind* 'welcome home'

#slasher fucker #slasher boyfriend #slasher x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair headcanons #x reader #original story #house of wax 2005 #fluff

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hotreadingwitch · 11 months ago

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MADE TO LIE - the date

Y/N

As Bucky pulled up to the restaurant she took in the building, regarding its fancy modern exterior and signage. The place was called EXQUIS and according to Tony’s notes, it was a popular French cuisine spot in New York that the Cranes were typically seen dining at. Their hope was that tonight they’d be there to see Bucky and Y/n on their date, convincing them even more that they were in love.

“Alright,” Bucky said quietly, placing a gentle hand on Y/n’s exposed thigh, “I know you’re gonna probably hate this Y/n but tonight we’ve got no choice. We have one job and it’s to convince the Cranes that we’re 100% together”

“I know Bucky” she sighed, resigned before gathering her courage, offering him a small smile, “Don’t worry, we’ve got this”

Bucky parked the car and got out before running to the other side and opening Y/n’s car door for her, grabbing her hand to help her up.

They strolled up to the doors of the restaurant, Bucky holding it open for her, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back. Her back arched slightly at the feeling, her body’s way of remembering the last time his hands were really on her.

“Wow” she cooed, referring to him opening the door, “What a gentleman”

The game was on.

“Least I could do doll” he smirked before planting a kiss on her hand, without breaking eye contact.

Very much on.

Y/n’s eyes widened at the contact. She quickly shook off her visible surprise, smiling at Bucky as lovingly as she could, hoping no one had seen her moment of hesitation.

“On your left” Y/n heard Sam’s voice crackle through their earpieces, notifying them of the Cranes’ position.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/n spotted the twins sitting at a table in a dark corner of the restaurant just as Sam had said. Bucky pushed Y/n forward where they were greeted by a cheery waitress.

“Welcome to EXQUIS” she smiled, “Table for two?”

“We have a reservation under James Buchanan Barnes” Bucky replied, his voice low.

“Right this way” the waitress replied, as if she’d done this a hundred times before, which Y/n was sure she must have.

The pair followed her to a table in the centre of the restaurant, directly under the massive, modernized chandelier. Y/n looked up as they walked, her gaze focused on the beautiful fixture while Bucky’s gaze, though she didn’t notice it, was on her and only her.

“Sit down doll,” Bucky said as they reached their table, pulling Y/n out of her fancy architecture-induced daze.

“Oh right,” she chuckled, refocusing on their mission.

“Okay, you two” Tony’s voice sounded through the earpiece, “Remember we are here for you watching through the hidden cameras”

“Try not to look awkward” Steve’s voice added.

“Yea” Natasha chimed in, “That’ll just make it obvious”

Was everybody watching them? Y/n thought to herself self-consciously. There really was no room for error.

“Ignore them” Tony stated in that easy-going manner of his, “Tonight is not about fighting, or anything that we typically do, it’s just about reminding them that you’re together now”

“As if they could forget” Sam snickered.

“Hold my hand” Bucky’s brushed hers, the feeling of his light touch making her skin tingle with memory, “They’re watching”

“Mm hm” She cleared her throat before plastering on her most loving smile and intertwining her hand with his. They fit together well, like murder and mayhem. Though Bucky was warm to the touch Y/n noticed his skin was also rough. She turned his palm and began to play with the inside of his hand, stroking both the rougher parts and the softer parts, her gentle fingers running over the callouses he had from years of violence.

“Ooh it’s getting romantic” Wanda giggled.

Y/n blushed but continued anyway, drawing small shapes in the centre of Bucky’s palm. When she looked up his gaze was fixed on her, like he couldn’t look away. Y/n felt like his eyes were seeing into the depths of her, seeing everything she wanted to hide but somehow couldn’t, at least not from him.

She broke the eye contact, breaking into a loud laugh, “Don’t be so serious baby, you’ll get wrinkles”

She heard laughter over the earpiece.

“I’m 98 Y/n” he chuckled back, “I think I would have gotten them by now”

She beamed at him and he stared back in a way that made her unsure whether each small moment of affection that passed between them was fake or not. Luckily, the waitress reappeared, interrupting the moment in order to ask what they’d like to drink. Y/n looked at Bucky, expecting him to order, to which he simply shot back a “ladies first” before leaning back in his seat.

“Oh um, I’ll have a glass of your best Chablis” Y/n smiled up at the waitress, her accent coming through with the name of the French wine.

“Make that the bottle” Bucky added, causing Y/n to raise her eyebrows, “And a Manhattan for me s’il vous plaît”

“You didn’t tell me you spoke French”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me Y/n and yet somehow you know more than most”

His admission hit her right in the chest. Bucky was not like her, he wasn’t naturally honest or open or even sometimes kind but the more time she spent with him the more she was beginning to realize how hard he was trying to be good for her.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice came softly through the intercom.

It took all of Y/n’s strength to not tell him to shut up and stop ruining the moment right then and there but one wrong move, one hint that they were on a mission and not a real date and the Cranes would bolt. Luckily, their drinks soon arrived and, though it felt like it went on forever, the rest of the evening went off without a hitch. By the time they were leaving, having both made their point and eaten a delicious 4-course meal, it was pouring rain.

Bucky let go of her hand as they exited the restaurant, stepping into the deluge to get the car. She stepped forward, throwing her arms out to the sides, letting the rain wash over her. The day had been a lot, she valued honesty more than anything but still confessing always took its toll. Bucky turned, practically doing a double-take when he saw her grinning like an idiot.

“Are you crazy?” He laughed breathily, “You’re gonna catch a cold”

But he didn’t stop her, no, instead, Bucky came right up in front of her, cupping the sides of her face with his large hands. Her arms dropped to her sides as she focused on his intense gaze, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“They could be watching you know,” she breathed, her voice a low whisper.

“Yeah, right,” he said gruffly, his voice thick, “They could be”

And with that, he kissed her. It was an all-consuming kiss, one full of hunger and pure need. The rain fell down over them as they grasped each other tightly, exposing everything that both of them felt and even when their lips broke apart, still, they lingered. It wasn’t fake and they both knew it though neither of them dared to say anything even when they were finally in the heated sanctuary of the car on their way back to the hotel.

requested account tags: cjand10 identity2212 bucky-jbb-sunshine unaxv hnnhbananananana literaryavenger

#fanfiction #fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #mcu #mcu fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #y/n

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rumbelleshowdown · 4 months ago

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Author: apple jacks

Group: Final

Prompts: Baby milestones. Panic, expect, ambition, compact. Treasure.

French’s Bed and Breakfast

Belle was dozing on the couch, her head tipping over the book open in her lap.

It was easier to wait downstairs when someone was late for check-in; living on the third floor of the Victorian afforded her and Gideon the most privacy and neither one of them minded the stairs. They creaked something fierce, though, and she never wanted to chance waking the other guests.

Not that there were others right now to wake; they had reached the dead-zone of mid January, when the holidays were over and travel ceased. Coastal Maine didn’t have anything to recommend itself for a yearly tourist season, and Storybrooke, tucked away from any major city, was no exception.

They’d make do in the dead months of winter. They always had, her and Gideon.

This recent booking would help; a last minute reservation wasn’t the difference between life and death, but it would help keep the heat running.

Belle stirred as she heard the sound of footsteps on her porch, her hand reaching more out of instinct than thought for her bookmark. The following knock was sharp and impatient.

Opening the door, she was greeted by a man with not quite shoulder length hair in a long black coat, a single duffle bag slug around his shoulder. One of his hands was occupied by a gold topped cane. He had dark brown eyes and a long face that might have been handsome had it not been downturned in a truly impressive scowl.

“Are you going to stand there staring at me all night?” he snapped.

“Welcome to French’s Bed and Breakfast.” Belle pulled on a serene smile that would put Florence Nightingale to shame as she stepped aside to let him in.

"Save your pleasantries," the man said, the tap of his cane muffled by the rug as he made his way through the doorway.

Belle spared a glance outside—the shape of a dark car she didn’t recognize was parked at the end of her driveway, barely visible from the light of the house. At least he had parked in the right spot.

“Would you like help with your other bags?”

His scowl deepened as he surveyed the entranceway. “What I would like is to be pointed to my room.”

Belle suppressed a sigh and closed the door.

“Of course, sir,” she said in a mollifying tone. She side-stepped him to get to the table that acted as her front desk. Opening her laptop, she asked, “Can I have your name?”

“Gold.” It was said as if he’d thrown a plate on the floor.

Yup, there he was, an S. Gold, her guest for the next two weeks. Lucky her.

“Okay, we’ve put you into the Garden Room—”

“Ground floor.” It wasn’t quite a snarl, but Belle didn’t appreciate his curling lip.

“I’m sorry?”

“I requested a room on the ground floor.”

Which is exactly what the Garden Room was; she’d seen the request when the booking website had made the reservation, and she was accommodating it.

She held out the room key, customer-service smile plastered over her face despite her tired annoyance. “And so it is. I’m afraid it’s too late for a full tour—”

“I wouldn’t be so late if you had better signage—”

“But if you follow me through here, I’ll show you to your room, and then we can both call it a night,” she finished. She breezed past, knowing he followed thanks to the soft tap of his cane. “Breakfast is served from seven to ten, join us or don’t.”

He entered his room, not acknowledging a word she said. Without even a look, he firmly shut the door in her face.

The bed and breakfast had seen worse guests, even if she couldn’t name any of them right then. At least he’d paid upfront.

The next day dawned bright and cold. Belle had some time before she had to get breakfast started, so she lay in bed enjoying the sunset as it peeked through her curtains. It was her favorite time of day, especially so because of the soft notes of the piano that rose to greet her.

Gideon liked to practice before he left for school; her son also liked to practice when he arrived home from school. Honestly, if he’d been able to play the piano in his sleep he’d have found the way to. It was a good thing his room was three floors away, or he really would be playing every moment he could. As such, the piano was currently set against the south wall of the study. Which was directly next to the Garden Room. Where she had put up Mr. Gold.

Oh no.

Belle was out of bed, pulling on her robe and half-way down the hallway before she realized it. Gideon knew the rules about quiet hours, but he likely hadn’t thought to check the registration book––and who could blame him, the booking only came in the day before—their last guest left the seventh, nearly two weeks ago—she didn’t care if Gold was a guest, if he so much as looked at Gideon cross-eyed, she’d—

But as Belle’s feet hit the ground floor, she heard something surprising.

”—don’t need to worry about the black keys yet,” she heard Gideon say. “Now, can you find the C again?”

”Here, isn’t it?”

Belle recognized the voice of Mr. Gold, but it was less sharp than it had been the night before.

“Yes, that’s right. So where are the F and G?”

Belle poked her head around the corner. Gideon was sitting at the bench, which was expected. Beside him was Mr. Gold, which was not.

“These two, yes? Next to each other.” His hand was pointed to the keyboard.

“That’s right.” Gideon positioned a finger over each key. “Play these together six times,” he said, going slow. “And then you move your left finger over, down to the E, and play both keys six more times.”

Gold nodded as Gideon kept playing, a present student.

“And then you’ll move both fingers to the D and B, like this. There’s a skip down to A and then B after four beats on the right finger, but then it’s to C for both, and then you move up the scale until you’re back to F and G, then you do it all again.”

“You make it look easy.” Gold’s voice was quiet, and Belle suspected Gideon couldn't hear the amusement.

”It is easy; it’s a song for babies.” Gideon took his hands away. “Here, you try it.”

Gold didn’t hesitate to replace her son’s fingers on the piano; he matched Gideon’s pace and carefully tapped the piano keys exactly how he’d been shown.

”Like that?”

”Yes, exactly. And that’s the first part.”

”You mean there’s more?”

”If you want to learn piano, you have to learn Chopsticks. Let’s do it again, it’s important to practice.”

”Good morning,” Belle said.

Gideon startled, fingers hitting the keys askew.

”Mom,” he said brightly, turning towards her and quickly removing his hands from the keys. “Morning.”

She raised her eyebrow, and his smile turned sheepish.

”He was already awake,” he mumbled.

Belle shot a glance to Mr. Gold, who didn’t look like he’d be lodging a noise complaint. His poker face was much better than her son’s, though.

”I’m going to get started on breakfast. Gideon, have you eaten?”

”Yeah, I had some cereal.” His eyes darted back to the piano, anxious to resume his impromptu lesson.

Belle looked towards her guest, catching his stare before he quickly looked away.

”How do you take your eggs?” she asked him.

He blinked, the question taking a few seconds to register in his head. ”However you make them is fine.”

Belle went to the kitchen, and the sound of carefully pressed keys followed. They had made it through the entirety of Chopsticks twice as she was reaching for the juice glasses. Then Gideon was calling out a goodbye, followed by the sound of the door.

She waited for Gold to appear at the table, but instead the piano music picked back up, and it was not the simple children’s song. Frowning, Belle turned back to the study.

She didn’t know what song he was playing; it was mellow and calm and somber and good for a gray winter morning. It was also definitely not on the sheet music that Gideon had left open on the music rack.

”A beginner, huh?”

Mr. Gold did not startle, nor did he stop playing. “Your son is a skilled teacher,” he said, voice carrying over the notes.

Just who was this man? Showing up out of nowhere in his fine suits, reserving a room for two weeks with only a small bag. One moment he was a snapping dragon and the next happy to humor an excited child. Belle wondered what other facets he was hiding.

”How long has he been playing?”

His question broke her out of her scrutiny, and she realized she’d been staring rather rudely at his profile.

“He turned nine in November, so about that long.”

“A passionate lad.”

Her sound of agreement was covered by the ending notes. They hung in the air, even as Mr. Gold turned to face her. It seemed he wasn’t sure what to do when his hands weren’t occupied, and he looked at her, lost.

For this, she at least had the answer.

“Breakfast is in the kitchen. You want some coffee?”

Gold carefully stood from the bench, his cane in hand as he trailed after her.

”Please.”

She got him seated in front of her morning spread; eggs and bacon, a stack of toast and a bowl of fresh fruit, served family style, albeit paired down considerably.

”Anything else?” she asked as she set down his coffee.

“Aren’t you eating?” He gestured to the seat across him and the lack of a second place setting.

“I usually eat after guests.”

”Please don’t wait on my account.”

“You don’t mind the company?”

“No,” he was quick to assure her. “Not at all.”

Belle got herself a plate and a fork, sitting across from Mr. Gold at the table.

“What brings you to Storybrooke?” Belle asked, scooping some scrambled eggs onto her plate.

“Visiting family.”

“Distant relatives?” At his nonplussed look, she said, “I don’t know of any other Scottish people around here.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I haven’t stepped foot in Scotland in decades. My son is quite American, unfortunately. I’m sure you relate.”

“Not all bad, these American kids,” Belle said, more amused than she was willing to admit. Not everyone clocked her own Australian accent, it having mellowed and flattened in all her years spent stateside.

“You’re visiting your son, then?” At his nod, she asked, “Special occasion?”

His crooked smirk immediately transformed to a wide smile, the happiness uncontainable on his sharp face.

“I’m a grandfather,” he said with pride. “My son and his wife had a baby, and I’m here to meet him.”

”A baby! Oh that’s wonderful.” She went through a mental list of everyone she knew who’d had one recently: it was very short. She could really only think of Ashley and Shawn, but Shawn’s father was very much already in town and very much not Scottish.

“Who’s your son?” Belle asked.

”Neal Cassidy,” he said with quiet reference. “His wife is—”

”Emma! Right! They’re quite new to town themselves—“ she cut herself off, realizing. “Henry is almost two, isn’t he? And you’re only meeting him now?”

It was as effective as having the door slammed in her face. Gold’s face shuttered, and just like that the man who’d checked in last night was sitting across from her. It was the first time she’d seen him all morning.

“Yes, well,” he said, starting to push out his chair. His breakfast was only half eaten.

”Wait.” Belle’s hand grabbed his, and the contact shocked him enough that he stopped his escape. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Gold focused on their hands on the table, and she could feel the effort it took him to unclench.

“Neal and I have had our differences,” he said quietly. “He’s my treasure, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I ruined it. Completely.”

Belle squeezed his hand. She could only imagine what sort of rift had opened up between him and his son. If she were ever to become estranged from Gideon, that’d be it. She’d be nothing but dust.

”I may have missed some of Henry’s early milestones, but I’m here now.”

”You are,” Belle agreed, giving his hand another squeeze. “Neal invited you himself, didn’t he?” If he hadn’t, it was going to create problems that were way above Belle’s ability to solve.

“Aye, he did.”

”Well, there you go then.” With a nod, she pulled her hand back, picking up her coffee mug.

Gold stared at his hand, now alone on the table. “I don’t understand.”

”Family can be complicated, but it’s never too late to mend things. Neal wants you here, and wants you in Henry’s life. He wouldn’t have invited you otherwise.”

Gold moved the remains of his breakfast listlessly around his plate. He sighed, the weight of his past mistakes evident in the lines of his face. Belle watched him with curiosity, wondering about the stories he carried within him. She knew all too well the wounds that could fester over time if left unattended.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said finally.

“I know it’s not,” Belle assured him. “But it’s never too late to try to make things right.” She offered him a smile over her mug. “The first step is always the hardest. Always.”

“Here’s to an easier second step then,” Gold said, letting the smallest of smiles show on his face. Belle was right; he was handsome when he wasn’t scowling.

”Here’s to you enjoying your time in Storybrooke.”

#rumbelle showdown #round four entry #author: apple jacks

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wavesmp3 · 10 months ago

Text

[ksw] ode to you

inspired by 'daisy jones and the six'

kim sunwoo x reader (gn) wc: 10k warnings: cursing, heavy alcohol usage and often in an unhealthy way, one mention of blood (a terrible case of largely irrelevant side characters, an attempt at writing song lyrics, switching pov’s without any real indication, story existing in a vacuum of time and space loosely based off of 70s usa)

synopsis → The Numbers are a band well on their way to commercial success with Sunwoo as the dreamy front man, Changmin on drums, Jacob on guitar, Juyeon on bass, and Kevin on keys. But all that changes the second you step into the studio to record “Begin Again” with them. The song is an instant hit, launching you from a singer-songwriter nobody to the biggest new name in music and catapulting the Numbers into a larger limelight than they’ve ever been in before. So with the entire country singing your song, the pressure is on for you and the Numbers to create an entire album that lives up to their expectations. But while pressure builds, something akin to feelings for the front man builds with it.

You go to knock again on the door, heavy footsteps and heavier breaths, but just as soon as your knuckles make contact with the heavy wood, the door swings open.

Chanhee looks disappointed. “You were going to knock again, weren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, pushing him aside and going straight for the marble bar cart you know sits in the sitting room off the formal dining area.

“You know you really have to work on your patience.” He says to you from the foyer, voice already sounding a bit far away. You always forget how big acclaimed-music-producer Chanhee's house is. Although, you think, staring at the array of top shelf liquor arranged neatly on the bar cart, mansion is probably a more apt word for it.

You pour yourself a glass of whiskey.

Chanhee joins you in the room once you’ve already taken a seat in one of the brown leather arm chairs.

“How many glasses is that?”

You scoff. “I have a show at the Roxy after this.”

He hums, flicking the square paper in his hand.

You sit up slightly. “What is that?” Chanhee takes the paper over to the record player in the opposite corner of the room. He slips a clean black record out of the manilla slip and carefully places it into position. It doesn’t take long for the gentle hum of the record spinning around the platter to fill the room.

God, I love music. You think to yourself sitting back slightly in the armchair and allowing your eyes to shut.

“I want you to listen to this.” You hear Chanhee say, followed by the small pop of the decanter being opened and the quiet trickle and crack of liquor falling over ice. The sound of a bass overtakes the room. It’s somehow… gentle.

“Who’s it by?”

Chanhee doesn’t answer at first. You hear him sit down in the armchair next to yours while drums fill in the spaces of the songs and a guitar starts to hum along. And the sound that comes from the record player next–in all honesty, you don’t think Chanhee could have prepared you for. It’s a man’s voice, polished, in a way that you just know he’s been doing this for a while. His whole life maybe. There’s this rough, almost growly quality that amps the song up even more, and yet, simultaneously, his voice glides over the lyrics like honey spilling over the side of its jar. There’s so much depth in every note he hits. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard a voice–a sound–quite like this.

“Who is this?” You ask again once the first chorus comes to a close, opening your eyes and taking a proper look at Chanhee. He looks mildly amused.

“Have you heard of the Numbers?”

Sunwoo hurries into the studio from the car, guitar in one hand and lyrics in the other, fully expecting to get chewed out by his producer. “Chanhee, I’m so sorry. There was tra-”

Sunwoo stops in his tracks. The control room is empty. He steps back into the doorway and rereads the signage. He has the right room, so then… where is everybody?

“Sunwoo,” he hears a voice call for him from the recording stage. It’s Changmin, waving him inside and pointing at you. You smile at him, give him a nod of sorts. His eyes dart to Chanhee, giving him a look that says, who the fuck is that?

He walks into the recording booth hesitantly.

“Hey.” Chanhee says casually. “I don’t think you guys have met yet.”

You stand and approach him, sticking out your hand. Sunwoo just looks at it.

“The label thinks you guys would sound good on one track and want you to try recording ‘Begin Again’ together.”

He ignores your outstretched hand and looks straight at Chanhee. “Can we speak privately?”

—

Sunwoo had assumed he’d be the one getting chewed out in the studio today. Oh, how things have changed. He’s worked so hard on this song. More time and effort than he’s ever put in any of the band’s songs that came out before it. He can’t believe Chanhee would allow anyone else to try and taint it. “Begin Again” is his song. And he’ll be damned if he’s not the only one singing it.

Sunwoo’s ready to say all of this, but, “Before you say anything,” Chanhee doesn’t even let him speak, “I know how you feel about this. But the decision came from above me, okay. The Number’s last album didn’t do as well as the label hoped. They think another voice in the band could shake things up. And who knows, “Chanhee continues with a shrug that only makes Sunwoo fume more, “maybe this could be what you guys have been missing.”

Sunwoo cannot believe what he’s hearing. “We aren’t missing anything.”

“Don’t be dense.” Chanhee pans with a sideways stare. “I know you guys are good. I know you guys are gonna be big, but the rest of the world needs some convincing. Just try this, okay? This could be it.”

Sunwoo just shakes his head.

“I scouted them out myself. They’re a good singer and even better writer-”

“Writer?” Sunwoo nearly screams, arms flying to point at you through the control room window where the two boys are talking. “You want them to write on the song too?”

“They have a couple of…” Chanhee sighs, choosing his next word with extra precaution, “revisions.”

“Fuck that, Chanhee. I wrote a great song. It–”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You wrote a good song.” Chanhee refutes, matter-of-factly. “You wrote a good song, and they,” he points at you, “they made it a great one.”

Sunwoo is speechless.

“Here.” Chanhee pushes a piece of torn notebook paper into his hands.

If Sunwoo wasn’t so aware of the line Chanhee was drawing, he would’ve pushed harder, but at the end of the day, Chanhee is his boss and his lifeline in this business. If Chanhee says so, really says so, then there’s not much Sunwoo can do to fight it. Sunwoo is stubborn, but he’s not a fool looking to waste his own breath. He looks back into the recording stage. The band looks happy chatting to each other. And you, well, you’re staring at him.

A red light flashes on the sound board beneath him. “Talk over the changes.” Chanhee says to the band and you through the intercom. “We record in ten minutes.”

—

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say to Sunwoo sitting on the stool in front of the second mic. Sunwoo’s never even seen a studio setup with two mics before. He swallows a scoff. “Chanhee showed me the song the other day, and your voice it—“

“What does this line mean?” Sunwoo cuts in, taking his seat on the stool next to yours. “I changed my heart. I morphed my mind. You don’t have the right to tell me I didn’t try.”

Your face drops immediately. “Are you serious?”

Sunwoo raises a brow–a challenge.

“That’s not what this song is about.”

You give him a pointed look. “What do you think the song is about?”

It’s his turn for the disbelief. “What do I think the song I wrote is about?” You don’t falter, not even for a second. Sunwoo grasps at the words, mouth agape. “It’s about redemption.”

“That’s too easy.”

“How is that too easy?”

“Look,” you huff, mouth opening and closing like you can’t decide what it is you want to say. You end up reaching your arm out, palm open like you want a fucking hi-five or something. In the back of his mind, Sunwoo wonders if you’re still waiting for the handshake he never gave. “Give me your original lyrics.”

“What about it?” Sunwoo asks, almost forgetting that he’s upset at Chanhee for this whole arrangement, nearly forgetting that he’s supposed to not be accepting any of your revisions because for the first time in so long, he’s able to really talk to someone about his lyrics.

You look up at him fully, and almost sadly, you say, “You really don’t get it, do you?” Sunwoo looks down at the lyrics you gave him, scanning them again. Funnily enough, that line is the only one of his you’ve kept.

“The song’s not about redemption,” you tell him. “It’s about guilt.”

—

Sunwoo, you, and the band end up recording your version of the song. It’s a good song. It’s still his melody, his hook, and his bridge, but almost none of the lyrics are his. Just like that, “Begin Again” becomes as much your song as it is his. If he wasn’t so angry at Chanhee, maybe he would’ve had the mind to notice how good you sound singing it.

Kim Sunwoo is an asshole.

That you learned in the recording studio with him and haven’t been able to get out of your head since. Unfortunately, he’s got one hell of a voice and gift for creating a good melody. And him and Chanhee together in the studio, god, they’re magic. You went out and purchased The Number’s previous record after you recorded “Begin Again”. You haven’t stopped listening to it since.

You nearly drop the four plates of burgers.

You rush over to the jukebox, not believing your ears, not believing that your voice, your words, your song is playing for the entire diner to hear.

And there, right at the bottom it reads: “Begin Again” by the Numbers ft. you

“Holy shit.”

You hear the bands’ voices come up from behind you.

“Hey,” Sunwoo says, coming up next to you and resting an arm on the same wood railing as you. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” You answer truthfully. You could barely believe it when you got the call from Chanhee saying that they wanted you to play the festival along with the Numbers. Although, considering that your song is playing on every radio station, it probably shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was.

The crowd roars as the previous artist says his goodbye.

“Have you ever played for a crowd like this?”

“Nope.”

He nods slowly. “It’s a lot. The first time especially, for sure. But just go with it, and uh,” he smiles, towards the ground, “it’s a lot of fun once you get past the nerves of it all.”

You look at him, battling against the grimace forming on your face. “Is this pep talk for me or for you? Cause I’m fine.”

His smile disappears when he sees your face. You must’ve lost the battle.

He inhales sharply. “‘Begin Again’ is last. Come out after I introduce you.”

You nod, and he joins the rest of his band.

You hear Sunwoo sing the final words of the song and Kevin play the final chords. And you don’t know if its the crowd or the shot of vodka you took during the bridge or the fucking look Sunwoo gives you, but something, something, makes you forget what Sunwoo said about waiting and walk right onto that stage.

Jacob and Juyeon look confused. Sunwoo looks vaguely pissed. Kevin and Changmin barely notice. But you don’t register any of that. All you can think as you walk onto that stage, grin flashing and arms up in the air is: this crowd was fucking waiting for me.

You step up to your mic and wait until the crowd quiets down. You introduce “Begin Again” as a song you wrote. The crowd erupts. You look over at Sunwoo, smiling, no–grinning, loving how annoyed he looks. Juyeon doesn’t miss a beat, starting the song immediately. Your body moves on its own, dancing to the song, belting out each note, and loving every second of it. It’s sometime during the second verse, the one Sunwoo sings alone, that you notice how entranced he is. His eyes are half closed, and his fingers fly across his guitar like he’s not even thinking about it. He smiles at the crowd. You think you hear someone faint. He looks your way then, right before the pre-chorus, smiling still as if he wasn’t just glaring at you. It hits you almost instantly: nothing else matters to him right now. He’s in it, like really in it, and the only thing he seems to care about is putting on a good show. He’s loving this as much as you are, and maybe that’s enough to prove that you and Kim Sunwoo are more alike than either of you think.

You don’t even remember the song ending.

Music flows through Northside Tavern. A jazz band is playing today, and the piano player keeps making eyes at you.

“I heard the show over the weekend went well.” Chanhee says into your ear. You just nod. “And that the label really liked what you did with the song.”

You laugh. “Not just the label. The whole country liked it.” You give one last look to the pianist, before turning to Chanhee fully. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I have a number one single.”

You head over to the bar and ask for an old-fashioned.

“Not just you.” Chanhee yells behind you to be heard over the cheers after the band’s last song.

You pivot. “Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t just you.” Chanhee flags down the bartender, orders a scotch, neat. “It was the Numbers too.”

The bartender slides over three drinks.

You lean in over the counter. “We only ordered two.”

Wordlessly, the bartender points to the other side of the bar. The piano player holds up their drink. Chanhee grabs his drink, and you grab the remaining two. You lift them both up towards the pianist who gives you a rather charming smile, and then take a simultaneous sip from the straws of both drinks. You taste your old-fashioned and what seems to be a margarita.

You and Chanhee make your way over to a booth.

“What I wanted to say,” Chanhee continues, “is that the label likes you with the band, and they want you to make an album with them.”

“I think this is going to be a good thing.” Chanhee tells you sincerely, eyes softening. “You and Sunwoo…” he hesitates for a moment. You hate when he chooses his words like this, picking out the bad ones and testing out all the others. But perhaps you only hate it so much because you lack the ability to do it yourself. “You guys work.”

You take another long double sip of your drinks, squinting at Chanhee skeptically. “What did Sunwoo say?”

Chanhee’s mouth parts. There. There it fucking is. Running your tongue over your top set of teeth, you say, “you haven’t asked him yet, have you?”

“No, we haven’t asked him yet–”

“I can’t believe this.”

“–but the rest of the band is already on board, and we all thought it’d be smarter if you agreed before we asked him.”

You tilt your head slightly. You thought Chanhee knew you better than this. “I’m not saying anything until he does.”

“Be honest with yourself here,” Chanhee says seriously, pushing his drink to the side and leaning forward, “it’s no secret that you and Sunwoo don’t get along. And I get it; I really do. But I know you see it.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “See what?”

You don’t say anything after Chanhee finishes his little speech. Instead you reach for your drinks and finish them both in one long, prolonged sip. You ignore his annoyed ‘tsk’.

Putting the empty glasses down and to the side, you nod up at him, pursing your lips. “Are you done?”

He takes a long, final swig of his drink. “Yes.”

“Ask Sunwoo first.” You pull out your wallet and drop a couple bills on the table. “Then, you can call me.”

Today is already off to a bad start.

Sunwoo had come into the studio ready to record and knock out at least 2 or 3 songs off the album today, but then Juyeon wanted to talk about the album’s direction and Changmin wanted to request everyone to add as many drum parts as possible.

And it’s as he’s listening to Kevin and Changmin argue about the addition of piano solos, that you walk into the studio.

Chanhee welcomes you with a hug. Eric, the sound engineer, offers to make you tea. Meanwhile, Sunwoo can’t understand why you deserve any kindness at this moment. Your session started an hour ago.

“You’re late.” Sunwoo says, bringing the rest of the band to notice your arrival.

You look at him with a smile, gesturing to the two boys who were just arguing. “Doesn’t really look like I missed anything.”

“We were talking about the album’s direction.” Juyeon says from behind Sunwoo.

You nod, putting down your stuff and taking a seat. “Okay, shoot.”

Sunwoo puts his hands up. “Well since we’re talking about it. I’ve been working on a couple songs, and,” he hesitates, pulling out a couple sheets of paper that Chanhee helped him print and handing them out, “I think I might have something good that we can build the rest of the album off of.”

Everyone takes a moment to read. Sunwoo watches the room carefully. Jacob clears his throat. Kevin plays a loose note.

Your voice is the first that comes out of the silence. “Are you serious?”

He whips his head around. “What?”

He scoffs, tongue swiping at his lips. “Why not? They’re good songs.”

You shrug. “They’re cheesy.”

“You haven't even read the whole thing.”

“I’ve read enough.”

“Are–are you… is this–I mean, like, you…” Sunwoo only knows one thing for sure right now: you might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. “Chanhee!”

“Okay, you know what,” Chanhee’s voice comes through the intercom. You both turn towards it. “How about you two go home and figure out some way to work together instead of wasting my studio time. Write one song, just one, together, and the rest of us can go from there tomorrow.”

He slips a curse between a breath.

“Okay?”

You and Sunwoo look back at each other. It’s you who speaks first this time. “That’s fine with me.”

—

It’s a nice day out today. The sun shines through big clouds. There’s a nice breeze, and the roadways are empty. You’re sitting in the passenger seat humming something he can’t hear over the wind while Sunwoo drives. In all honesty, he doesn’t even know where he’s heading, but it might be the first time he's felt some semblance of peace with you around.

The announcer on the radio station introduces the next song. Sunwoo turns it up and sings alongside Kim Younghoon’s voice. You stop humming.

“You like this song?” You ask.

“I wrote this song.” You say to him, as if it’s the most simple thing.

“Oh, really?” Sunwoo replies with a chuckle. “You worked with Kim Younghoon?”

Sunwoo stops at a red light and spends it staring you in disbelief.

“Come on,” you say after a moment, “you really think Kim Younghoon wrote this song?”

Sunwoo listens to it again: They could never get it out of their heads. Like a scene on repeat. Like a mountain falling. Something unforgettable, but forgotten still. Something like you. Someone like me.

And instantly, it clicks–of course you wrote this song. Of course it’s the case that Kim Younghoon’s best song and one of Sunwoo’s favorites was written by none other than you.

Sunwoo changes the station thinking: why’d you let him take it?

Before he can really think about it any further, you sit up in your seat and point at the next light.

“Turn right up there. I know a place.”

—

When you had said that you knew a place, Sunwoo imagined that it’d be a coffee shop or an empty bar or anything other than the middle of the woods sitting on the rocks along a stream.

Although, he must give you credit: the setting you’ve taken him to is beautiful. There are birds humming and life strumming all around you. The water is a blistering blue that glistens and shines in the sunlight streaming through the trees like a million coins falling from the sky. The water has a small current running through it, and it beats against the rocks lightly, like the lightest, most gentle drum beat. The breeze is nice and cool on Sunwoo’s skin, sifting through his hair and past his limbs. And maybe the best part is how all around him, on every single side, he’s surrounded by green.

It would have been perfect, if not for the fact that you and him have been here for two hours and still have absolutely nothing.

“Okay,” you relent, after he turns down another one of your ideas for a song, “how about this melody?”

You start humming one of the worst melodies Sunwoo’s ever heard in his life.

“Absolutely not.”

You grunt frustrated, arms falling through the air. Your head follows suit, settling in your hands, face buried from his view.

“I didn’t.” Sunwoo reminds you. “Neither of us did. Chanhee kicked us out of the studio.”

“I don’t mean that.” You flare. “I mean letting me in to do this album with the Numbers. Why’d you agree to it?”

There’s a change in the wind. A sudden quietness that must be attributed to some insect dying. Sunwoo hadn’t expected you to ask this. He hadn’t even expected you to think it.

“It wasn’t…” he starts, looking for the words in the space between you and him. He looks up at you, hoping to find them there. Instead he finds hope in them.

Sunwoo has been in this exact spot before–sitting in front of someone that wants to believe in him and is asking him to give them a reason. He’s seen this before, and he has no interest in repeating his past mistakes. He sees no need to add you to the list of people he’s disappointed. With a short laugh, he says, “You know what, let’s just get back to writing.”

“Fuck that.” You respond immediately, grabbing at his guitar.

“What are you–”

Sunwoo gulps. “Which question should I answer first?”

You inhale slowly. “The latter.”

Sunwoo just shakes his head. “I don’t know you.”

“Ask me then.” You say desperately, like it should have been obvious to him, “whatever it is that you want to know just ask it.”

Sunwoo nods. In truth, there’s a million questions he wants to ask you about everything, but at this moment, all those questions sink to the bottom of his mind and only one rises to the top and travels to the tip of his tongue. “Why’d you let Kim Younghoon take credit for that song?”

His heart jumps into his throat. He’s barely able to choke out a, “guys like me?”

You nod, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Guys who don’t believe that I have what it takes.”

“I never said that.”

“But you showed me.”

“When?”

You look at him then, squinting. He hopes what you see is genuineness. He asked the question sincerely. “When you were so quick and ready to dismiss my changes to the lyrics during the ‘Begin Again’ takes. When you let me join your band on this album, and then expected me to sing an entire record full of songs that mean nothing to me. I’m a songwriter, Sunwoo. It’s the one thing about me that no one can take.”

Something between intrigue and malice slips in behind his tongue. “So what can people take?”

You shake your head, smiling ever so slightly. “My turn. What are you so afraid of?”

Sunwoo inhales sharply. “Well, I’m afraid of dying and of heights and–”

“Stop that.” You cut in, like you really mean it. “Why are you so afraid to say what you really think?”

Your eyes soften, and your smile lines deepen. It takes a moment for him to register that you're smiling, really smiling, at him. He’s never known a smile could feel so inviting.

“But what if they do?”

Sunwoo takes a moment to think about what you’ve said. And in that moment, whatever insect had died gets resurrected, returning to nature’s hum, filling his ears. Sunwoo looks all around him. The hum of life, the beat of water, the tune of leaves falling. He’s surrounded not just by nature and greenery, but also by music. And it’s erupting from every corner of these woods.

His eyes finally land on you.

“I think I found our melody.”

When you come into the studio the next day, the song is done. You went to sleep humming it still and running through the lyrics over and over again in your head.

“Let us sing it for you first,” Sunwoo suggests to the rest of the band with Chanhee listening in from the control room. “And whenever you feel like you got it, just hop in with what you think works, and we can refine and shape it from there.”

You watch the rest of the band as Sunwoo explains it. Juyeon looks shocked, but excited. Changmin looks proud. And you can’t really read what the other two are thinking.

“Chanhee, are we good?” Sunwoo asks, turning around to the window into the control room.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Chanhee replies, voice filtering in through the intercom. You nod. Sunwoo nods. The rest of the band nods. Chanhee presses a couple buttons and says, “This is ‘Can You See Me’.”

Sunwoo starts playing the chords he found yesterday. You’re not sure why or how but it reminds you of those woods. His voice starts singing the first line of the song. You close your eyes and take it in. You join him for the chorus, singing alongside his voice feeling the words flow. It’s Kevin that joins you two first, playing a couple loose notes, testing things out. By the end of the chorus, he’s found it, playing a little more confidently and adding a whole new level of depth to the song. A depth that makes you feel like you’ve only ever known two colors your whole life and in a matter of seconds Kevin added in a third. Jacob joins in next, as your voice takes over for the second verse, playing off what Sunwoo was playing but making it his own. Sunwoo goes over to where Changmin’s sitting and says something to him in his ear. Changmin nods. Sunwoo goes over to Juyeon, but Juyeon shakes his head, already starting to play something. Sunwoo heads back to his mic right before the second chorus starts. You turn and sing the last line of the pre-chorus to him

And I know that you never trusted me.

He joins you for the chorus, singing back.

Can you see me standing from there? And can you see the blood on my hands? If I give you all of the parts to my heart, Will you care that I’ve been scarred and stitched up?

Changmin starts playing then, the drums filling in the last thing the song needed. You listen to the rest of the band play and marvel at how insanely talented they all are to pick up and play something that actually works after only a minute of hearing it. The song needs polishing, yes, but it’s got a good sound and it’s heading in the right direction.

You don’t take your eyes off Sunwoo, and he doesn’t take his eyes off you. And for the remainder of the song, you sing to each other.

The song ends. The last one playing is Kevin. And for a couple seconds, no one says anything.

It’s Chanhee’s voice that comes out of the silence first. “I’m a fucking genius.”

You smile at Sunwoo. He smiles back.

After recording and polishing ‘Can You See Me’, you and Sunwoo fall into a song-making rhythm of sorts.

(We don’t always have it perfect.)

“I feel like this lyric in ‘Puzzle Pieces’ doesn’t fit.” You say to Sunwoo, before muttering the lyric outloud. “It’s too shy. I don’t know. I just think it’s missing the mark a little bit, don’t you think?”

Sunwoo groans tiredly. “God, I can’t think about this anymore. Can we take a break? Go get some food or something?”

“Yes, but before we do, do you think ‘I see us standing in the distance’ or ‘I see you standing in the distance’ works better here?”

Sunwoo just stands ignoring your question and muttering ‘no’ repeatedly.

You follow, running after him and begging him to listen.

(Boy, do we fight.)

“I think there should be more drums in the hook.” Sunwoo announces after the third run through.

“Why?”

His eyes widen, sarcastically. “Because there should be.”

“Don’t do that.” You scoff, used to his antics. “Answer the question: why?”

“I disagree.”

He scoffs. “All that for–”

“I think it works just fine without the drums, and if you add the drums it’ll become more suspenseful. The song is supposed to feel like falling.”

He shakes his head. “It’s supposed to feel like butterflies.”

“It’s supposed to feel like peace.”

(Sometimes you win.)

“Let’s vote.” Sunwoo suggests. “If you’re for the drums, raise your hand.”

Only Changmin (the drummer), does.

(Sometimes you lose.)

Chanhee presses the red button on the sound board, announcing to the recording stage, “Take 3 of Aurora. Sunwoo, try softening your voice a little for this one.”

“Chanhee, can we just try one take with me in it?” You ask him. “I think even if I were just singing a harmony or in the background of the bridge, it would add so much.”

“No.” Chanhee says, scribbling something down in his notebook. “I’m with Sunwoo on this one.”

“Chanhee, you haven’t even heard my–”

“This song doesn’t need your voice.”

(But sometimes, we get it just right and fit like the last two puzzle pieces.)

“No,” you say, shaking your head as Jacob and Juyeon finish off the last chords of the song, “It needs to sound murkier.”

Jacob, Kevin, Changmin, and Juyeon just stare at you blankly.

“Less cymbals, Changmin.” Sunwoo says over the speaker from the control room. “And Juyeon, ride out the low tones more.”

You turn and see him. He catches your eyes, smiling slightly, reassuring you. Like he gets you.

From behind you, you hear Kevin lightheartedly mutter, “since when do they have their own language?”

Jacob and Changmin laugh, but you barely notice because you see him. You see the way his brows furrow when he’s thinking. You see the way he sticks out his tongue when he’s focused. You see all of it.

And for a moment, he sees you. All of you. And he doesn’t turn away from it.

Today’s songwriting session quickly turned into a field trip from the studio to grab food which then turned into you leading Sunwoo’s car to the beach. You and Sunwoo sit on a stone ledge, right where the sand begins, 20 paces away from the ocean. Between you sits leftover fries and your untouched song notebook. You watch the sun dip into the sea and listen to the waves crash over and over again. The wind pushes furiously, tossing his hair to the side and pushes his head away from it. It just so happens that away from the wind means towards you.

“So,” you begin, popping a fry in your mouth and dusting the salt off your hands, “when are you going to answer my question of why you let me in the band?”

Sunwoo figured this question was coming. He’s been avoiding answering it. “You really want to know?”

You look at him sincerely. “Yes.”

Sunwoo looks out to the water. “After our first album, Chanhee prepared a tour for us. It was this tiny tour, not even big enough for a tour manager. We played in the smallest venues with okay-sized crowds. I mean, it was barely a tour, really more of a way to get our name out there. And after the northern leg of it, I…” Sunwoo closes his eyes and sees moments from that tour flash behind his lids: strobe lights, bodies in bed, empty glasses, and negative pockets. Sometimes memories can feel like nightmares. “I was just in a really, really, bad place. By the time we were halfway down the east coast, I was barely even able to play. Chanhee saved me then. He saved my fucking life. But he had to cancel the rest of the tour in that process. The rest of the band, man, they couldn’t even stand the sight of my face. Juyeon especially. It was Chanhee who ended up being the one to convince them to let me back in. I owe Chanhee my entire livelihood and my life. So when he asked what I thought about you joining the band for this album and when I saw how badly he wanted it to happen, I owed it to him to say yes.”

It’s been so long since he’s recounted that story, even to himself. It doesn’t hurt as much as it once did. That knowledge surprises him.

“Where are you now?” You ask suddenly, pulling him out of his head.

He turns to you. “What?”

“If you were in a bad place then, where are you now?”

The wind quiets for a moment; he feels a warmth overtake him in its absence. “Someplace better.”

He looks down, not even noticing the smile growing on his face, and catches sight of your notebook. He points at it, asking, “may I?”

You look down at it as well, grabbing another fry. “Sure.”

“Ah, that’s when I met Chanhee.” You tell him, smiling fondly. Sunwoo puts the notebook down and waits for you to explain. “Before him, I had songs, but they weren’t real songs, you know? They were just some combination of all the snippets and sentences I had written down. But then Chanhee heard me play at the Eastern, and said that I had a good voice. He asked if he could give me his card so that we could talk more, and I said that I wasn’t interested in people who only saw me for my voice and walked away.”

“You’re insane.” Sunwoo mutters, baffled. He remembers the chance encounter he had with Chanhee right after he and the band moved down here to make a name for themselves. He remembers how hard he begged for the same chance Chanhee offered to you so simply. “So, how’d you end up working with him then?”

Sunwoo chuckles. “So he’s always been an asshole then?”

“What was that song about?”

Your lips do this half frown thing that makes Sunwoo want to peer inside your brain and figure out exactly where it came from. “It was about what all songs are about.”

“Which is?”

You look at him like it’s obvious. “Love.”

It feels like a shot of sunlight through his veins.

Sunwoo drives you back home after the beach. You had gotten nothing done in terms of the album, but you felt happy, and you felt free. You watch him from the corner of your eye. You’ve only known each other for some months now, but it feels like so much longer. You’ve told him more about yourself and your past than anyone else you’ve met in your adult life. You’ve told him your deepest worries and darkest secrets, and he never turned away from you, not once. Instead he took your insecurities and turned them into beautiful melodies. He turned all your doubts into celebrations of hope. And he did it for you.

He turns onto your street. This is it, you think to yourself. He’s everything I’ve been waiting for.

He walks you to your door, and you stand facing each other on your porch.

“This was nice.” You tell him, taking another step towards him.

“It was.” He mumbles, a lazy smile on his face.

You take another step towards him. He doesn’t move back. His mouth parts. You watch his lips, trace them with your gaze. You think about what it would feel like to kiss them.

And you’re so wholly aware of the fact that his eyes are looking at your lips.

He turns away from you and glances at your door, saying, “I should go.”

You feel something in your chest sink and sink and sink.

“I’ll see you in the studio tomorrow.” He continues. “We still gotta help Kevin figure out his part for ‘Puzzle Pieces’.”

The next day, Chanhee cancels your studio time without explanation and reschedules you and the band for the following day.

When that day finally does come, Sunwoo doesn’t show up on time to help you and Kevin figure out the right notes to play for the song you wrote together like he said. Instead, he stumbles into the studio late with a song in his hand wearing the same clothes he wore with you at the beach. And that alone, feels like a betrayal of some sort.

“What’s it about?” Jacob asks.

He looks around the room, excited. “It’s about my new partner.”

You feel the urge to vomit all over the recording stage.

—

Luca, it turns out, is Sunwoo’s partner’s name. Sunwoo had brought them into the studio a week after they started dating, and they’ve been coming routinely ever since. As much as you hate it and as much as it makes your heart bend and break, Sunwoo looks really, genuinely happy with Luca. You wonder if he ever looked like that with you.

You really wish you hated Luca, but you don’t. They’re actually quite nice and get along with the whole band so easily. They even make friends with Chanhee. You thought they might be a distraction to Sunwoo while writing and recording, but Sunwoo is more focused and productive and creative than ever. The song he wrote right after meeting Luca is good, like stupidly good. There isn’t a single word in it that needs changing.

With your help, Sunwoo writes another song about them, called ‘Light of My Life.’ It’s while writing that song that you find out that Luca was never a stranger, and that day after the beach was not their first meeting. It’s Changmin who tells you how Luca is from their hometown and how Sunwoo and Luca used to date.

The day that you record ‘Light of My Life’ Luca is also in the studio, sitting in the control room and laughing at something with Eric.

You light up my life even when it’s dark. You both sing together. It’s an acoustic song; only Jacob stands behind you guys strumming the chords on his guitar. The rest of the band didn’t even come in today. You color my world even when I’m feeling blue. You glance over at Sunwoo. He isn’t looking your way. He’s looking at Luca through the control room window. When I’m with you, I never feel alone. You think about the times when he used to look at you while recording. When you hold me, baby, I feel at home. Luca looks back at Sunwoo. It hits you how beautiful they are, with dyed silver hair and slender face. You don’t blame Sunwoo for writing such a beautiful song about them. You don’t blame yourself for helping him. I can’t believe this has happened to me. Right before the next line, Sunwoo finally finally turns and looks at you. I feel alive because of you.

Sunwoo turns back to the control room. Sunwoo wrote this song for Luca, but he wasn’t the only writer on this song, and so, for the rest of the song, you wonder who the hell you wrote this song for?

—

A tune comes to you while you drive home that night. You scribble down a couple lyrics in your notebook as soon as you walk in your door.

Silver hair. Silver skin. Sliver of my heart you took with him.

Jacob throws a party that weekend. A housewarming for the house he bought with the ‘Begin Again’ checks. Stepping in through the foyer, you question whether you should be buying a house too. You forget that thought by the time you reach the drinks table.

After your hellos to the rest of the band and all the small talk with people Jacob wanted to introduce you to, you end up standing alone in his backyard, sloshing around the dark liquid in your cup. Truthfully, you’ve barely left your apartment all week. You hadn’t been in the mood for a party. But it’s nice out here. The air is fresh and crisp. The lights, which Changmin and Juyeon enthusiastically and drunkenly told you they helped put up, are warm but not too bright. You imagine you’ll stay out here for the rest of the party.

“Hi,” you hear a voice say from behind you. You turn around only to find Luca. You hope your face doesn’t betray you when you greet them back. “What are you doing out here?”

You gulp down a bitter sip of your drink. “Just wanted some quiet.”

“Same. Kevin started doing karaoke again.”

“Oof.” You groan sympathetically. “Already?”

They nod with a laugh. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen all of them.”

You like Luca. You really do. It’s just taken you until now to realize that you don’t really know them apart from small talk in the studio and the two songs Sunwoo wrote about them. “When did you move down here from your guys’ hometown?”

“Oh.” Their chin juts out a bit. “I moved down with the band actually.”

You don’t hide the surprise on your face.

“I take it no one told you that then.” Luca chuckles darkly. You shake your head. “Uh, well, yeah,” they continue, shoving their free hand into their pocket, “Sunwoo and I started dating right when the band formed. I used to do the photography for them. And when they proposed moving out here, I thought I ought to come with. And I did.” They gulp their drink. “It was good for a while. Really fun in the beginning. But then I got my job taking pictures for the paper, and they were doing the album. And well,” Luca looks at you like you already know what their about to say. “It already wasn’t really working anymore by the time the album was finished. And then they went on tour…”

They leave that part blank. But based on what you heard from Sunwoo about that first tour, you can piece together what might’ve happened. You question whether Luca left that empty to spare Sunwoo or to spare themself. Then you question how they knew you knew about it.

“Oh.” Is all you say. You don’t ask about when they encountered each other again. You don’t want to hear it.

“You know,” Luca begins again, “I actually used to watch you play at the Tabernacle.”

You groan immediately. You only ever played at the Tabernacle when you first started. You cringe thinking about what you might’ve sang on stage in front of them. “Oh my god. I’m so embarrassed to even think about those days.”

“No! Don’t be!” They reassure, kindly. “You were really good. I especially liked that one song that went like… The days were wide open, as far as the eye could see.”

Your heart nearly soars straight out of your body. You had forgotten about this song. You used to love it dearly. You join Sunwoo’s partner for the second line.

The world was mine to take, but I’ve never been good at accepting things.

“You and the band together,” Luca says a moment after you both stop singing, “it’s magical, don’t get me wrong, but that song,” they smile at you, “it’s a damn good song.”

You can’t help but smile back. “Thank you.”

“Sunwool showed me a couple of the songs from the album.” Luca mentions, and it instantly and heartbreakingly reminds you who you’re talking to. “They’re amazing. They’re so good and real and raw that it almost makes me wonder…” their voice tapers off, losing the sound to a small exhale that appears as if it was meant to be a laugh, “Nevermind.”

“What?” You poke, instinctively leaning in towards them.

They meet your eyes, creases running along their forehead and frown lines more prominent than ever. “It almost makes me wonder if there was something between you both.”

You swallow, pointing at your chest. Your voice comes out raspy without you meaning for it to. “Me and Sunwoo?”

They nod. “Yeah, I mean the lyrics in ‘Begin Again’—“

“That song’s not about me. Or about him.” You defend. “We didn’t even know each other when we wrote that.”

“What about ‘Can You See Me’?”

Your breath catches. Truthfully, you answer, “I don’t know what that song’s about.”

—

When you get home that night, you finish the song you started writing about Sunwoo and Luca.

When you breathe in his lips, do you think of mine? What kind of songs were we making? Were they all lies?

“What’s it called?” The question comes from Changmin.

You look up from the paper in your hands filled with the lyrics you had completed over the weekend and after Jacob’s party. You notice he looks sad. You turn your gaze to Juyeon. You can’t really tell what he’s thinking at that moment.

“Uhm–I don’t know. I haven’t thought of a title yet.”

Sunwoo walks in then. “What are you guys talking about?” He asks, setting down his stuff. Then, more to himself than to you guys, he murmurs, “And where are Kevin and Jacob?”

Changmin and Juyeon don’t say anything. Instead, when Sunwoo asks what you’re doing, they both look at you. You imagine even if Kevin and Jacob were here, they’d do the same. Have you really been this transparent? At what point did they put together all the pieces?

You hand Sunwoo the song. You have no idea what his reaction will be.

He just nods, like he has no idea what the song is about. Like he doesn’t see his name and Luca’s scribbled in the margins.

“Call it ‘Silver Lies’.” He says.

Juyeon makes a noise. “Call it ‘Silver Linings’.”

“Vote on it?” Sunwoo proposes.

“No.” You look at Juyeon. He stares back at you. Something unspoken lies in the space between. “We’ll call it ‘Silver Linings’.”

You don’t even know how long it’s been.

This is what you do know: You’re sitting by a pool. Your feet are wet. You haven’t been this drunk since your 18th birthday. Kim Sunwoo is standing across the pool from you.