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harry-writings · 5 years ago

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Paris and Forgiveness

- The one where Harry needs to make it up to Y/n, so he takes her to Paris

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

Y/n feels like she might have been overreacting.

Sure, she was completely heartbroken when Harry wasn’t there for her big night, but as she lays alone upon the mattress they once shared, going through all the video memories of Harry she’s stored away on her phone - she wonders if she’d gone too far.

There are so many videos of them goofing around, dancing haphazardly in the kitchen at two in the morning to throwback Britney Spears, drunk on the liquor and love - even on the weeks that weren’t so easy for them. Even when the business of Harry’s life drifted them apart, even when rumors spread about Harry constantly cheating on her, even when Harry has said all the wrong things at all the wrong times, even when she had - they always found a light together. They always brought the good out of a bad situation. They always proved their love was stronger than what could ever come between them.

This time, it wasn’t like that. There aren’t moments quite like those that exist between them anymore. Truthfully, somewhere between her lingering resentment, she had forgotten all about these times. It doesn’t even look like them anymore.

She knows Harry’s hurting. She knows Harry’s on the edge of bursting - he can barely stand in the same room as her without tears welling in his eyes and his palms twitching from helplessly holding back from running to her. It only makes her hurt more - it only makes things worse for the both of them, but she really doesn’t understand why the hell she keeps pushing it so much.

He’s sorry, and every bit of her knows that. Every bit of her knows that it really was just a stupid mistake.

And her heart still aches, but she knows it’s because she’s really just not okay with what happened.

She wishes more than anything she can just crawl back into his arms, kiss away their pain, and tell him that this month and a half has been the epitome of hell for her. That it’s okay, that it’s all going to be okay - that time heals wounds and it’s been so long since she’s been so close... and she just wants to be close again.

But it wasn’t the first time it’s happened - it wasn’t the first time he’s put himself and his accomplishments before hers. And that night was different. That night was her night, her first chance to ever be half the person Harry is. It was her night, and he took it all away from her. And it’s been a month and a half, and he’s still done nothing to fix it.

She can’t help but feel like she can never be enough, not for him. There’s no way she’d ever be enough.

She’s halfway through the video album when an oddly calm, unexpected Harry swings their bedroom door open. She nearly drops her phone on her face and lets out a squeal as Harry continues walking his way across the room without even looking at her.

“Harry!” Y/n screams, frantically getting up from their bed. ‘What are you -“ she stutters, half in bewilderment and half in nervousness he’s going to ask her why she’s sneaking in their bed when she’s meant to not act like she gives a shit about him anymore, “What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be at your party!”

Harry seems completely unfazed by her words, keeping his back faced toward her and absentmindedly throwing random items of clothing behind his shoulder onto their bed, not giving a damn as to why she’d even be in this room in the first place.

“Fuck the stupid party.”

It was a mutter, but it was there, spoken between clenched teeth and a tight jaw. And Y/n could have sworn she misunderstood what he just said.

“Wha-What?” Y/n whispers, eyes wide and heart pounding, palms sweating and voice cracking with anticipation.

What the hell is he talking about? Harry never turns down a party, in fact, he’s always the life of one. It’s what he enjoys most - drinking mindlessly with his mates, making a fool out of his drunken self during karaoke even though he has the most angelic voice on this earth, cracking the same jokes to the same people.

That was his territory - surrounded by his favorite people and living his life without the dull moments. And even though he was one of the world’s biggest popstars, always the best man in the room, it made him feel like he’s doing what normal 25 year olds do. He didn’t have to sit in a studio all night, stressed about possible unmet expectations, fingers numb from all the writing. He just, was.

And Y/n can’t help but feel bad for taking that away from him.

“I said, fuck the stupid party.” Harry responded, louder this time. Still unfazed, still not making a move to turn toward her, still throwing his shit behind his shoulder.

Y/n blinks hard, eyebrows knit together and lips perched while she shakes her head in confusion.

“No, I know. I heard you the first time, it’s just that I -“

And just as she was about to express how nothing about this makes any sense, her blood runs cold and the pit of her chest starts burning. It almost feels like her body can’t decide whether she wants to yell at him and scream at him and kick him to the dirt, or huddle in the corner of a dark room and be left for dead.

It hits her all at once. Him getting rid of his clothes, not being able to look at her, him sounding awfully disconnected from her, acting emotionless, and barely noticing her existence as she stands just five feet away from him. What started to not make sense is starting to make sense, and suddenly, Y/n isn’t so sure if she could handle the truth.

He’s leaving her. He’s packing up all of his belongings, not giving her the time of day in the same way she did him, and leaving her by herself because clearly, that’s what she wants. Well, that’s what he thinks she wants - that’s what she made him believe and just that alone makes her insides crumble and get the urge to throw up all over this stupid fucking bed.

She’s panicking. So much so that she doesn’t even know what to say - she doesn’t even know where to begin. If she loses him, she has no idea what she’s going to do. How is she ever going to survive it? Harry is her whole world, her constant breath of fresh air, her baby… the love of her life… the one person she couldn’t live her life without.

And sure, it started out as his fault. But he would have never left her if she didn’t just talk to him, if she didn’t just sit him down and refuse to go to bed angry.

Fuck, there was so much she could have done differently. She could have forgiven him if she had just given the chance to make it up to her. She could have at least acted like his girlfriend as the months went on. She didn’t have to be so stubborn. God, why did she have to be so stubborn? Was it really worth all this?

This is her last time she gets to see him and it’s not even him. It’s not even the Harry she’s so desperately and helplessly in love with. He’s so disconnected and voided from her she can’t stomach it. She wouldn’t know what to do if the last image she ever had of Harry was him walking out their door, with the life he once shared with her was all shoved into his duffle bags, leaving behind the woman who’d rather spend the rest of her life alone if she can’t spend it with him.

She’s just staring hopelessly at his back wishing now more than ever that she can just hold him to her, spend days and weeks feeding him pathetic and weak apologies.

Now she’s the one holding every inch of herself back from him. If she thought she was heartbroken before, nothing could have ever prepared her for this. This is the worst and most disgusting sight she’s ever seen and she just wants to tear herself apart before he can.

“Oh, no.” She sobs dryly, shaking her head from side to side as she closes her eyes and hangs her head down until her eyes open to the floor. “Are you - are you leaving me?”

She immediately regrets asking it because it can either go one of two ways: he laughs at her and mocks her for expecting anything different to come out of this, or he tells her that he still loves her and wants to work things out, but they just aren’t working anymore - that they’re too different, and they can’t keep holding each other back - that the party was just a reminder that there was so much out there for him that was apart from her.

Or what if he met another girl tonight? What if he saw her in a skin tight dress, lips painted red, lighting up the dark room with just a blink of her eye? What if she was everything Y/n wasn’t - the other life of the party, the go-getter, the one who couldn’t physically stand being in the corner of a room and watch the life go right by her. And Harry was just so drawn to the feeling it gave him - to the new emotions she surfaced in him because mentally, Y/n and Harry are done.

She doesn’t know if her already fragile heart can hear him say any of it.

Harry’s head snaps up the second she asks, however, and quickly halts his movements before practically throwing himself around so that he can finally look at her.

And he doesn’t now if his heart should break or if the weight should be lifted off his shoulders. She sounded so defeated, looked so lifeless at just the mere thought of him leaving her behind. He almost laughs. Why she’d ever think he could ever find a reason to walk away from the love of his life, he’d never understand.

He could never leave her. No matter how stubborn she could be, no matter how hard she tries to kill him in her silence, no matter how difficult she is - he promised her that he’d never leave her side again, and this is a promise he never intends on breaking - one he knows in his heart he can hold his word on forever.

He lets out a weak chuckle, making slow and gentle steps towards her until they’re just breaths apart. This is the closest they had been for so long and god, he’s already fighting for his life to find the breath she’s always taken from him.

The most beautiful girl in the room, always.

He hooks his pointer finger right beneath her chin, delicately lifting her head up so that his eyes could meet hers. Her eyes are red and wet, empty and voided from all emotion. It looks like the life has been sucked out of her and he swears if he ever has to see her this upset because of him again, he’s going to go absolutely mental. He loses all his senses when he sees her like this. He’d rather not see at all.

But instead of just watching and not doing anything to stop it, this time, Harry reaches his head down until his lips touch hers.

It’s so soft it’s almost ghostly, and so tender Y/n doesn’t even know if he’s really doing it. But her mouth is salivating at the familiar taste of his lips, and her fingers start to tingle and her throat goes numb from finally being able to kiss him again - to feel him again. It’s been so damn long, how has she been able to breathe without touching him like this?

Just as she’s about to reach for the back of his neck and bring him in for more, Harry pulls away everso slightly before resting his forehead against hers.

Y/n’s hands blindingly grab ahold of his, lifting his arms up until their intertwined fingers are right in between their chests.

“Don’t leave,” she whispers brokenly, “please.”

Harry chuckles lightly again, shaking his head against hers before slightly backing away from her and placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

“I’m not, pretty girl.” He smirks, breaking away from her even further until all that’s left is one of her hands in his. “I’m not leaving. We’re leaving.”

He gives her one last glance before turning back around and going right back to the same damn thing he was doing before - grabbing his belongings and putting it all into a pile on their bed - acting as if nothing ever happened.

Y/n is left completely dumbfounded behind him, still standing in the same spot, completely and utterly confused by his words - eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, brows furrowed at the center with her hands shaking in question.

Where are they going? Where can they go, when Harry needs to get his album complete and work with his publicist to start scheduling interviews? Where can they go that could possibly mend what’s broke between them? Where can they go that will make everything else disappear - the tension, the grudges, the uncomfortable silence that keeps breaking them apart?

And again, she asks the same damn pathetic question she’s been asking him all night.

“What?”

Harry’s deep inside their closet before he practically crawls backwards out of the corner, her suitcase in his hand. He nonchalantly walks right past her, placing her suitcase next to the pile of clothes he’s been packing since he came home. His lips are tucked between his teeth and he harshly unzips her bag until it’s laying open upon the duvet, empty and unused since her last trip from home.

And although these plans don’t make up for all that he’s put her through, it makes up for nearly all the times she’s sacrificed her own time for his. Because nothing about this is about him anymore. It’s all about her. Her, her, her. Every second of it.

Harry claps his hands together before rubbing at his palms, sucking in air between his teeth. He looks down at his watch before finally telling her what the hell is going on.

“Alright, baby. Our flight to Paris leaves in 3 hours and I can’t let you be late to -“

Harry’s still talking but Y/n’s so beyond shocked she can’t make out a single word he’s saying. His lips are moving but her brain can’t process anything anymore. It’s almost as if the room is spinning and his voice has somehow started speaking under water. So much is happening so fast and her heart and head can’t handle it.

Paris? Harry hates Paris. He always has. Every time he had went for tour, or a press conference, or an interview - he would never have too much to say. He could barely stand the feel of it. It was different, a kind of different Harry just wasn’t used to, and just couldn’t understand. Paris, to him, was an overrated city with its only attraction being the romanticism that paved the way for hopeless romantics looking too hard for people other than themselves. Harry’s independent, despite the fact that he shares half of his life with Y/n, but he’s independent enough to still live by his own, even in the presence of other people.

And Paris was just not it for him.

But it’s Y/n’s dream. Her face lights up whenever she sees the pictures Harry’s taken for her whenever she wasn’t able to join him - mouth in a smile, eyes glistening in wonder, voice squealing at the idea of her traveling to the city of love with her very own lover - sharing a kiss at the top of the Eiffel Tower, going on dates at some of the most romantic restaurants, maybe even a proposal in a penthouse suite just for them.

And although Harry really, really can’t stand going to Paris, there is nothing worse than spending another day without his girl. And maybe, he just hated Paris because he wanted to be there with her, and only her.

“What’s the matter, love?”

It’s his fingers on her cheek that brings her back to reality.

She’s nearly panting and every muscle in her body begins to shake. She’s hyperventilating and she knows it. But it’s not from anxiety, or anger, or resentment - it’s from all the feelings she hasn’t felt in so long, that all feel so good, so different, so completely opposite of any other feeling she’s had the past month and a half.

And it’s the first time in what feels like forever that Y/n has a genuine, wholehearted smile on her face, and a look of pure love in her eyes. And he’s two seconds away from crying.

Her hands absentmindedly grab ahold of his.

“You’re taking me to Paris?”

Harry giggles with tears in his eyes, lifting their hands up in front of their shoulders while intertwining their fingers together. “Yeah, baby. I’m taking you to Paris.”

And before Harry could even blink, Y/n is jumping in the air, clapping her hands together, giggling. It’s the cutest and most heartwarming scene he’s ever witnessed in his life. And if he could put that kind of smile on her face every day for the rest of his life, he really wouldn’t mind anything else life could throw at him.

Nothing could ever get better than this. Or her.

“Oh, my God! We’re going to Paris! We’re going to Paris!”

Her eyes are glistening, just like he imagined they would, and her hands are up to her mouth in complete shock. All of her wildest dreams are coming true, and getting her Harry back, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself.

But before she can think, Y/n jumps up into his arms, all of her limbs wrapping around his body. And Harry is quick to hook his arms under her legs because fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is the closest she’s been to him in so fucking long and he doesn’t ever want to let go. And even though taking her to Paris doesn’t fix everything he’s done to her, this surely is the best start he could think of.

His knees bump into the bed frame, and he falls back onto the bed with a small thud. Y/n doesn’t mind, though, as she straddles him on their bed, her hands wrapping around his wrists and pinning his arms down while kissing all over his face, all over his lips, all over his everywhere. And Harry is living for it. Fuck, he’s really on cloud fucking nine and there’s no way he’s getting down from this high anytime soon. There’s no way in hell. Not when Y/n is back in his arms after spending nearly two months wishing she had been there the whole time.

He’s missed her lips. He’s missed her body. He’s missed the feeling of her skin against his. He’s missed the sound and feel of her breath. He’s missed her smell. Really, he’s missed everything. And he doesn’t know how the hell he’s ever going to stop crying, or get out of this bed, before their flight takes off.

“My baby love.” Y/n whines against his lips, barely touching them as she nudges the tip of her nose against his. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, H. How did I let the both of us suffer so much when we,” she lets her hands roam down the sides of his stomach, “feel like this, together?”

His head tilts while looking up at her, letting his fingers make home on her still wet cheeks. He shakes his head against the duvet. “No, no, no, baby. Please don’t do that.” He begs. “Don’t do that to yourself. I fucked up. So, so bad. I know I did. And I fucked up more when you had given me months to fix it, and I didn’t.”

He rests his hand against her hip.

“You never left me. Even when I betrayed you. Even when I had hurt you so bad that you could barely stand the look of me anymore. Even when I had given you so many reasons to do so. You stayed here. You didn’t leave me. And that’s all I kept doing to you, even though the thought of not being with you makes me sick to my goddamn stomach.”

He clenches his jaw tight, eyes closing, nose flaring, trying to keep it together for her because he can’t give up now. He needs her to know everything - the way he feels, the way he’s been feeling, the way he’d feel if he’s have to live the rest of his life without her.

“I didn’t deserve you staying here with me. I didn’t deserve any of that. But I did deserve feeling like shit for this long. I really did, because I know it wasn’t even half of the pain you’ve been feeling. And if taking you to the worst goddamn city in existence makes it up to you, then I’d do it in a heartbeat. In a blink of an eye. Because you,” his pointer fingers tweaks at her nose and Y/n lets out a small giggle, “are what matters most to me. And who am I, and what am I, without you?”

Y/n’s heart is bursting with every word he speaks and she hasn’t felt this much love in her entire life. She feels it everywhere, in every bone and every fiber of her being, in her fingertips - she feels it. And how she’s gone so long without it, she’ll never understand.

They both meet for a kiss at the same time. It’s intoxicating. It’s revitalizing, and just like it was their first time again. It never failed to take both of their breaths away - the feeling they had with one another, both physically and mentally. It was as if their souls had been intertwined since the universe had come to existence and it was only right for them to be together. Nothing else felt right in this world, and nothing else made sense, except for each other.

When they break away, they just want to get right back to where they started. They don’t ever want to stop, not now, not ever.

They’re both left breathless, but both so addicted to each other’s lips like it’s their own personal drug.

“How about…” Y/n pins Harry’s arms against the mattress again, her body sliding up just a little bit farther up until her face is directly above his. “We say, fuck the packing, and stay on this bed that I’ve missed so much, until we have to leave. Then you and I will take what we need, and just buy new clothes there.”

She smirks as her lips press slowly against his cheeks again, her thumbs rubbing against his wrists, her hips slowly working against his.

Harry’s eyes are closed in hopes to feel more of her. He’s completely helpless under her, so much so that he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t care what they do, or how they do it. Whatever she wants, he’s in.

“‘Sides,” she breathes out, “we need to leave in an hour, and that’s all we need. Right, baby love?”

Fuck.

Paris is going to be his new favorite city.

#Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction imagines #one direction one shots

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page-doctor-bekker · 3 years ago

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All Publicity - superstar!au

(A/N) I’m going to be so real with you I don’t know if I like this. I kind of don’t think Ava was characterized very well but I’m posting it anyways. Whatever. Deal with it fools. Anyways enjoy.

"Ava..." Jaffrey sighed, "You... You realize how this video looks, right?"

"I know, I know, but-"

"You know what happens to people when they have public breakdowns like this?" He smacked his hand on the table, "Their careers die."

Ava was silent, watching herself crying on the video.

She held her hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath like she had been running a marathon. Her vision was blurred with tears, and the camera flashes weren't helping. She ran her hands through her hair, pulling as hard as she could and screaming. She crouched down onto the floor, sobbing. She just couldn't handle this. The two security guards she had with her tried to shield her from the paparazzi.

"This is all anyone is going to want to talk about, and did you really have to hold a knife to your throat?" He threw his hands up in frustration, "And then the cops and paramedics showing up? Taking you out in handcuffs on a stretcher? Strapped down?"

"I swear to God I'm going to do it, they don't have any respect for me and I don't-" She sobbed, the knife shaking, "I can't even have a breakdown in my own home."

"Call 911, then call Jaffrey," A security guard shouted, and Ava sobbed.

Ava pressed the knife harder into her throat, crying out when it didn't do anything. She felt suffocated - Surrounded by two security guards from her label, with another one on the couch on the phone with 911.

"Paramedics are on their way," Earl called out, and Ava threw the knife down in frustration, crying so hard she thought she might vomit.

The security guard behind her grabbed her hands and crossed her arms over her torso, restraining her. She struggled, "Let me go," She cried out, "Stop fucking touching me."

She saw a flash from outside her window, and was horrified to see the paparazzi standing outside her house.

"All publicity is good publicity," Ava joked, which was met with silence.

"Not like this, Ava," He muttered, shaking his head and stopping the video, “You... You have an album coming out,” He pointed out, weakly, “This is going to cost us so much...”

“Just...” She scoffed, “I’ll just... I don’t know, make a big show of getting better.”

“But you’re not better.”

“Yeah, but-” She huffed, “I’ll just pretend like I am. It was a short hospital stay. I was only there for three days. It’s not like I went MIA for months. This isn't... This isn't something I could control."

“Yeah, you didn’t, but you did have a public meltdown and hold a knife to your throat in front of the paparazzi. Now everyone thinks you're some crazy head case!” He shouted, “I can’t just make this one go away, Ava! This isn’t something you can just-”

The door opened, and in walked another woman, about the same height as Ava, with curly light brunette hair, and dark brown eyes. Her lips were pink and slightly chapped, but she looked kind, and familiar.

Oh, Sarah. The magazines call her a “rising star”.

“Sarah, what did we talk about yester-”

“Yes, the waiting room, but Daniel told me to give you this,” Sarah placed a sealed letter on Jaffrey’s desk, who gave her a tight-lipped smile.

When Sarah laid eyes on Ava’s face, her eyes widened, “You- I was just reading about you,” She held up her phone, “Are you okay? That’s a scary vide-”

“Sarah, get... Go, I’ll have Doris send you back when i'm ready."

Sarah nodded, and rushed out.

"Look... I cancelled your interview this weekend, and we're pushing your album release date another month," Ava groaned at that, "Just until we figure this out! Just lay low. We're going to put out a statement about this, and as far as the public knows, you're just taking time to recover. Remain disguised in public, be quiet on social-"

"Yeah, I know the drill."

"Good. Expect news in... A week? I need to meet with marketing, and... Some other people," Jaffrey nodded at her, then motioned to the door.

Ava stood up, but was interrupted, "You know, whatever we decide to do, I expect you to go along with it. You don't have leeway here. Leeway is a privilege, and not one that is owed to those who screw us over."

Ava nodded.

"And I do mean WHATEVER we do. You will not fight it. Do you hear me?"

She nodded.

"Do you?"

"Yes," She said, exasperated, "Of course I fucking hear you. I don't like this any more than you do."

"Just..." He sighed, "Don't be like Britney Spears, please. You're better than that."

She rolled her eyes, and started towards the door.

(A/N) again idk how i feel about this but i hope you liked it! reblogs are great and i love hearing your comments!

#reesker #superstar!au #not me publishing a new au the day after publishing the yoi au #whatever yall enjoy #ava bekker #sarah reese #chicago med #chicago med au #crockettstiddies

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gayenerd · 3 years ago

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I just realized I didn’t post that 2007 Rolling Stone article I posted about here.

Billie Joe Armstrong

The Green Day leader talks Bush, Britney and being a middle-aged punk for our 40th anniversary.

DAVID FRICKE

Posted Nov 01, 2007 8:19 AM

You have two young sons. What kind of America will they inherit?

This war has to finish before something new blossoms. There's no draft — that's why none of the kids give a shit. They'd rather watch videos on YouTube. It's hard to tell what's next — there is so much information out there with no power to it. Everything is in transition, including our government. Next year, it's someone else in the White House. There's no way to define anything. It's Generation Zero. But you gotta start at zero to get to something.

Is there anyone now running for president who gives you hope for the future?

Barack Obama, but it's a bit early to tell if this is the guy I like. I get sick of the religious-figure thing. People don't question their rulers, these political figures, just as they don't question their ministers and priests. They're not going to question George Bush, especially if he goes around talking about God — "I'm going to let God decide this for me. He's going to give me the answer." The fear of God keeps people silent.

When did you first vote in a presidential election?

In 1992. I was twenty. I voted for Clinton.

Did you feel like you made a difference?

Yeah. The Eighties sucked. There was so much bullshit that went along with that decade. I felt like Clinton was a fresh face with fresh ideas. There were times when he was dropping bombs, and I'm thinking, "What the fuck are you doing?" But he became a target. We have this puritanical vision of what a leader is supposed to be, and that's what makes us the biggest hypocrites in the world. We got so inside this guy's sexual habits. Now we have a president going around, killing in the name of what? In the name of nothing.

What did you accomplish with your 2004 anti-Bush album, "American Idiot"? He was re-elected anyway, and the war in Iraq is still going on.

I found a voice. There may have been people disenfranchised by it. People have a hard time with that kind of writing: "Why are you preaching to me?" It does sound preachy, a bit. I'm a musician, and I want to say positive things. If it's about self-indulgent depression or overthrowing the government, it's gotta come from my heart. And when you say "Fuck George W. Bush" in a packed arena in Texas, that's an accomplishment, because you're saying it to the unconverted.

Do you think selling nearly 6 million copies of that album might have an effect on the 2008 election? A kid who bought it at fifteen will be voting age next year.

I hope so. I made it to give people a reason to think for themselves. It was supposed to be a catalyst. Maybe that's one reason why it's difficult for me to write about politics now. A lot of things on that record are still relevant. It's like we have this monarchy in politics — the passing of the baton between the Clintons and the Bushes. That's frightening. What needs to happen is a complete change, a person coming from the outside with a new perspective on all the fucked-up problems we have.

How would you describe the state of pop culture?

People want blood. They want to see other people thrown to the lions. Do audiences want rock stars? I can't tell. You have information coming at you from so many areas — YouTube, the Internet, tabloids. Watching Britney Spears the other night [on the MTV Video Music Awards] was like watching a public execution. How could the people at MTV, the people around her, not know this girl was fucked up? People came in expecting a train wreck, and they got more than they bargained for.

She was a willing conspirator. She didn't say no.

She is a manufactured child. She has come up through this Disney perspective, thinking that all life is about is to be the most ridiculous star you could be. But it's also about what we look at as entertainment — watching somebody go through that.

How do you decide what your children can see on TV or the Internet? As a dad, even a punk-rock dad, that can make you conservative in your choices.

I want to protect them from garbage. It's not necessarily the sex and drugs. It's bad drugs and bad sex, the violence you see on television and in the news. I want to protect them from being desensitized. I want them to realize this is real life, not a video game.

The main thing I want them to have is a good education, because that's something I never had. Get smart. Educate yourself as much as you can, and get as much out of it, even if the teacher is an asshole.

Do you regret dropping out of high school?

Life in high school sucks. I bucked the system. I also got lucky. My wife has a degree in sociology, and there are conversations she has — I don't have a fucking clue what they're talking about. College — I could have learned from that.

But I was the last of six kids. At that point, my mother was fifty-eight, and she threw up her hands — "I'm through with this parenting thing." Also, I could not handle authority figures. But I wouldn't say I'm an authority figure for my kids. I provide guidelines, not rules.

What is it like being a middle-aged punk? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?

It's about the energy you bring with you, the pulse inside your head. I want to get older. I don't want to be twenty-one again. Screw that. My twenties were a difficult time — where my band was at, getting married, having a child. I remember walking out of a gig in Chicago, past these screaming kids. There were these punks, real ones, sitting outside our tour bus. One girl had a forty-ouncer, and she goes, "Billie Joe, come drink with us." I said, "I can't, I've got my family on the bus." She goes, "Well, fuck you then." I get on the bus, and my wife says, "Did that bitch just tell you to fuck off? I'm gonna kick her ass right now." I'm holding her back, while my child is naked, jumping on the couch: "Hi, Daddy!" That was my whole life right there — screaming kids, punks telling me to fuck off, my wife getting pissed, my naked son waiting to get into his pajamas.

There's nothing wrong with being twenty-one. It's the lessons you learn. At thirty, you think, "Why did I worry so much about this shit?" When I hit forty, I'll say the same thing: "Why did I worry about this shit in my thirties?"

What have you learned about yourself?

There is more to life than trying to find your way through self-destruction or throwing yourself into the fire all the time. Nihilism in punk rock can be a cliché. I need to give myself more room to breathe, to allow my thoughts to catch up with the rest of me.

Before Dookie, I wasn't married and I didn't have kids. I had a guitar, a bag of clothes and a four-track recorder. There are ways you don't want to change. You don't want to lose your spark. But I need silence more than I did before. I need to get away from the static and noise, whereas before, I thrived on it.

Are you ready for the end of the music business? The technology and its effect on sales have changed dramatically since Green Days' debut EP — on vinyl — in 1989.

Technology now and the way people put out records — everything comes at you so fast, you don't know what you're investigating. You can't identify with it — at least I can't. With American Idiot, we made a conscious effort to give people an experience they could remember for the rest of their lives. It wasn't just the content. It was the artwork, the three acts — the way you could read it all like someone's story.

Is music simply not important to young people now the way it was to you as a kid?

People get addicted to garbage they don't need. At shows, they gotta talk on their phones to their friend who's in the next aisle. I was watching this documentary on Jeff Tweedy of Wilco [Sunken Treasure]. He was playing acoustic, and he ends up screaming at the audience: "Your fucking conversation can wait. I'm up here singing a song — get involved." He wasn't being an asshole. He was like, "Leave your bullshit behind. Let's celebrate what's happening now."

We need music, and we need it good. I took it very seriously. There's a side of me where music will always send chills up my spine, make me cry, make me want to get up and do Pete Townshend windmills. In a lot of ways, I was in a minority when I was young. There are people who go, "Oh, that's a snappy tune." I listen to it and go, "That's the greatest fucking song ever. That is the song I want played at my funeral."

Now that you've brought it up, what song do you want played at your funeral?

It keeps changing. "Life on Mars?" by David Bowie. "In My Life," by the Beatles. "Love," by John Lennon.

Those are all reflective ballads, not punk.

I disagree. They are all honest in their reflection. The punk bands I liked were the ones who didn't fall into clichés — the Clash, the Ramones. The Ramones wrote beautiful love songs. They also invented punk rock. I'd have to add "Blitzkrieg Bop" to the list.

What is the future of punk rock? Will it still be a voice of rebellion in twenty years?

It's categorized in so many different ways. You've got the MySpace punks. But there is always the subculture of it — the rats in the walls, pounding the pavement and booking their own live shows. It comes down to the people who are willing to do something different from everybody else.

You are in a different, platinum-album world now. What makes you so sure that spirit survives?

I'm going on faith — because I was there. Gilman Street [the Berkeley, California, club where Green Day played early shows] is still around. And that's a hard task, because there is no bar — it's a nonprofit cooperative. It's like a commune — this feeling of bucking the system together, surviving and thriving on art. Punk, as an underground, pushes for the generation gap. As soon as you're twenty-five years old, there's a group of sixteen-year-olds coming to kick your ass. And you have to pass the torch on. It's a trip to have seen it happen so many times. It gives me goose bumps — punk is something that survives on its own.

#article #interview #articles #billie joe armstrong

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bamon4bamily · 4 years ago

Text

TVD 9x16 - What happens in Vegas... (part 2 of part 1) Enjoy! =)

Cut to – The hospital location. As soon as they arrive, they figure they must have made some kind of mistake. It is in fact a Psychiatric Hospital, but it looks like it has been abandoned for years.

UBER DRIVER: Looks like you might have the wrong address…

KAI: It’s the right address, look (shows Damon his phone with last night’s route).

DAMON: Guess it is…

UBER DRIVER: Are you sure you guys want me to leave you here?

IKER: Trust us, man, after last night, it can’t get any crazier.

UBER DRIVER: If you say so. Good luck! (Drives away).

ALARIC: (Looking at the creepy place, already regretting whatever they did there the previous night) Why?! Why on earth would we come here!

DAMON: Guessing princess bride here (referring to Kai), had something to do with that.

IKER: There is no way that call came from here...

DAMON: Let’s check it out. We’ll do it fast, in and out; just to make sure Stefan isn’t passed out somewhere inside.

ALARIC: I’m getting too old for this shit…

DAMON: Oh, come on, Ric! Think of it as another one of your Indiana Jones adventures (mocking him for the photos he took in cosplay), the Last Crusade, if you like.

ALARIC: Shut up…

They go inside… the place is straight out of a horror movie.

IKER: Okay, I’m officially creeped out.

DAMON: I say we split up; it’ll be faster and we can cover more ground.

KAI: Have you ever seen a horror movie? That’s exactly the kind of decision that gets everybody killed�� Trust me, I would know.

DAMON: Fine, Michael Myers, you can come with me.

We’ll look this way... Iker, you and Ric can search down that corridor.

IKER: Sounds like a plan. But, 20 minutes max, then we meet back here.

DAMON: 20 tops. (Teasing, as him and Kai are walking away) Oh, and watch out for the killer clown…

IKER: Yo, don’t play with that shit, man! You know I hate clowns...

ALARIC: So do you, Damon. So, if anyone is pissing their pants, my money is on you.

(Damon and Kai walk towards one direction, Iker and Alaric, towards another).

KAI: Do you really think Stefan is here? I mean, I know he’s dark and gloomy, but this is a bit extreme… even for me.

DAMON: The only reason we are here is because your crazy ass is definitely responsible for dragging us here last night.

KAI: Yeah, probably… but still, creepy AF…

DAMON: Now you know how we feel when you’re around. But… what I am really intrigued about, is how the hell you joined our little party.

You must remember at least getting on a plane or something...

KAI: No… Last thing I remember, I was taking a nap, and then… puff! I woke up here…

DAMON: You couldn’t have driven; so how the hell did you get here… Makes no sense.

KAI: Ooh…! What if I can do that Bonster trick?! That’d be freakin awesome!

DAMON: Of course you can’t, that’s stupid. Unless… No, no, I refuse to believe that…

KAI: What? You think Bonster...? Hey, it makes more sense than the alternatives…

DAMON: No way! Hell no! Let’s just drop this little mystery of ours and do what we came here to do… (they continue searching; suddenly, he stops dead in his tracks) Shhhhh, do you hear that?

KAI: What? No…

DAMON: Listen…

KAI: I am! I don’t hear anything…

DAMON: I thought you had vamp hearing…. Listen harder.

KAI: (Standing completely still and in total silence, trying to listen…)

DAMON: (Does a vamp speed trick, scares the shit out of Kai) Killer clown!

KAI: Jesus mother of Christ! (Damon cracks up) Not funny, asshole!

I literally almost shit myself! And, I’m hung over, so that was a real possibility!

DAMON: Ew, no, no, no… you’re disgusting.

KAI: Just being honest… don’t act like you don’t know what that’s about.

DAMON: Yeah, no... definitely not having this conversation!

Come on, let’s pick up the paste; vamp speed our way through this place before we become the victims of the “based on a true story” Saw movie.

Cut to – Iker and Alaric

ALARIC: Sorry we got you into this mess, man.

IKER: No worries. I’m used to it. These types of situations pretty much sums up what it’s like being friends with Damon.

ALARIC: Tell me about it. My life said goodbye to “normal” the day we became friends.

IKER: Ditto (they laugh in complicity).

ALARIC: He’s a good guy, though. I mean, considering…

IKER: He is… I’m really glad Bonnie gave him a chance; never seen him this happy… like, really happy.

ALARIC: Me neither… I think we both know he wasn’t truly happy with Elena. Don’t tell her I said that… but no matter how hard they tried; it just wasn’t going to work; too messy. Gotta say, it’s kind of ironic that when he “got the girl”, turned out it wasn’t the “right girl” … After all his love drama, it was about time he finally found “the one”.

IKER: It sure was… Hey, man, look… (spots something strange ahead, vamps to it. It’s a black garbage bag; which wouldn’t be all that strange if it weren’t new). Check this out… (Alaric opens the bag, and starts taking memorabilia from iconic Britney Spears videos, which are clearly originals) What the…

ALARIC: I’m starting to believe Stefan wasn’t kidding…

IKER: Nah… you don’t think… Can’t be, right?!

ALARIC: When those two (referring to Damon and Stefan) team-up, anything is possible, so… maybe?

IKER: Oh, shit! This is getting crazier than I thought!

ALARIC: Straight out insane. Let’s go back. I’m pretty sure Stefan isn’t here, and this place is giving me the chills.

IKER: Me too… (they head back to the meeting point).

Cut back to Kai and Damon.

KAI: We’ve searched everywhere, I really don’t think he’s here…

DAMON: You’re right. Another dead end; let’s go back. (Just as they are about to turn around, Damon spots something) Wait… do you see that?

KAI: Hell no! I’m not falling again.

DAMON: No, I’m serious. Look... (they see something shiny. Damon takes a closer look, picks it up) It’s Donovan’s badge.

KAI: So, they were definitely here with us…Anything else?

DAMON: Nop, just the badge.

KAI: Well, let’s head back, see what we all make of it. This place is really starting to freak me out… the vibes, you know?

DAMON: Yeah, I know… (they speed vamp back to the meeting point and reunite with Alaric and Iker).

ALARIC: Find anything? Cause we did…

DAMON: Stefan?!

ALARIC: No, this (shows him the bag with the memorabilia).

DAMON: What is all this?

IKER: (Teasing) You know perfectly well what it is…

KAI: All too well, sweetheart.

DAMON: At least I didn’t get married in a tutu, princess.

KAI: That princess thing got old like an hour ago. You really need to start thinking outside the box, Damon.

DAMON: That’s right! Yes! A box! I remember a box!

ALARIC: Great! And…?

DAMON: That’s it, that’s all I got.

ALARIC: (Sarcastic) Very helpful, Damon.

DAMON: Well, we also found this… (shows them Matt’s badge)

ALARIC: Interesting… still not a lot to go on, but that confirms we were all here. Listen, guys, I may have a theory…I still don’t know how, or why, but I believe we actually did go to Britney’s house, the real Britney; at some point during the night…Look at the props; they don’t seem fake… Which brings me to the conclusion, that we must have stolen them from her house. Now, as for why? … I have no fucking idea, and I can live without knowing…

KAI: The Britney Spears?! Nah, there’s no way we would be able to break into her house!

DAMON: But what if we didn’t break in… What if, and just hear me out on this, Sheriff Donovan pulled the cop card… and that’s how they let us in.

ALARIC: Matt wouldn’t do that.

DAMON: Maybe not sober, but…

ALARIC: Still, they wouldn’t have let a wasted cop and his pals in for some tea.

KAI: But if we sneaked in… let’s say, hiding inside a police car?

IKER: A police car! Yes! I told you I remembered something about a police car; it was one of those suv ones…

DAMON: We must have stolen one…

IKER: Wouldn’t be a long shot.

DAMON: Don’t those things have trackers though? They would have found us in seconds.

KAI: Not if you know how to disable a tracking device… which I do.

DAMON: Why am I not surprised…

KAI: I had a lot of time on my hands, figured I’d learn a trick or two.

ALARIC: Okay, this is getting even more confusing. I say we go back to the villa, for all we know Stefan might be back. We can check the hotel parking lot, see if we find a stolen cop car; work it from there.

KAI: Agreed. We really need to get out of this place; freaking me TF out. Uber’s on me.

(They wait for a while, until their uber arrives. As they drive away, on one of the top floor windows, a freaky clown waves goodbye).

Cut to – The boy’s hotel villa. They walk inside, and hear the piano playing…

DAMON: It’s that damn monkey! (They walk into the living room, only to find Britney Spears, in the flesh, playing the piano).

BRITNEY: Hello, boys…

KAI: Britney…the Britney Spears…?

BRITNEY: The one and only…

KAI: (Totally fanboying) Oh my god!

DAMON: (Totally fanboying too) OMG! OMG! OMG! It’s Britney, bitches!

BRITNEY: Aw, you’re sweet…

(takes a gun out of her purse and points it at them). Now, shut the fuck up and tell me where the hell is the rest of my stuff!!

ALARIC: Wow, wow, wow… please, don’t shoot! It’s right here (hands her the bag, she looks through it).

BRITNEY: You’re lucky I like to handle somethings on my own. You’d all be dead if my security were involved…

DAMON: (Still fanboying) Lucky… I love that song!

BRITNEY: Now, where is Stefan? We need to settle this little feud of ours, once and for all.

ALARIC: Wouldn’t we all like to know…

BRITNEY: What do you mean? He was with you (referring to Damon), the cop, and the howling boy, at my house last night.

DAMON: Wait, so, neither of these guys were there with us?

BRITNEY: No… but if you had brought him (referring to Iker), maybe things could have turned out differently (winks at Iker).

Tell you what, boys, I’ll help you find him. As long as you help me get my long-awaited trophy win, on “Mr. Bon Jovi”.

DAMON: Wait… so that concert story; that was you?

I thought Stefan was messing with me!

BRITNEY: Oh, that was me… Prick made me think he was Bon Jovi, I was totally fangirling, so embarrassing. That was before I got really famous, and I met the real John. Made me feel like a fool when I told John we had met before, and he was like: “uhm, no we haven’t”. So, as you can understand, it was only fitting that I would get him back for that.

DAMON: I’m with you, Brit, Stefan is a dick!

ALARIC: Can you give us any insight on what happened at your place? Might help us figure out where he is.

BRITNEY: I know from my security cameras that they used a police suv to gain access. Then you (referring to Damon), did some weird eye thing to my security team, and they just stood there, doing nothing. I also know from the cameras, that Stefan took my babies Justi and Kevi (referring to the baby elephant and the monkey). And you (to Damon), stole the memorabilia I had from my videos… My red leather suit better be intact, or I’mma kill you!

DAMON: Oops…

IKER: Don’t you dare say: “I did it again”...

BRITNEY: Wait… I think I might know where he is… Back when we first met, we were here, in Vegas. He took me to this spot in the desert he liked to go to; he’s such a weirdo… Anyway, maybe he went there? You know, for old times’ sake…

ALARIC: Maybe… but it’s gonna be hard to find a “spot” in the middle of the desert, and we don’t have much time; our plane is leaving in like 3 hours.

BRITNEY: Well, if you want to go back home with the rest of your pack, you really don’t have much of a choice.

KAI: There’s no way we are going to find him if he is in the middle of the desert.

BRITNEY: It’s Britney, bitch!

Of course we’ll find him. Listen, you boys take the cop van and follow mine, I’ll lead you to the spot.

IKER: Except, we don’t know where it is…

BRITNEY: (Smirks) But I do… (shows them live cctv footage from inside the cop car) See, boys, I have eyes everywhere! It’s in the parking lot.

(They go to the car and find Matt and Tyler inside, a cellphone in Matts hand, and a lot of empty bottles lying around. As expected, neither of them remember anything about the previous night; it’s a miracle they even know who they are. The only thing they keep repeating, and cracking up about is, Rawson Neal Psychiatric Hospital. They are clearly either still drunk or high on something. They decide it’s best they stay behind and get some rest in the villa. Damon, Iker, Alaric and Kai get in the cop car, and follow Britney to the site.)

BRITNEY: Okay, boys, this is the spot. (They get out of the car, start looking around. She get’s out as well, points the gun at them). Did you really think I was going to help you?! Aw, cuties…no one messes with the Brit! I gave Stefan his, now it’s time for yours …

KAI: But, Britney, what about us (referring to himself, Iker, and Alaric)? We didn’t do anything!

BRITNEY: Guilty by association… Now, give me your clothes, and the car keys… Quick, or I swear I’ll shoot! (They hand her the stuff; she gets in her car. Just as she is about to take-off, she opens her window) If you want to know where Stefan is; it’s easy, he’s exactly where he belongs… Good luck trying to find an uber to pick you up here… And, by the way, sweetheart (talking to Damon), there’s only one princess of pop, and it ain’t you.

(Gives them the finger, and drives away).

DAMON: (Looking heartbroken) But… Britney…

ALARIC: (Sarcastic) Well, isn’t this peachy!

IKER: At least she left us our phones.

ALARIC: There is no way we are going to catch that flight, or find Stefan any time soon. I think it’s time to call Caroline…

DAMON: Shit! Shit! Shit!... Fine… I’ll do it… (dials). Care, it’s Damon… Listen ...The bachelor party got a little crazy and, well...we lost Stefan.

BONNIE: Uhm…think we might have a problem of our own…

DAMON: Bon?

BONNIE: It’s me, I think… Anyway; the bachelorette got a little crazy too, and, well… we lost Caroline.

TVD 9x16 (part 2) coming next! Hope you stop by, read and enjoy! =)

#TVD #tvd fanfiction #vampire diaries #bamon #bamon fanfic #bonnie bennett #damon salvatore #ilovefanfic86 #mademoisellevalerie85 #stephm1587 #bamon-fanfiction

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huphilpuffs · 5 years ago

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already seen all of the parties

summary: Dan gets home from London pride. word count: 1.4k rating: t warnings: food a/n: Big thanks to @plinthofmylife for the beta read!

ao3 link

It’s late when Dan gets home.

His curls are messy from the wind. Some of the sequins have fallen from his jacket, probably lost in the sea of glitter littering London streets. The sign he left with this morning is still clutched in his hand.

Phil makes a note to add it to their collection of props from their proudest moments. This certainly fits in.

He bounces to his feet, taking the sign so Dan can lean against the wall to toe off his shoes. He has a bag in his other hand, with a rainbow printed on it and pamphlets sticking out the top. Dan will probably read them in the coming days. That’s part of his particular breed of activism.

For now, though, he just wiggles his toes against the hardwood floor, shoves a hand under his lapel and says, “Fuck, blazers really aren’t meant to be worn without undershirts.”

Phil laughs, the choked kind that catches him by surprise. “Oh?” he says. “Well, besides chafed nips, how was it?”

Dan’s smile goes soft and dreamy at that. He rests his head against the wall and his eyes flutter closed like they do when he’s content.

“It was bloody amazing,” he says. “You’re gonna have to hear me talk about it for weeks now. Fair warning.”

They’re still standing by the door. Phil’s wearing nothing but pants and mix-matched socks. Dan’s hand is still resting on his own nipple.

Phil’s grinning as he says, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

---

Dan films an insta story once he’s taken his jacket off.

Phil sits on their bed, legs tucked under him. The sign and bag of pride goodies have stayed in the lounge to be dealt with tomorrow. Here, it’s just Dan smiling at the camera and talking about the parade and the quiet pride that’s been bursting in Phil’s chest all day.

Dan drops the jacket to the floor as he posts the video. Phil decides he should ask if that should be added to their collection of important keepsakes too. Later.

Practicalities can all be dealt with later.

Dan tosses his phone onto the bed. His hand skims down his own chest, gaze dropping. “My nipples didn’t actually chafed,” he says.

“Too bad,” says Phil. “Now I can’t kiss them better.”

“Oi!” Dan laughs. Phil knows that, had he still been holding his phone, it would have come flying in his direction. “As if you won’t kiss them anyway, Mr. Nip Kink.”

Phil feels his whole face break into a smile. It’s been doing that a lot today, mostly staring at his phone, at the endless collection of pictures he’s been staring at and the odd text Dan would send when he had a second.

All those anomalous parts of their day are starting to fade, though, so Phil just sticks out his tongue and says, “Don’t kinkshame me.”

---

Dan goes and gets a snack.

Phil expects him to want to sink into bed afterwards, exhausted from hours of walking and socializing, but he just hops up onto the kitchen island and rambles as he nibbles on a chocolate chip cookie. Phil’s pretty sure he’s said the word rainbow about three times in the last sentence.

It’s lovely.

He grabs a cookie for himself, too, and listens to every word Dan says.

---

“I thought you might stay out later,” says Phil.

They’re both sitting on the counter now. They’ve eaten way too many cookies. There’s crumbs all over Phil’s laugh and some at the corners of Dan’s mouth and a glass of milk sitting between them.

Some of the crumbs drop as Dan’s mouth quirks into a crooked smile. “Oh?”

Phil shrugs. “I don’t know. I figured people might have invited you out afterwards to go, like, clubbing or something,” he says. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I know,” says Dan. “People did. I didn’t really wanna go, though. Would have been too much people-ing for one day, I reckon.”

Phil hums, taking another bite of his cookie. He doesn’t need to say he understands. Dan knows that’s part of the reason Phil opted not to go at all.

They eat in silence for a moment. Dan downs half their glass of milk, then cringes at the cookie crumbs Phil knows are floating in it. On another day, he might hear a rant about how it’s cruel that cookies are best with milk but then ruin the milk with all their soggy crumbs.

Today, Dan just knocks their feet together.

“I wouldn’t have had anyone to dance with anyway,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Had I gone clubbing,” says Dan. “My boyfriend decided to stay home.”

Phil almost asks if it bothers Dan, as though they haven’t discussed Phil’s choice not to go countless times since Dan first decided he would be marching, but Dan’s smudging a clumsy kiss to his cheek before he can.

And then he hops off the counter.

---

Dan has music playing and the lights dimmed before Phil’s brain even has the chance to catch up.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Dan’s standing in the middle of the kitchen by then, bouncing on his toes, reaching out to skim his fingers along the sides of Phil’s thighs. A curl has fallen against the middle of his forehead. He’s wearing just his pants now, too. He’s still glowing like he was when he was wearing a skeleton made of sequins in the middle of London.

“Wanna dance with you,” he says, smiling so wide both his dimples pop.

He tugs Phil off the counter and sets his phone down where they’d been sitting. His one hand grips Phil’s hip as he reaches past him to clumsily change the music to something else. Phil turns just in time to watch him search for pride and choose the first playlist that shows up.

The first song is Britney Spears. Phil muffles his laugh against Dan’s bare shoulder.

Dan wraps his arms around Phil’s waist and breathes a quiet “Perfect,” against his hair.

---

They dance for a long time.

All clumsy steps and awkward hip movements to fast songs, and stumbling over each other’s toes when slow ones played. This isn’t a skill Phil’s ever really had to learn, besides the very choreographed and highly practiced dance from TATINOF.

That wasn’t like this. It wasn’t Dan’s naked chest pressed against his. It wasn’t Phil’s hands draped across the back of his neck. It wasn’t happy smiles and giddy giggles and the warm wash of Dan’s breath against his ear.

“I want to go with you one day,” he whispers.

Phil smiles, and stumbles when he momentarily forgets they’re slow dancing right now. “To pride?”

Dan hums. Phil feels the rumble of it against his body.

“I know this year is about like, finding new boundaries and like, me exploring this community in a way you already have but I wanna go with you one day.” He smiles, pressing it right against the high of Phil’s cheekbone. “It was so great. I want to share it with you.”

The song changes to something faster. They keep swaying slowly.

“Tell me more about it,” says Phil.

“Everyone was so happy,” says Dan. There’s no hesitation. He’s not whispering anymore. “There were rainbows bloody everywhere. You’d love it, colour addict that you are.”

“Yeah?”

Dan hums, quiet and content. “Yeah,” he says. “I got to meet some of the kids that work with Mermaids, too. They were so cute. I just want to protect them from the world, you know?”

Phil smiles. “Yeah,” he repeats. “We should donate.”

“We should,” says Dan. He draws back a bit, just enough to catch Phil’s gaze. “So many of our fans were there, too. They’re so proud of us. I was scared, you know? But they’re all so happy for us and I just–” He stops, breathing to the beat of the music. “I’m so happy right now.”

Phil doesn’t really have anything to say to that. All possible responses have been used over the last few weeks, during loud birthday photoshoots and quiet nights in bed and silent text messages.

So he kisses Dan, instead.

---

It doesn’t go any further than kissing.

Dan’s post-pride high starts to fade shortly after his back hits the mattress and his head lands on the pillow. His touch gets softer, his kisses get slower, and Phil just follows his pace because today’s been Dan’s day.

They curl up on top of the duvet afterwards. It’s probably too hot in London to cuddle, but Phil does anyway, pressing himself against Dan’s back and holding on tight.

Dan falls asleep first.

Phil mumbles a quiet, “I’m proud of you,” against his shoulder before he falls asleep, too.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dan and phil #callie writes words #i also had my first pride this year so today made me v emo #have a fic

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marshmallow-phd · 6 years ago

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The Sound of the Rain

Genre: GreekMythology!AU, Modern!AU, Orpheus!AU, Reincarnation!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

A/N: This random spark of creativity was inspired by this amazing moodboard made by @amaxing-daes. I hope you don’t mind!

Day: 1,095,036

He wasn’t sure why he kept count anymore. It’s not like he was counting down to anything. Or up. Did an end really exist for a cursed immortal?

Three thousand years was a long time to walk the earth, to watch it change and evolve. Regular mortals would complain about wanting to go back to the “good old days”. Little did they know there was no such thing. Every decade and every century had its monstrosities that made the ones having to live through wish they could go to another time. It was one of the few things that never changed.

Yixing’s fingers danced across the piano, softly pressing on the keys and letting the notes piece themselves together however they saw fit. He hardly ever thought about arrangements anymore. Reflections would simply formulate in his head and then he’d let the magic flow through to whichever instrument he’d picked up at the time. Sometimes it would be about things that made him angry, sometimes nature itself would be enough to spark his creativity. In the present moment, his most frequent inspiration was plaguing his mind.

Even after all these years, his wife – the one taken from him too soon, the one who he almost had back in his arms if he hadn’t been such a failure – still haunted his dreams. He could say that some of his most beautiful pieces were created because of her, but all the awards and recognition in the world couldn’t replace the hole in his heart.

“Wow, Lay, could you get more depressing?”

Yixing smirked to himself. Lay. It was his latest pseudonym. In retrospect, maybe it was a little silly, but at the time he thought it fit right in with the other music producers in this modern age. One of his frequent collaborators went by “Loey” after all.

Now interrupted, Yixing stopped playing and turned off the recorder that was resting on top of the piano before turning around to face his partner. “Not everything needs to be a dance number, Han.”

“But you’re good at those.” Han motioned back with his head. “Come on. That popstar is here and she wants to listen to the demo.”

“Okay.” Standing up from the bench, Yixing pocketed the recorder and followed Han out of the practice room towards the studio. He frowned once they entered the small workspace.

Shia, the latest sensation exploding on the world pop scene, was sitting in Yixing’s chair, sporting the most sour look on her face. Perhaps she thought she was above this listening schedule. Or maybe she got into an argument with her boyfriend. Whatever the reason for her attitude was, Yixing really wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Let’s just get this over with.

Sitting down in one of the less comfy chairs, Yixing introduced himself, shook hands with the managers and other producers for Shia’s album and turned to the soundboard to start the song.

If Yixing had to rate this song, he’d only give it a seven. He was always harsh on his own music, but this one just came out a little… well, he didn’t know how to describe it. He was still proud of it – he was with a majority of his creations – he just felt a little lackluster about music in general lately. Over the centuries, it’d been the one thing that kept him going after losing his wife. Maybe it was the way music had changed that was making him lose interest. Or maybe it was just himself that was changing. The will to keep going was certainly starting to fade.

Somewhere around the first bridge, Yixing’s confidence grew, just a miniscule amount, but he knew this song was good. The kind that would make everyone cheer and get up to start dancing The managers and producers were bobbing their heads, listening intensely as the song headed into the chorus. Yixing himself sang the demo since no one else seemed to be able to pick up on the rhythm.

When the song ended, everyone turned to Shia to take in her reaction. The pursed lips never relaxed and she never uncrossed her arms throughout the approximate three and a half minutes.

“I don’t like it,” she finally stated after a minute or so of silence.

Her manager sighed, looking as frustrated as Yixing was beginning to feel. “And why’s that?”

“This isn’t the music that I signed up for,” Shia snapped. “I don’t want to sound like everyone else.”

“This doesn’t sound like everyone else,” Han argued. “A song by Lay is always one of a kind. This will put you on the charts where you belong. You said you wanted to make it to the Grammy’s-”

Shia scoffed. “Do you really think this song about how great life is and how much fun you can have is going to get me to the Grammy’s? I want a song with meaning. I have plenty of dance tracks to release as singles. Do I look like I want to be the next Britney Spears?”

Yes. Yixing held his tongue. He’d seen her interviews and her music videos. As judgmental as it could sound, she did, indeed, seem to be going down the dancing popstar route. He’d never seen her pick up a guitar and strum out a heartbreaking ballad with lyrics so deep they took the listener to another time in their life. She never talked about music like it was her life and soul. If that was the kind of artist she wanted to be, then why did she sell out?

Suddenly feeling a little hypocritical, Yixing stood up and walked out of the room.

“Lay, wait!” Han stopped him just before he could escape out the front doors. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Han sighed. “Don’t take that punk’s word to heart. It’s a good song. Plenty of other artists will want to take it.”

Yixing shook his head. “At this point, I don’t really care. I’m getting too old for this.”

Han chuckled. “If it were anyone else, then I would argue that statement. But since it’s you….”

That made Yixing laugh. Yes, Han knew… maybe not the entire story, but he knew most of Yixing’s history. And it was a complete accident how he found out.

For over three thousand years, he’d been able to keep his own secret. But one night when Han was over, Yixing had a little too much to drink and started blurting out everything. Han didn’t believe him at first, but then out came the portraits and pictures and hundreds of diaries that Yixing had kept over the years. He felt a little lighter now, having someone to share his secret with. While Han had made comments here and there that almost gave him away, everyone pretty much took them as jokes or metaphors, keeping him safe from any odd experiments scientists might want to put him through. It wasn’t science that made him what he was, so he doubted they would find anything out anyway.

“I just need some air.” Yixing slipped out from under Han’s hand and pushed through the glass door that led to the sidewalk outside.

He didn’t know where he was headed, if he was going towards a certain something at all; he just knew he needed to be away from the studio for a while, let the others hash it out if she wanted it or not. There was nothing in him that really cared. Han was right; someone would take the song if she didn’t.

It was nice outside today. Most of the time, Yixing didn’t know what the weather was like. He nearly always dressed in the wrong kind of clothes: a t-shirt when it was freezing, a leather jacket when it was boiling hot. This time, however, he lucked out. The temperature wasn’t too bad, making him comfortable in the black shirt and matching jeans he was sporting. Blue was the only color in the sky, save for the blinding sun. No clouds covered up the beautiful wonder above him. But that work of nature’s art almost distracted him to a dangerous level.

Your head was down towards your phone when you passed him, nearly making him miss you as he was staring up at the sky. But enough was captured in the corner of his eye to make his heart jump in his chest. He knew that hair. He knew that jaw and shoulder and ear. He knew you.

Could it really be? Could he really have just stumbled upon a second chance?

Fighting through the crowd on the sidewalk, Yixing hurried to catch up with you. He needed to make sure that it was the same face.

Several feet ahead of him, you turned into a coffee shop. Okay, good. He could catch up to you there. But just as he approached the large window that made up a majority of the front wall, his heart sank.

You weren’t just stopping in to get a fresh cup of coffee and then going about your day. You were meeting someone. A particularly handsome someone who stood up and greeted you with a hug as soon as he spotted you. You were smiling and laughing, happy to be in his presence. Realizing that he had been ridiculous to follow you in the first place, Yixing turned around and headed back towards the studio.

The place was empty when he got back. It was quiet, which was exactly what he needed at the moment. No sample beats thumping in the speakers, no drum sets being pounded on, no pitch tuning being done. Just peace and quiet. And he even had his chair back, although a small amount of glitter was left behind.

Covering his face with his hands, Yixing leaned forward as he sat down and tried his best to keep his breathing normal. It had to be the same person. Not the exact same, but your new incarnation. Your face was the same, your smile, your gracefulness. There you were right in front of him. All this time he’d been alone, unable to numb the pain of losing you, no matter who he smiled at or let sleep on the other side of the bed with him at night. None had come close to you. But now it was almost worse. Did he try to insert himself into your unsuspecting life? Or did he let you go on blissfully unaware of his existence?

“Lay, you okay?”

Lifting his head, Yixing looked at Han, thankful that he was alone in finding him.

Han’s jaw dropped. “Man, are you alright?”

It was then that Yixing realized he’d been crying. The tears that rolled down his cheeks were small and few in number, but still very much present. Han sat down in the office chair across him, rolling a little closer.

“I saw her,” Yixing whispered.

“Saw who? Shia?”

“No,” Yixing sniffed back the new set of tears that were threatening to spill over. “My wife.”

Han’s jaw dropped. “Y-your wife? But I thought she, you know, died. Like… a long time ago?”

Leaning back in the chair, Yixing sighed. “She did. I think this might be her recent incarnation.”

“Wow.” Han ran a hand through his hair, blowing air between his lips in astonishment. He suddenly jumped forward in his seat, startling Yixing. “So, reincarnation is real, too? Like, it's kind of all true?”

“All might be a bit of an overstatement, but yes. I’ve met a few people along the years that have been reborn.” Yixing frowned, remembering the few run-ins he had, mostly with people he had known when he was still mortal. There had been a mixture of fear and excitement when he’d approached them. Would they remember him? Would they know he had been alive all this time? The answer to both had turned out to be no. To this day, Yixing didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“So, did you talk to her?”

Yixing shook his head. “No. She, uh, she was meeting someone. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Something hard and plastic connected with Yixing’s face, shocking him and stinging at his skin. It was a pair of headphones that Han had snatched up from the soundboard and thrown at him. “What was that for?”

“Because apparently being alive for several millennia made you dumber rather than smarter,” Han snapped. “This could be your chance to be with her again. Maybe that one goddess, Penelope-”

“Persephone.”

Han rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Maybe this is her way of saying ‘hey, you’ve been punished enough, here’s a treat’.”

“I hardly doubt that.” With a heavy sigh, Yixing ran a hand down his face. He looked up at his friend, his one confidante. “You really think I should try and find her again?” Han nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face. Yixing cringed. “But she was meeting a guy….”

Han took Yixing’s hand and shook it twice. “Hi, welcome to the twenty-first century where girls have guy friends.” Yixing yanked his hand back, irritated. “Also, it could have been a cousin she hadn't seen in a long time. Or,” Han held his hands up, palms out, in a very sarcastic manner, “even if it was a boyfriend, I doubt he could hold up to the chiseled, dimpled, world’s greatest music producer, Lay.”

There was no other response Yixing could muster other than to laugh, embarrassed by the hype his friend was giving him. While he still didn’t have the full confidence to go up against another guy if you were already in a relationship, he still wanted to get to know the you in this time period, even if he had to settle with simple friendship.

“Okay,” Yixing nodded. “I guess there’s only one thing left for me to do.” He stared down Han with determination. “I’ve got to find her again.”

Day: 1,095,043

It’d been a week already and he couldn’t find you. Not that he thought he would find you the moment he walked outside and headed in the same direction he had the first time, but it was becoming a little discouraging, not seeing you again.

For the third day in a row, he sat in that coffee shop, the one place he’d seen you, and waited. From his years of observing people, he could guess that you came here often if you chose to meet someone within these walls. He just hoped that he wasn’t wasting his time. He’d given up too easily last week. Where he should have come up with some excuse to talk to you, introduced himself and gotten at least your new name, he froze, turning around and deciding that you were better off in this new life without even giving himself a chance. While he was ashamed of how he’d failed you, he wasn’t a bad person.

As he stared out the window, watching the people pass by in groups or by themselves, he listened to the soft sprinkle of rain hitting against the glass. It was a little gloomier today, bring his hope down a few pegs. He didn’t really like the rain, but the pitter-patter sound the droplets had inspired a few songs, so he couldn’t hate it completely.

Just when he was thinking over possibly heading out into the cold weather, his miracle arrived.

You were on the other side of the street, walking towards the crosswalk that would bring you straight to the shop. But you were crying. Not loud, shoulder-shaking sobs. Instead, it was the kind that was more subtle. The kind that reddened the eyes and stuffed up the nose, but made no sound. Yixing wouldn’t have even been able to decipher your state if you hadn’t been hugging yourself so tightly, wiping your eyes with your sleeve every few seconds or so.

When you came to the crosswalk, you were so wrapped up in whatever was making you hurt that you weren’t paying attention to the glowing orange man that had stopped blinking, warning pedestrians that it wasn’t safe to walk. Not even thinking, Yixing jumped up out of his seat and ran outside. Shoving people aside left and right, he made it to the sidewalk, not slowing down as he raced to push you out of the way of oncoming traffic. He finally stopped once your feet were safely back on the pale concrete, his arms cradling you to his chest. Stepping back, he frantically held your face, searching for any sign that you were hurt in the rescue.

“Are you okay?” he said breathlessly.

You nodded shakily. “Th-thank you. I, um, I really should have been better attention. I just-”

Yixing shushed you. “That’s okay. Let’s get you out of the cold and something to drink.”

Not answering, you let him lead you back to the coffee shop. Inside, he sat you down at the table he’d been occupying by the window for the last several hours before going up to the counter and ordering a simple hot chocolate. The wind outside was biting and unforgiving and your thin cardigan was hardly enough to shield you from it’s wrath. You needed to warm up and hopefully the steaming drink would do the trick.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he set the cup down in front of you before taking his seat again. You didn’t touch the drink and you kept your head down, most likely to hide the fact that you’d been crying – which he already knew.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You were lying, but he didn’t call you out on it. “Thank you, again. For that. I feel like an idiot for just walking out there in the middle of traffic.”

“Maybe something was distracting you?” he offered. He hoped you would open up to him even though, to you, he was complete stranger.

Your answer was accompanied by a shrug. “Something like that, yeah.” Finally you took a sip of the drink, shivering as the soothing liquid hit your system.

It was silence for a few minutes. Many sentences started themselves in Yixing’s head, but he couldn’t bring himself to release any of them.

“I just get like that sometimes,” you suddenly confessed, making Yixing perk up.

“Get like that?” he echoed.

“Yeah.” You played with the cozy that saved your hand from the hot plastic, not meeting his eye. “I don’t know why, I just get really… sad, I guess? Usually, I just sit on my couch and listen to depressing music, but something today told me to go for a walk. I guess I was trying concentrate on not crying that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.” Your cheeks rose up as you gave him a shy smile. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“No, no!” Yixing protested. “I don’t think that’s weird at all. Emotions make us human, right?”

“That is true.” Holding out your hand, you introduced yourself. “I’m (y/n).”

Yixing fought to contain his elation as he took your hand, still a little cold but much better than it was before, and said, “I’m… Lay.” He thought it best to keep the facade of his current identity for now. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lay?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Scepticism was painted all over your face, but you went with it. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Fighting the urge to bring your hand to his lips, like he did all those years ago, Yixing let your fingers slip away from his. “So, what do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a school teacher.” Your entire face brightened up, making it even more beautiful than it already was. “First graders.”

Of course. It fit all too well. “You look like you’d make a great teacher.”

“Thank you. What about you?” you asked after taking another sip of your drink. “What do you do?”

“I’m a music producer,” he replied proudly.

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Laughing, Yixing started to go into more of what he did, but then his phone rang, making him frown. It was Han. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” At your nod of understanding, he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, buddy, any luck?”

Yixing cleared. “Actually, yes. Did you need something?”

“Wow. That’s actually surprising. I figured you would be SOL with the luck you’ve had.”

He’d let that slide… for now.

“But, right now, Shia’s on her way. They want to hear the song again and they want you there. Got to come back to the studio. Sorry, man.”

Of course this would happen now. “Alright. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he looked at you apologetically. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“No, that’s fine,” you insisted, waving your hand at him.

Taking a deep breath, Yixing knew he had to take this chance while it was in front of him. “Do you think… I could see you again?”

Your eyes grew wide and a pink dust appeared on your cheeks. “Um, yeah. I would like that.”

As quick as his fingers could go, he opened a new contact in his phone and handed it over to you. There was no protest as you gave him your number.

“This might seem weird, but I’m glad to have met you, Lay,” you confessed.

His heart swelled in his chest. How could things be going so well for him? “I’m glad to have met you, too.”

Leaving you there in that cafe was hard, but he had to maintain his regular life. Besides, now he had a way to see you again. Walking away from you right now was only for a moment, it was not forever. Not this time.

Day: 1,095,077

For over a month now, Yixing had been able to see you off and on, meeting you at the cafe or grabbing a small dinner. The more he got to know the current you, the more he was convinced that you really were the reincarnation of his wife. The subtle mannerisms, the way you talked, every little feature in your face, it was all the same. And he was falling in love with you all over again. Some things were different, obviously, as your life experiences were different this time around, but he still felt strongly towards you and wanted to be with you.

He found himself skipping out on sessions with Han to go meet you. The melodies leaving his his fingers, whether being created on the soundboard or the instruments in front of him, were happier, livelier than they had been in the past. It was like he’d spent so long in the dark, cold winter, but the frost was finally melting away to spring.

Everything was in perfect order for when you would arrive. This was the first time you were going to come to the studio and Yixing wanted you to be impressed, not disgusted by the food wrappers and empty coffee cups lying around. Though the definition of your relationship was still just as friends, he could feel it growing into more. He hoped that tonight would help things move to the next step.

“Lay?” your soft voice came out as a whisper as you gently knocked on the doorframe.

He beamed at you, running up to you and guiding you in. “You made it. How was school?”

“It was good. The kids say hi.”

Yixing had gone once to the school to bring you back the cardigan you’d left at the restaurant the night before. The children had rushed at him, curious of the man who was bringing their teacher a piece of clothing. He’d stayed and played with them for an hour or so before you finally had to shoo him away to get back to their lessons.

“Tell them I’ll come see them again soon,” Yixing grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “You are going to get me in trouble.”

Patting the seat next to him, Yixing urged you to come to the recording equipment. He had something he wanted you to hear. “Are you ready?” You nodded eagerly. Yixing pressed the button to start the new song.

It was a slow ballad, but not a sad one. Hope and love filled every lyric, connected every note. He wished for you to understand it was all for you. The only thought he had while creating the song was of you, your face and your smile. Your laugh was the foundation for the rhythm, giving it a unique pattern.

As the song faded out, Yixing’s recorded voice giving way to the last few notes, you turned to him, glossy eyed and smiling brighter than the sun.

“That was beautiful,” you sighed. You reached out to him and grasped his hand. “You are so talented.” Realizing what you were doing, you took your hand back, embarrassed. “I mean, of course you are,” you laughed. “Mr. Music Producer.”

Shyness spilling over his whole body, Yixing pressed both of his hands into his head, leaning back in his chair while chuckling. You loved his song. The message might not have gone completely through, but you loved it. That was enough.

The two of you stayed in the studio for a few more hours, just talking while Yixing showed you how he composed songs on this modern technology. You listened attentively, taking in everything that he was saying, even playing with some of the knobs to create your own transitions.

Before he knew it, it was getting late and time to leave the studio as the sun was leaving the sky. He walked you out, but he didn’t want to leave you just yet.

“Are you hungry?”

You nodded eagerly. “I am, actually.”

Yixing scratched the back of his head nervously. “Can I make you dinner?”

“You cook, too?” You scoffed, looking out onto the street. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Laughing, Yixing didn’t answer, just taking your hand and leading you to his car. His apartment wasn’t too far away, making it there in five minutes or so. Almost as soon as you walked in through the door, you started looking around, taking in the record collection and small pictures that Yixing had taken in his travels over the world. Not that you knew the older ones were taken by him.

He let you wander around while he got to work in the kitchen, sauteing vegetables and marinating the meat. The smells of the cooking food filled the air until he could hear your stomach growling from his spot in front of the stove. He giggled at the sound, but he didn’t say anything, just allowing you to continue walking around.

Just when he started plating the finished product, the vibration of strummed guitar strings hummed through the air. Walking over to the entry way that led to the living room, Yixing’s lips split into a smile when he saw you sitting on his couch, playing the acoustic guitar that usually sat in the corner, only there when he was inspired at two in the morning.

At first, the notes you played were random, nothing recognizable. But then, slowly, the notes changed into a melody he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

Tears formed in his eyes as he listened to you play the first song he ever wrote you on the lyre. It had been a gift, one that he hoped to win your heart over with. The plan had worked, the two of you very much in love and married within the month. He played it for you whenever you asked, typically on the nights before he had to leave you. After your death, he vowed to never play the song ever again. The only time he broke that promise was in front of the god of the underworld as he begged to take you back with him.

When you saw Yixing, you stopped playing, mumbling an apology.

“That was a very beautiful song,” Yixing said as he willed the water in his eyes to stay put. “Where did you hear it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of been in my head for as long as I can remember.”

The first step Yixing took towards you was hesitant, knowing that the action he wanted to take would either make or break the two of you. But after another step, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Grasping your jaw with his hands, he captured your lips in his, leaning you back on the couch as you moved the guitar out of the way. You reciprocated the kiss, gripping his shirt in your hands. Yixing let go of your face to move his hands to your waist, lifting you up from the couch. In response, you wrapped your legs around his torso and he carried you to the bedroom, the dinner he’d made completely forgotten.

Day: 1,095,078

The warmth given off by you helped Yixing sleep better than he had in over three millennia. He held you close, memorizing every curve and the very scent of your skin. You were still fast asleep next to him, your breath the only sound echoing off the walls. Kissing your bare shoulder, Yixing slipped out of the bed and headed into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the smirk when he spotted the spoiled dinner.

Once that mess was cleaned up, he started on breakfast. This time he would make sure that you actually ate something.

Humming to himself, Yixing carried two plates of fresh, hot food back into his bedroom. But you were no longer sleeping peacefully, entangled in his sheets as you clung to his pillow. You were now wide awake, dressed and holding a small portrait in your hands as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Crap.

He’d forgotten about that piece he’d kept with him all these years, laying out on top of the dresser.

It was a piece of cloth, old and fraying on the edges, with your portrait painted delicately on the fibers. To preserve it, he kept it pressed under glass in a frame. He’d had it made soon after your death so he could carry it with him everywhere. Only by a miracle had it stayed in such good condition. The details in the painting were enough for anyone to see the connection between you and the subject.

“What is this?” you asked in a shaky voice. “Why does this look like me?”

Putting the plates down, Yixing approached you cautiously. “I can explain-”

“This is old,” you held up the frame, your grip so tight that your knuckles were pale. “Have you been stalking me?”

“No!” He threw himself at your feet, taking your arms in hands so he could feel more grounded as everything was crumbling around him. This what not how he wanted you to find out. He knew someday he would have to tell you, but he wanted to do it on his own terms, in a way that you would understand. “Please, listen to me. I can explain.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. When you finally opened your eyes again, you sighed. “Who are you?”

Taking the frame from you, he stood up and sat next to you on the bed. “Most of what I’ve told you is true, but- My name isn’t Lay. It’s Yixing. And I’m over three-thousand years old.”

“What?” You jumped up, putting space between you two. “That’s what you’re going with? Are you insane?”

“Please,” Yixing begged. “I’m trying to explain this the best I can. I truly am that old. I was cursed after I tried to save my wife.”

You frowned. “Y-your wife?”

“Yes.” Yixing stood to his feet, but when he stepped towards you, you shrank back. “She was the love of my live and I lost her. Twice. But then I got another chance. I met you.”

“So… you think I’m her?” you scoffed. “That’s the only reason you’ve been seeing me?”

“Some people are reincarnated,” Yixing explained. “It’s still you-”

“No!”

The sudden charge in your shout had Yixing taken aback.

“I’m not her,” you insisted through clenched teeth.

“But the song-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You stormed out of the bedroom, grabbing your purse as Yixing hurried after you.

“Wait! Please!”

You slammed the door in his face, ignoring every plea he called out after you.

Shuffling back to the bedroom, Yixing picked up the frame, sliding down to the floor. The tears flowed more freely than ever as he clutched the portrait to his chest. Just when he had you back in his arms, he lost you once again.

Day: 1,095,094

Over two weeks had gone by since you stormed out of Yixing’s apartment. You wouldn’t answer his phone calls and Yixing was losing all hope of ever seeing you again. He couldn’t make you understand; all he could do was hope that you would think about what he said and maybe give him another chance to properly explain things.

With his head resting on his arm as he stared at nothing, the song he’d written for you echoed through the speakers in the studio. He couldn’t stop listening to it, wallowing in his self-pity, hoping someday he’d just go back to being numb, like how he was before he met you.

“This is a beautiful song.”

Jumping at the sound of another voice, Yixing turned around to find Shia standing a few feet away. Gone was the sour, put-out look that had been on her face the last three times he’d seen her. Now her features were softer, a sentimental smile on her lips. She wasn’t looking at him, eyes trained on the soundboard, like she was really taking in the theme and meaning of the lyrics.

Yixing turned off the speakers, turning his back to her. “Thank you,” he said sternly.

Shia walked forward, leaning her palms against the table. “That’s the kind of song I’d like to sing.”

“No,” Yixing shook his head.

“What do you mean no?” She straightened up, crossing her arms. “Did you already write it for another artist?”

Turning off the rest of the equipment, Yixing got out of his chair and slipped his arms into his black bomber. He needed to get out of here. “No. This one’s not for sale.”

Her jaw dropped, offended. “What do you mean it’s not for sale?”

“Exactly that.” What was so hard to understand that he wasn’t giving this song to anyone?

“Don’t you want people to hear this song?” she fought back. “I’d even have it as the lead single-”

“It’s not for you!”

Yixing never got angry like this. He wasn’t a yeller, a screamer, but he just wanted her to go away and stop nagging him about the song.

“Lay?”

He froze, eyes widening and throat going dry. That was just his mind tricking him in this moment, right? His hope manifesting into delusions to ease the pain?

But when he turned towards the door, it was really you standing there, shifting from foot to foot, and looking like you were about to run out of there at any point given the slightest reason to.

“(y/n)?” he gasped.

You licked your lips. “Hi.”

Shia looked back and forth between the two of you, getting a sense that she should probably leave. Without a word of goodbye, she slipped out, giving you the room.

Neither of you spoke for the longest time. Yixing had so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to drive you away again. You came to see him, so he would let you go at your own pace.

“Han came to the school,” you explained, breaking the silence. Yixing didn’t respond, just letting you continue. “He, um, he said that you’d been going through a hard time lately.”

Yixing sighed. “Please, don’t feel responsible. It’s completely understandable. The truth was dumped on y-”

“Han told me the same thing.” You shook your head, still trying to process it all. “He said that he saw the pictures of you, throughout the years. That you were really telling the truth about being alive all this time.” You took a step towards him, finally meeting his eye. “But I want to hear the rest from you.”

Testing the waters, Yixing filled in more of the space between you, even risking taking your hand in his. When you didn’t pull away, he smiled, the corner of his mouth just barely tipping up. “I told you about my wife. She died after falling ill. I wasn’t there when she passed, having left earlier in the month on business. When I came back, it was too late. But I needed her. So I went after her. I traveled to the underworld to make a deal with the god who ruled there.”

“How did you… get there?” you asked cautiously, the strain between your eyebrows giving away how hard you were working to make sense of what he was telling you.

He couldn’t help but reach out and trace the outline of your cheekbone. You were listening, taking in what he was saying without running away. “I went through several trials, met with many religious leaders. I finally found the entrance. It’s the kind of place that could only be found if the gods deem it so. I met with the ruler of the underworld and made him a deal: I could take my wife back with me to the world of the living, but I had to have faith. I had to walk back up to the surface without looking back until I crossed the threshold. Just before I reached the sunlight, though, I panicked. I wondered if I had been tricked. So, I turned around and she was there. But I’d broken the deal and she faded away just when I’d gotten her back.”

Water was pooling on the bottom lids of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you took in his story. But it wasn’t over yet.

“I lost all will to live,” he admitted. “I didn’t eat, I didn’t leave my bed. I just wanted to be with her again and that was the only way left for me after the trial. But death never came for me. I was now cursed to live forever, never allowed to see my love again because I couldn’t have faith.” Letting go of your hand, he cupped your jaw. “When I saw you walking down the street, I thought I was given a second chance. My love back on the earth with me again. Getting to know you, this you, has been the real blessing. Even if you decide to walk away, I will be forever grateful.”

When he was finished, you reached up, capturing his wrist in your hand. He thought, for a moment, that you were going to push him away again. But you didn’t.

“I don’t know if I’m actually her,” you whispered. Meeting his eyes, there was a glow in your own gaze that was making his heart speed up. “But… I can’t walk away, not now. It feels too right, being here with you. I would hope that you see me in front of you, and not her.”

“It’s you,” he confirmed. “It’s you.” He pulled you in, kissing you deeply. It felt so good to have you in his arms again, to have you believe him and receptive of his love for you. It was all true. Now he didn’t care if you really were his wife’s incarnation, not anymore. You were the one he wanted now, the one he would be thankful to have for the rest of his days, no matter how many were in his future.

Day: 1,095,103

Although the last time he left you alone sleeping in his bed ended in disaster, he still slowly slipped out from under the covers, knowing it’d be fine this time around. As quietly as he could, he slid the glass door that led out to his balcony open. He stepped out into the cool morning air and leaned up against the railing.

Life had settled in the last few weeks. You were still adjusting to certain things, like calling him Yixing rather than Lay and having him reference something that happened decades ago like it happened last week. But he’d never been happier in his immortal life.

“It’s nice to see you smiling like that.”

Yixing jumped, letting out a strangled noise in surprise. Why were you always sneaking up on him like that?

But it wasn’t you that had joined him on the balcony. In fact, it was someone he never thought he would ever see again. She probably had much better things to do than pay him a visit.

“Persephone?”

“Hello, Yixing,” the goddess greeted from the iron seat with a dazzling smile.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he adjusted his stance, leaning his back on the metal barrier.

“I thought I would catch up,” she said cryptically.

Yixing raised an eyebrow. “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. She definitely didn’t look like the goddess that painters had depicted in their artworks over the centuries. A red pantsuit and short haircut helped her blend right in if she happened to be walking down the street. That softness that Yixing had seen so long ago was still present, so apparently not too much had changed. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I am. Are you here to tell me you had a hand in that?”

Persephone smiled coily. “Maybe.” Releasing a sigh, she crossed her legs, letting her hands rest in her lap. “I thought it was time to give you a life again.”

“So, my punishment is over for now?” Yixing knew, even though he was living joyfully now, that eighty years down the line, he’d have to go back to his lonely existence. But he’d pushed that thought aside each time it came out. He would love you now and forever, each day was gift, the future could wait.

“It wasn’t ever meant to be a punishment,” Persephone insisted. “I knew how much you loved your wife. I wanted to give you a second chance at that love.”

“So why didn’t you just have us reborn together?” he questioned harshly.

“Because you needed to remember your past choices, so you wouldn’t make them again.”

Again? But-

Ah. Yes. He loved his wife, he did with his whole heart. But he let his passion for music get in the way, leaving her behind as he went to play concert halls and chase after the admiration of the audience when he finished a piece. The fact that he didn’t get enough time with his wife wasn’t just because she died so young, but because he was away so often. He wouldn’t do that again. Already, he was putting off studio sessions and canceling meetings to spend time with you. Maybe he really had learned from his past mistakes without even realizing it.

“Is it really her?” he asked. It was a question that didn’t really need voicing, but it slipped out anyway. No matter what the answer, he would walk back into that bedroom and hold you tightly.

But Persephone nodded. “Yes, it is. I held onto her until I thought the time was right. Most memories are erased when a person is reborn, but I left traces of you in her, despite my husband’s protests, to help bring her to you. Remember how she said she would get sad sometimes without any reason?”

Yixing gave off a short laugh. It was a faint memory of him that took you to the streets that day, allowing him to see you again. It made all those years of wandering alone worth it, absolutely.

“Yixing?”

You stepped out on to the balcony, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and yawning. Persephone was gone, leaving the two of you alone. Opening his arms for you, Yixing pulled you in close to his chest, staring out at city skyline. He could feel your heartbeat, the steady rhythm reminding him of the rain pattering against the window on days where he felt especially lonely. He’d thought about how much he disliked the rain that day he pulled you out of the street. Now it was his favorite sound in the whole world. A sound that used to pull him down was now making him fly.

Day: 1,095,472

“Yixing! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming! Just one more minute!”

Instead of finishing up, however, Yixing just found himself smiling at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The two of you were supposed to have left already for the party celebrating Shia’s newest album.

After much persuasion by you, Yixing had finally relented in letting Shia release the song he’d written for you. Now there were talks of songwriting awards galore with how successful the single had become. Yixing didn’t think he’d be able to attend the awards, needing to keep his identity as lowkey as possible, but the thought of it was elating enough.

You peeked into the bathroom, looking as amazing as ever. “Yixing, the fact that we’re waiting on you and not me is a great way to break the stereotype, but we’re seriously going to miss the launch!”

“I’ll be right there,” he promised, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay,” you sighed, stealing your own kiss from his lips before disappearing back to the living room of your shared apartment.

Fixing his hair one last time, Yixing gave himself a last onceover to make sure he looked the part of main producer. But then he spotted something that didn’t belong. Hidden among his styled black hair was a single strand of gray. Plucking it from its place, he held it up close to examine it. There it was, a gray, aged hair. Never had he ever seen one of those from his own head. Did this mean-

It wasn’t ever meant to be a punishment. I knew how much you loved your wife. I wanted to give you a second chance at that love.

Did this mean he was no longer immortal? Would he now be allowed to age and grow old with you? Only time would give way to the truth, but the hope growing in his heart was like a wildfire, raging out of control.

Out in the living room, he pulled you into a hug.

“Is everything okay?” you asked when you pulled back.

Yixing nodded eagerly. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Come on, let’s go.” He took your hand and led you out the front door, to head to the party and to the rest of your lives. Together.

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #yixing x reader #zhang yixing #lay #reincarnation au #greek mythology au #exo scenarios #The Sound of the Rain

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