#this person's summaries are my favorite way to consume popular literature

[thepencilnerd]

- 𝐁𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 -

bib·li·o·phile- noun; a person who has a great love reading and/or collecting books for their content, appearance, quality, format, etc.

➳ Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

➳ Summary: The library was a place dedicated to knowledge, studying, and peace and quiet—so why was it that when Jimin came to pick up a book, it just so happened to be checked out by the same person each and every single time?

➳ Genre: AU! Fluff, barely a soulmate AU

➳ Word Count: 5.1k

a/n: first time making a moodboard! i hope it’s alright ^^

“So I should come back again next week?” Without giving a vocal response, the librarian simply nodded curtly. Sighing in defeat, Jimin ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

Today was the third time this month he had tried checking out one of his favorite books, but all his efforts were in vain. It had already been checked out the day before.

“And you can’t tell me the name of the person who checked out the only version you had available?” he pried desperately. Huffing at his insistent nature, the woman stapled the corner of a page a little too aggressively before looking up at him with a fiery glare.

“I told you, Jimin,” she whispered through clenched teeth, trying to hold back her temper. “I’m not allowed to give out any further information other than the date the book gets checked out and its scheduled due date. Any personal information and I’d lose my job.”

He could only whine and kick his legs in annoyance. “But, Ninnie! You’re supposed to be my cousin! Help me out!”

“Zip it!” she hushed. “I’m your cousin but I also have a job that I enjoy and respect, so unless you want me to confiscate your library card, do as I say and come back next week. I’ll text you as soon as I get it back and you can rent it then.”

To others, it was evident that she seemed to hate Jimin’s very existence, but outside of the work environment, they were as thick as thieves. Since childhood, holidays and family dinners always revolved around organizing seating arrangements so that Jimin and his favorite cousin were sat at least across from each other. All times when Jimin was sat next to any other cousin? Pure chaos ensued.

“Promise?” he pouted at his sibling of a cousin. Shaking her head. she gave him a thumbs up before waving him off to resume her paperwork. With a smile that spread ear to ear, Jimin’s disappointment faded into joy in an instant. It was times like these that he was grateful for his cheery ability to brush off negative occurrences like these. Waving goodbye to his older cousin, he returned back to the main view of the building he had grown fond of through the years at university. 

Throughout the years of attending university, Jimin was grateful to have access to his favorite place to enable his obsession with books. From near-ancient almanacs, dusty textbooks, worn out novels, and outdated newspapers, the campus library was a central hub of overflowing information. With rows upon rows of books that seemed to stretch for miles, it was a historical museum in and of itself. The essence of torn paper, feathering ink, ragged covers, and disorganized array of what had once been in alphabetical order made Jimin’s heart race in excitement each time he came to visit, and he even opted for weekend visits to the aged building rather than go out to parties with his friends.

In a shorter summary, reading composed the essence of Jimin’s very existence. Although his passion for literature and hunger for the discovery of new books was constantly growing, his patience began wearing thin ever since that fated Monday so many months ago.

Over the past few months of falling back into the habit of re-reading his favorite books, he never expected in a million years that every single one he’d want to read would always somehow be checked out by a mysterious benefactor. The Little Prince? Checked out last week. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban? Currently unavailable. Frankenstein? Scheduled to be returned next week. You’d think that with an inventory nearly the size of a national library, there’d be at least two copies in stock—unfortunately, the odds were never in Jimin’s favor.

Sure, he could always go down to the bookstore two blocks down from his flat or to the bookstore Downtown, but it wasn’t just the book he was after; it was the environment. The background hum of hushed voices, the light rustling of pages from nearby readers, and right down the faint scent of aged wood and antique paper pages that laced the air, everything about the atmosphere was all-too inviting for to Jimin to resist.

As two books turned into five and five turned into eleven, the former excitement of re-reading his old faithful works of literature had slowly grown into anticipation of whether or not they’d actually be on the shelves. Each time he left the library after hearing the repeated melody of, “Come back next week when the book gets returned,” a strange feeling began consuming him. At first, it seemed like a coincidence.

To be fair, most of the books he was interested in checking out were fairly popular, so it’d make sense that Alice In Wonderland was unavailable. However, in his mind, it all seemed too incidental. Since then, a theory began to develop in the back of his mind, and the chances of it being true were almost little to none, but that didn’t stop him from pondering over it.

Jogging up the creaky stairs to the second floor, Jimin was determined to find another book to keep him occupied, at least until he got his hands on The Shining next week.

There were a handful of possible answers to the dilemma. One revolved around the plausible theory that since his favorite books were iconic pieces of literature, it only made sense that they would be rented out. The second involved around the much less plausible theory that Jimin had an equally book-obsessed stalker who was hell-bent on making his enjoyable weekends at the library a living hell—but as stated earlier, that was much less plausible.

After a couple minutes of carefully walking past tables of stone-faced and deadly silent students, Jimin found himself in a familiar aisle; the historical fiction section. Tracing his fingers over the edges of the neatly aligned book spines, he settled his fingertips on another novel he held near and dear to his heart; The Great Gatsby, by the one and only F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Letting out a sigh of relief that it was on hand, he slid it out of the shelf and clutched it close to his chest, smiling sweetly at the satisfying feeling of the hardcover pressing assuringly against his chest. Guarding it close, he turned a corner to a hideaway he had made for himself as a regular here. The secluded area was nothing more than a cozy hidden spot that virtually no one knew about. Except for Jimin, of course.

The reason it was rarely occupied by anyone was due to the fact it was the only corner of the floor that didn’t have a specifically organized genre shelf or pre-set-up seating area. All that decorated the remote nook were a couple plush comforters and detached seat cushions, courtesy of Jimin’s cousin. With hundreds of available seats and paired wooden tables, no one really paid attention to the solitary corner of the library, and Jimin didn’t want it any other way.

Settling himself on the cushion, he stretched out his legs and pulled a pillow close to his side and relaxed into the plush texture. Before he began reading, he had formed an almost ritualistic habit of admiring the antique condition of the texts. Trailing his fingertips over the now-flat metallic engravings and skimming the frayed edges of the pages, a warm grin spread to the edges of his lips.

He could never explain the feeling of what it was like to have a book in his hands. It was daunting to him how ink could paint such a magnificent picture. The endless combinations that words and thoughts could compose when paired together and the possibilities that presented themselves in the form of bound paper?

Indescribable.

When he placed the book onto his lap, it opened itself to a random page. At least, it appeared that way. Embedded in the block of the page was a laminated red maple leaf. Eyeing it carefully, Jimin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

‘It seems too valuable for someone to just forget and leave it here...’ he thought.

Grasping the delicate film in between his fingers, he couldn’t help but observe and admire the details of the immaculately intact leaf. The main stem of the leaf was smoothed out, probably due to the period of time it was kept in the plastic encasing, and the blades of each extended leaf remained crisp like a freshly fallen flower petal. Examining it further, he noticed that the veins were not only near-transparent and paper thin, but they that were also outlined and handpainted a deep gold color.

Another heartfelt smile began to form on his face at the beauty of what would normally be considered a seemingly insignificant bookmark. Scanning his eyes at the spot the bookmark was placed in, he let out a huff of surprise at the line he had known by heart.

“I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity.”

An iconic quote from page 57, the words made old memories arise from when he first came across the book. Months went by as he tried to analyze and dissect the quote, but it wasn’t until his first crush came along and made him understand the true meaning of the words themselves. Reading over the words once more, he directed his gaze back to the red maple leaf in his hand.

‘You’re quite the peculiar thing, aren’t you?’ he couldn’t help but speculate.

Smiling to himself once more, he tucked the bookmark safely inside his wallet, making sure to mind the delicate edges of the blades. Jimin rose from his cozy spot and almost tumbled down the stairs in a hurry, unable to contain the excitement that began brewing at the premeditated lazy Sunday he’d have all to himself. 

The three-day weekend passed by in a blur of spilled coffee, procrastinated study guides, and feeble attempts at being social. The great thing about having a library card, however, was the fact that Jimin’s 675 word-per-minute reading skills never went to waste.

Skipping to the front desk, he earned a few confused glares from the students sat at the tables around him. No one except Jimin could be in such a good mood on a Monday.

“Any updates, Noonie?” he grinned brightly, eyes forming into half moons when he flashed his pearly white smile. Standing on his toes, he raised his eyebrows in an attempt to peep at his cousin’s workspace, hopeful that at least one of the books he tried checking out last week was returned.

Flicking him on the forehead and muttering something that sounded like a vague, “Calm down,” she opened one of the creaky wooden drawers and stood up to hand him a black hardcover book. Before Jimin could jump around like a giddy preschool child, she pressed her lips into a thin line and widened her eyes at him; a silent warning to not do exactly what he was about to do. 

Scrunching his lips sheepishly to hold back the string of thanks that threatened to spill, he swiftly reached over the desk and gave her a tight hug. 

“Let go of me if you want to live another day to read,” she whispered through clenched teeth. Her tone was tense, but Jimin knew better than anyone how it was as harmless as when two children were arguing over the last cookie in the cookie jar. 

“Thank you, Noonie,” he beamed gleefully. With the book held tightly in hand, he quickly tread up the stairs to his usual hideout. Focusing on the detailed pattern on the cover, his feet quickly carried him to the hidden corner he knew like the back of his hand.

As he exhaled at the familiarity of the serene corner once again, his body melted into the pillowy cushions. Opening the book to the first page, the edges of his lips lifted into a trace of a smile as his eyes grazed the italicized title. 

The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

Just as his mind was about to note how it was another one of his favorites, he realized that there really was no such thing as a “bad” book—just ones that didn’t particularly suit people’s tastes at the time they read them.  

In a matter of minutes, he was already done with the beginning introductory chapters. Words translated into images that whizzed past his mind faster than a vintage film roll, and the lines of ink were slowly beginning to envelop his mind in a world of vivid imagination. 

Turning onto the next page, his intense gaze wasn’t met by black printed font, but rather by a bookmark. Not just any bookmark—the exact same style laminated maple leaf he saw last week. The only difference this time was that the encased leaf was bright yellow and a bit smaller. His mouth parted in awe. 

His eyes refused to further down the page. Once is an accident, but twice makes it a coincidence—right? 

“Life, too, is senseless unless you know who you are, what you want, and which way the wind blows.”

Swaying to the logical side of his brain, Jimin considered the realistic possibilities. In his mind, this bookmark seemed too intricate to be a mass-produced product from Barnes and Noble, but it also seemed entirely too cliché for it to belong to the exact same person from last week. Book cult signature insignia? A silent protest against the greatest minds in literature? Or maybe it was just another bookworm who enjoyed tagging the pages with the best quotes in them for future reference. 

Hundreds of people probably read this edition before he did. Within those hundreds of people, it just so might have been possible that the same person who checked out The Great Gatsby also enjoyed a few Ellen Raskin works as well. Who was he to judge?

Now it was time for the illogical side of Jimin’s brain to kick in. In the simplest of terms, it mimicked that of a cheesy romantic movie trope that got tossed about two minutes into the plot meeting. Was there some kind of “maple leaf bookmark month” holiday he wasn’t aware of? Who had the time or patience to laminate anything nowadays anyway? Did he have a stalker? 

He let out an audible cough to hide a snort. The only person that would ever be interested in stalking a hermit such as Jimin would be people sentenced to. They’d probably die of boredom within the first few hours.

Pulling the encased leaf from it’s wedged position, his stare tried to search for any clues; initials, writing, markings, or even fingerprints in an effort to try and see if his inner Sherlock would be of any use to him. As if he actually expected anything to present itself, the results were nonexistent. 

He snapped the book shut and exhaled through his nose. Why was he thinking so much about it? So what if someone else had the same tastes as him? What difference did it make if their favorite quotes from their favorite books mirrored that of his? Wagging his head back and forth rapidly to snap himself out of his daze, Jimin reluctantly decided to call it an early day. 

There are two types of people in the world; thinkers and feelers, talkers and doers, skeptics and believers, and those who don’t deem any of the above to be of any importance in any given situation regarding life. Ironically, as hard as Jimin tried to make himself out to be a hardheaded stone-cold logical analyst, it was clear to anyone that he was, in fact, the exact opposite. 

The book thief predicament continued on for weeks and didn’t show any signs of stopping or slowing down. Page by page and book after book, the sight of a single plastic-enveloped maple leaf became an everyday sight. At this point, the longer he denied the occurrence, the fear of going genuinely insane began to grow. Often times, he found himself sitting in his once relaxing spot questioning his own sanity. Was he just imagining the stupid thing? 

Distracted by his own thoughts, Jimin didn’t bother keeping his eyes focused on where he was walking. Apparently, the oncoming passerby didn’t either. 

Contrary to being conditioned into forming a habit of whispering in the building, Jimin gasped out loud when his forehead came into contact with a hooded figure, causing the two to collapse onto their knees from the impact. Emitting a muted groan, Jimin looked up with a scrunched expression as he rubbed his temple and attempted to form words. Rather than seeing a mirror image of someone also rubbing their forehead, the stranger was kneeled in child’s pose, presumably in great pain. How fast were the two of them walking?

“I’m sorry!” he apologized while holding back a pained whimper. “Are you alright?” Unable to see the person’s face from the angle and the fact that their hoodie was incredibly oversized, Jimin started to worry when they didn’t respond. Reaching down with one hand, the figure peeked up ever-so-slightly and immediately recoiled in—fear? It looked as if they recognized him instantly, but Jimin hadn’t even gotten a visible view of their face.

Standing up with their head tucked down, the figure apologized wordlessly by ducking their head, grabbing the book they dropped, and ran off, disappearing almost as quickly as they had appeared.

Left in a state of shock, pain, utter confusion and slight offense, his eyebrows furrowed. What was their problem? Trying to brush it off, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit annoyed that they didn’t even apologize or ask if he was alright, but it was Monday after all. Ushering himself to forget the rude occurrence, Jimin stood up with one hand still pressed on his forehead and the other holding his book—the only thing keeping him sane today—and continued his way to his quiet spot.  

“Stop frowning; you’re gonna get wrinkles,” Noonie reminded for the third time today. Pressing a finger to the purple spot on his temple, Jimin growled at her. The only other sound besides the shuffling of papers in the empty space was the occasional scold Jimin received from his cousin and the gentle whirring of the computer fan.  

It was a mellow Saturday and the library was closed for the weekend. Jimin, having nothing better to do on a Saturday, decided it was a good idea to invite himself over to his cousin’s place of work to help her sort through some files. She was also aboard the “solitary social life yacht,” making the two of them wonder if introversion ran in their family.  

Grumbling under his breath, his cousin frowned. “Is something going on with you these days?” Her tone switched from badgering aunt to caring sibling like the flip a light switch. Jimin was acting weird. 

Jimin pressed his lips together, mindlessly repeating the action of tucking another fill-out form into the cover of a textbook. “I’m fine.”

Prying the book from his hands and slamming her hand on the cover, the action forced him to look up from his robotic state and form a bewildered face. 

“You’re acting like you just lost the ability to read for the rest of your life,” she phrased. “Why have you been so miserable for the past few weeks? Did someone break up with you? Concussion from the bruise you got two days ago? Identity crisis? Who do I need to beat up?” 

“Noonie!” he whined, burying his face into his hands. The last thing he needed was for his cousin to assume he was reasonably upset, let alone that he had a girlfriend. The word itself made goosebumps prickle his skin. 

“I’m just—it’s—” he stuttered. “It’s just this—stupid thing.” Sighing at how pathetic he sounded in his own head, Jimin groaned in sheer frustration. The next time he saw a leaf, he’d make sure the ending result would involve it being crushed under his feet or torn into shreds by his hands.  

“I’m a librarian, not a mind reader,” she sighed. “Help me out here?” 

“It’s these!” Bursting into a fit of restrained emotions, he gestured to the mountains of books around him. “These things. Every single time I come here to try and relax with the books I love, all I end up is feeling like I have some sort of stalker slash parallel universe clone who reads the exact same books as me and marks the same quotes and has a weird fetish for maple leaf bookmarks. I mean, they could’ve used a feather or a post-it note, but no. They had to—”

“Maple leaf?” her ears perked up at the words, halting his avalanche of words momentarily. “Are you—”

Waving his hand to take a breath of air before continuing his rant, he shook his head rapidly. “I know, I know, it’s dumb, right? Who makes their own bookmarks and then leaves them in library books? More specifically, just to mark a good quote?”

“But—” she pointed her finger and held her hand up as she tried to speak, but was cut off by Jimin each time, clearly in need of a venting session.  “Why am I even obsessing over it?” he chuckled in disbelief as his hand slapped his own forehead. If his eyebrows rose any higher, they’d be about two centimeters from flying off of his face. “Hundreds, no—thousands, of people read books here. People check out the same book all the time. It just so happens to be the same stupid bookmark in the same stupid book with the same stupid quote—”

“Park Jimin!” she snapped. 

Overwhelmed by the flurry of word vomit that continued to spill from his lips, he was too distracted to notice the ring of the bell that sounded from the door behind him. 

“I think I’m going insane...” he deadpanned, resting the side of his face on the desk and staring blankly at the rows of books that seemed to mock him. 

“Noelle!” a voice greeted. “I thought you weren’t going to be in today?” 

“Had nothing better to do,” Noonie laughed. “What are you doing here?”

Huffing to himself, Jimin stayed frozen there, minding his own business and not listening to their casual banter. So Noonie did have friends...

“I needed to return a book,” the unfamiliar voice giggled. Cutely, might he add. Drifting off into a bored trance, Jimin earned himself a slap on the back of the head from his cousin.

“Don’t be rude. Introduce yourself,” she whispered through her smile, widening her eyes in warning as usual. 

Lifting his head from the desk, Jimin directed his stare behind him as a hooded figure came to view. A sweet smile crossed his features like second-nature as he waved to the stranger. Opening his mouth to greet them, his breath hitched in his throat when his gaze met yours. More specifically, his eyes strayed to the blooming bruise on the mirror side to his. 

“Y/N, this is my dork of a cousin, Jimin. Jimin, Y/N.” Introducing them to each other, the two reached out awkwardly and shook hands. Jimin’s mouth was still parted as he attempted to form at least a greeting.

“Hi—hello,” he finally managed to make out.

A nervous grin crept onto your face when you noticed he was still holding onto your hand. Retreating sheepishly, Jimin’s cheeks flushed a bright pink color. “Hi,” you murmured.

Noonie’s eyes bounced back and forth between you and Jimin. “Do you two know each other?” she asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

The two of you were in such a daze, you forgot she was also in the room. Snapping both of your heads to her, Noonie’s hands flew to her jaw-dropped mouth when she too noticed the matching bruises.  

“Huh,” she chuckled. “I guess this is where I bid the bibliomaniac and bibliophile goodbye.” Getting up from her seat, Noonie shot the pair a teasing wink before running off to the storage room in the back. With Noonie gone, the socially inept bookworms were left to their own devices, silent and struggling to find the courage to speak first.

A few seconds passed by like minutes, and the tension only seemed to grow; an unavoidable outcome, given the current circumstance. You were the book thief he’d been chasing for the past three months? Noticing Jimin’s lingering gaze that trailed higher than your eyes, your hand instinctively shot up to the dark purple spot on your forehead in embarrassment. 

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” you mumbled softly, eyes glued at the floor for the fear that he’d see your red cheeks through your shielding hands. 

Blinking a couple times to make sure that this was real life, Jimin cleared his throat. What if this was all just one big dream? 

“So you’re the book thief,” he chuckled half-heartedly, still in shock that he had finally found you. 

Raising your eyebrows, you stood frozen like a deer in headlights before remembering that you actually had to breathe. “Oh—yeah. That...” You rubbed the back of your neck as your nerves began to creep up on you. “And you must be the book hoarder?” 

Pursing his lips to hold back a childish snort, Jimin nodded. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one that made up a nickname for you. More seconds of awkward silence followed, making the two of you burst into laughter at your similar nature. 

“I’m sorry,” you choked into nervous coughs. “I’m not good at this whole—socializing thing.” Jimin could’ve sworn his heart hiccuped at your confession. Were you reading his mind? 

“No, no!” he assured, waving his frantically in rebuttal to comfort your flustered state. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m awful at it.” Flashing a bright smile at his crescent-shaped eyes, his face seemed to glow like the moon when he laughed. 

“God,” you facepalmed, still giggling and blushing at how embarrassing this entire meeting was. “Where should we start?” 

Biting his lip while grinning in thought, Jimin felt his pulse race as a newfound confidence revealed itself.

“Maybe we can talk about your obsession with laminated bookmarks?” Giggling softly, you broke into another smile. How could you resist a face like that? Nodding in submission at his undeniable soft nature, you came up with a  split second decision that might aid in diffusing the awkward tension that still lingered. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” you offered shyly, the blushing warmth of your racing pulse still evident on the center of your face. 

Holding back another giddy smile, Jimin nodded eagerly, allowing the two of you to walk side by side up the stairs you knew all too well. 

Turning right at the anthropology and history text shelf, the narrow aisle led you and Jimin to the hidden corner you loved. 

“You know where this is?” Jimin gawked. His face was that of pure astonishment, but he spoke with a pout in his voice, probably disappointed that another soul knew of the whereabouts of the ‘secret garden’ that was hidden in the old building. “I thought this was a super secret hideout...” 

Breaking into a chuckle at his stupefied look, you nodded proudly. Sitting down and patting the cushion beside you, he sat down carefully. “Who do you think added the extra pillows?” 

Opening and closing his mouth a couple times, you took the chance to lift the corner of the fluffy blanket and reveal a book the size of an archaeological manuscript. Concealed by the bulk of the blanket and positioning of the cushions, it wasn’t a book at all, but rather a hollowed out encyclopedia with a hidden compartment. In said compartment lied a box of Pocky sticks, a packet of Sour Patch Kids, gummy bears, and wipes. Nevertheless, you were a responsible library snacker and Noonie didn’t allow you up here without good reason. 

Jimin’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “How did—when did you— ” he stuttered. “How? What? I’m so confused, are you MacGyver’s second life reincarnation or something?” 

You burst into a giggly fit of laughter and were on the verge of getting a stomachache. He was cute when he was speechless. “I think I’m the only other person who knows this library as well as you do. I’m here all the time.” Tearing open a packet of Pocky, you popped a chocolate-covered pretzel stick into his agape mouth and smiled at his reaction. Just like a child, he began chewing mindlessly, unable to resist the chocolatey treat. “And I was here yesterday.”

“Let me get this straight,” he said with food still in his mouth. “You were coming downstairs after hanging out here, and you ran away from me after that collision because you knew who I was?” 

Hiding your face in your hands, you mumbled an inaudible “yes” at the embarrassing statement. “I thought Noonie told you about me or that you’d have some sneaking suspicion about why the cushions were out of place by the time you got there.”

“I knew I wasn’t going crazy...” he muttered to himself. Popping another stick into his mouth, the snacking gave you time to mask your mortified face and relax into the padded fabric. 

“So what’s with you and laminated dead foliage?” he finally questioned, carefully reaching over for another pretzel stick. No one could resist chocolate, after all. 

An unconscious nasal snort escaped you when his honest form of asking the question registered in your mind and nearly made you choke. Reaching into your back pocket, you pulled out an orange leaf. Since your freshman year, you always made sure to carry one around with you for good luck. 

Biting your lip as you tried to concentrate on coming up with a response, you sighed. “When I was in preschool, I always got in trouble for reading too much. During naptime, I’d be nose deep in a book when everyone was asleep, and the teachers would scold me for not playing with the other kids during lunch. I’d come home upset. Sometimes, I’d even cry because I was so frustrated that no one understood that I just wanted to be left alone with my book.”

Jimin was listening intently as a dry smile crossed your face at the memory. “My mom saw how upset I was, so one day, she asked me if I wanted to make bookmarks with her. She told me about how if I left each leaf in a book that I loved, the person who would find it would be the one who understood me.”

Jimin’s gaze pierced through yours as his hands suddenly but slowly wrapped around yours, still holding the fallen leaf. When you looked up, your breath hitched in your throat. “But that seems a little elusive, right?” you whispered. 

“After everything we’ve gone through the past few months, I think it’s plausible.” His voice was confident. Studying his features, the corner of your lip perked up into a smile. 

“When someone blushes, doesn't that mean 'yes?'” he phrased, referencing a book the two of you could probably recite by heart.  

Unable to repress your smile any longer, a warm blush fanned over your cheeks once again, but this time, you weren’t the only one whose face had gone rosy.

“Nice to meet you, Jimin,” you giggled, welcoming the warmth of his hands that enveloped yours perfectly. When he began running his fingertips over the tops of your hands soothingly, an awestruck expression flashed across his face. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he replied softly as your name flowed off of his lips like honey. 

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.” 

[awkwarddezzy]

Ignite

Pairing: Dan x Phil

Genre: friendship, romance, slight angst

TW: swearing, mentions of alcohol

Word count: 7,494

Summary: Hawaii: the state everyone knows as paradise. For Dan Howell, the label is far from what his life is truly like. When Phil transfers to Dan’s high school from Manchester, the two boys instantly become friends. But will the revelation of Dan’s hidden past affect their budding friendship? Phan HS AU.

Hey ya’ll! This is technically my first fanfic posting of 2017, although I already had this written back in 2016. I mentioned a handful of times in tags for my shitposting that I wrote a Phan-inspired story as part of my short story portfolio for my creative writing class last semester. I submitted said story for possible publication at my college’s local journal, so cross your fingers with me that it’ll make the cut. I mean, can you imagine a phanfic legitimately bring published?

My professor absolutely loved the story. Even though it was over the word limit (she set it as 4,000), she told me she didn’t mind the word count as long as the plot was good. Needless to say, I got an A on it. Hell, when we had to type an analysis about our stories, I specifically mentioned being inspired by Dan and Phil and how homogenous relationships are often undermined in young adult literature.

I’m proud of this baby. Aside from character names (because I didn’t wanna plagiarize), this is nearly word for word of that story. I guarantee this is different than any phanfics ever to exist. One, because the setting is in Hawaii (our professor gave us extra credit if we tied our story to Hawaii in some way since I do go to a community college in Oahu). Two, to make it personal, I made my Dan-inspired character Filipino (because I’m Filipino myself) and kept my Phil-inspired character British. In short, this is my story using the YouTubers I had in mind while writing the story. It’s basically a high school AU, which I’m used to writing when it comes to AU’s.

I finally got around to posting this in light of Phil’s birthday. I CAN’T BELIEVE OUR BELOVED ANGEL BEAN IS FINALLY 30. *screams* He’s getting old. We’re getting old. Jesus Christ, Phil’s finally reached the age of parenthood. It’s only a matter of time when we see Phil Jr’s walking around England lol.

Now on with the story!

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

When people use fire as a metaphor for love, I roll my eyes and silently think these people are delirious. They think love is a burning passion they allow themselves to consume them completely. Or they think love is a spontaneous combustion when two pairs of eyes are caught in a lingering stare for the first time. But those are the fools talking. Those people are blind to what fire really means.

Fire is despising the source of its ignition.

Fire is a glow you believed had completely faded, yet still remained raging within you.

Fire is a curse and a traitor, yet also a blessing and a helping hand.

Fire is what makes me fluctuate between being a dreamer and a realist.

~:~

He’s a needle in a haystack with his raven hair, cerulean eyes, and pale skin. The cafeteria is swarming with incoherent conversations between students coming in and out of the stuffy building. I stand stock still, lunch tray in hand, debating whether or not I should go talk to him.

My feet move toward the boy with no hesitation. He stares intently at me when I place my lunch tray on the table’s wooden surface and sit on the benched seat across from him.

We remain silent for several seconds before I blurt out, “I like your shirt.” He’s wearing a white t-shirt embedded with lyrics from a Panic at the Disco song.

“You like PATD?” His voice carries a heavy British accent.

“One of my favorite bands.”

A corner of his mouth curves slightly upward. “What other bands are you into?”

“Ummm… Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, All Time Low, Breaking Benjamin, Muse-”

“Whoa there. What are you, some Asian clone of me?”

I chuckle. “No, but that would be pretty epic.”

He grins. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who know Muse.”

Warmth seeps to my cheeks. “They’re one of the first bands I got into. I have a soft spot for their Origins of Symmetry album.”

“No way! That’s my favorite album too.”

I beam. Going to meet up with my friends doesn’t seem like a priority anymore. “So how come I’ve never seen you around?”

He picks up a carrot stick, dipping it into the blob of ranch dressing on the top right corner of his lunch tray, then taking a bite out of it. “I moved here from Manchester a couple weeks ago. You know, for a place where everyone want to vacation, it’s way different when you’re actually living there.”

“That’s paradise for ya. Tourists get beaches, fine accommodations, and hot hula girls. Locals get Pidgin, spam musubi, and a complex bus system.”

“I’m out of my element here.”

“You’ll learn to adjust.”

He finishes the rest of the carrot stick. “I’m Phillip by the way, but you can call me Phil.”

“Phil… got it.”

“Uh-huh. My entire first name makes me sound like a grandpa.”

I laugh. “You’re gonna be a grandpa someday anyway.”

“Hey, I’m still young! Lemme enjoy my teen years while I can.”

“Sure, Phillip.”

He sticks his tongue out to me playfully. “And what should I call you, Phil 2.0?”

“Well Mr. PATD, you can call me Dan. It’s short for Daniel.”

“Dan.” My name rolls off his lips in a way that sounds as if he has known me for years rather than a few minutes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Perhaps the school year won’t be as boring as I thought it would be.

~:~

Sam, Louise, and PJ bombard Phil with questions when I introduce him to them after school that same day.

“What’s England like?”

“How do you like Oahu so far?”

“Have you tried a malasada yet?”

“What do you think about our school?”

“Why did you move here?”

“Have you ever met Emma Watson?”

“Guys! Geez, calm your tits.” I look toward Phil apologetically. “Sorry. We don’t get to meet a lot of new students who come from outside the island.”

“It’s okay.” Phil smiles shyly at my friends. “No one’s really tried to talk to me for more than two minutes till Dan approached me. I was afraid I’d be a loner for the entire year.”

PJ whistles. “Damn, Daniel. What happened to being antisocial?”

“I prefer the term introvert,” I retort.

“You haven’t made the first move in anything since you told Sam how you felt about her,” Louise says.

Phil glances between Sam and me. “You two are boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Sam loops her arm around my elbow, pressing her chest against the side of my body. “As of a couple weeks ago, yes.”

“I didn’t know that,” Phil says, giving me a scrutinizing gaze.

I rub the back of my head. “I thought it wasn’t important to mention until you got to meet my friends in person.”

“Ah.” He nods in understanding, but I detect a hint of a different emotion in his eyes. Disappointment? Disapproval? I internally shake my head. It’s probably my usual paranoia of students’ judgments whenever they see Sam and I together. Even though Sam has been my best friend for years, anyone outside my circle of friends haven’t fully comprehend why Sam prefers to be around PJ, Louise, and I. Her near flawless looks makes her more fitting for the popular crowd rather than the nerdy emo’s.

“Well then,” Louise chimes in, shoving my momentary doubts out of my head. “Who want to go to Starbucks?”

~:~

Phil gives me a tour of his house the weekend following the first week back to school. The moment I step inside the Lester residence, I’m astonished by how lively his home is compared to mine. There are houseplants in practically every corner of the house. Polaroid photos of his family are tacked to the walls of the living room. Upstairs, in Phil’s bedroom, he has various plushies littering the floor, a full-length poster of Sarah Michelle Geller on the wall behind his bed, and even a tiny cactus displayed on his bedside drawer. His twin-sized bed is covered with a green, blue, and purple checkered bedsheet, shades I think is fitting to his colorful personality.

“Sorry it’s a little messy in here,” Phil says. “I have a lot of stuff and my new room’s not as big as my old one in Manchester.”

“It’s fine. My room’s a bit messy too.”

He smiles, picking up a Totoro plushie and dropping it on his bed. “So what’s your flat like?”

“Flat?”

“Apartment.”

“Oh.” Reminder: start learning some British slang. “Not as great as yours. Roaches creeping on the floor at night. Shitty air conditioning. Noisy ass neighbors. At least my mom makes enough as a nurse to keep a roof over my head.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s… gone.”

He frowns. “Sorry to hear that.”

I respond with a curt nod. “But you’re free to come over next weekend if you want.”

His frown disappears, morphing back to the smile that he wore earlier. “That’ll be great.”

If only you knew just how much I miss him, I think. And hate him at the same time.

~:~

There’s a paper bag from Bath and Body Works on Phil’s bedroom floor when I stay over at the Lesters on a Saturday night in mid-October. I’ve been spending most of the weekend so far doing homework and catching up with episodes of Attack on Titan and JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Sam and Louise are busy rehearsing for a PowerPoint presentation for their Modern Hawaiian History class and PJ is helping his family prepare for his cousin’s debutante, so I’ve been spending the time outside of my apartment hanging out with Phil.

“What’s with the bag?” I ask.

“Oh this?” He picks up the paper bag and empties its contents, revealing three candles and a bottle of lotion. “Mum went to Pearlridge today, so I asked her to buy these for me.”

I scan over the candle labels: Pumpkin Spice, Apple Pie, and Marshmallow Fireside. “Never pegged you for a candle person.”

“It’s a thing that runs in my family.” He picks up one of the candles. “In their uni years, my dad confessed his feelings for my mum by spelling out ‘I love you’ with candles at a beach in Liverpool. Mum loved the gesture so much, and since then, Dad’s been getting her candles on every anniversary.”

“Your dad sounds like a complete romantic.”

He nods, placing the candle on his bed. “I think candles are an excellent representation of my parents’ marriage. Their love is a candle with a flame that’ll never die.”

“They must be really happy together.”

“Twenty years and still going strong.”

Bittersweet memories of my mom, dad, my 10-year-old brother Adrian, and me surface in my mind. Thanksgivings when my dad splurged on the turkey special from Golden Coin. Christmases when we woke up at 7 AM to open gifts while watching the Macy’s Christmas Day parade. Birthdays celebrated with dinners at Max’s Restaurant. Those days are a lifetime ago, days when I still looked forward to Sundays when Dad was off from work and gave me guitar lessons.

“Yeah…” Those days are a thing of the past. On the bright side, having an absent father taught me not to be naïve and fueled my appreciation for rock music.

As if sensing my distress, Phil says, “So… wanna play some Smash Bros?”

I grin. Crushing him in one of my video games is a healthy distraction I need from my vortex of childhood memories. “I’d be stupid not to.”

~:~

When Sam suggests for me to perform for the winter pep rally, the fears I buried when I started dating her crash through my mind like a wrecking ball.

“You’re kidding,” I say in a monotone voice. We’re on my bed, Sam laying down with her dyed dirty blonde hair fanned across my Pikachu pillow and me sitting cross-legged with my guitar settled on my lap. I was in the middle of playing “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol when Sam casually brought up the question.

“I’m not.” She moves into an upright position. “Think about it. Five minutes on stage with hundreds of students cheering your name. Phil, Peej, and Lou know how talented you are. Don’t you think it’s about time to let the entire school know too?”

“No.”

She sighs. “It’s your dad, isn’t it? Danny, just because your dad was a musician doesn’t mean you’ll make the same choices he did. Besides, if being at the center of attention isn’t for you, then the pep rally can be a one-time thing. Don’t let your potential go to waste.”

I bite the inside of my mouth. A part of me is itching to live out my dream of capturing people’s souls while I perform, but the other part of me is trembling at the thought of being in my dad’s shoes. Going through with this could open up a possibility of Sam and me splitting apart.

I can’t lose Sam. Even if she isn’t my girlfriend, I can’t imagine a future without her. The Earth can be a cruel planet; I can’t navigate through it without having someone who’s equally as confused about the world as I am by my side.

She curls her arms around my neck. “I know you’re scared, but can you do it for me? For one day, can I pretend to be your rock star girlfriend sitting in the audience as you play a song dedicated to me?”

“What song do you have in mind?”

“Hmmm… a song probably everyone knows, but still fits your style.”

“So… something from Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, or Bruno Mars?”

“Yeah!” She stares at me with her puppy-dog eyes. “So will you do it?”

One pep rally won’t be the death of you. “I’ll… give it a shot.”

She squeals, peppering the side of my face with kisses. “Thank you thank you thank you! You’re gonna be great, Danny. Show those Mariah Carey wannabees that serenading isn’t dead yet.”

I laugh. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

~:~

Nerves rattle through my body when the student announcers call my name. The audience claps as I make my way onto the platform of the makeshift stage. Standing in front of the microphone stand with the Velcro strap holding my guitar against my abdomen, I position my fingers above the instrument’s strings. Looking out into the crowd, I spot Sam, Phil, PJ, and Louise grinning enthusiastically at me.

You’ll be fine. They’ll be proud of me no matter what happens.

I strum the opening notes of “Give Me Love” by Ed Sheeran. When I start to sing, my pre-performance jitters dissipates. I let my hands do the playing and the lyrics do the talking. I lose myself to the symphonious tune of the song, my heart beating rhythmically like a pendulum. Thoughts about my dad are knocked out of my head, replaced with a surge of joy as I think, Why didn’t I answer to the spotlight’s call sooner?

The gym fills with applause once my performance ends. My friends are on their feet, along with dozens of other juniors, upperclassmen, and even underclassmen.

I beam from ear to ear.

I’ve never felt so alive.

~:~

Hip-hop music pulsates across the spacious area of Chris Kendall’s house. Bodies grind on the open area of the living room where furniture was shoved aside to make room for a dance floor. Parties are definitely never on my agenda. I’m only here at Chris’s graduation party because PJ wanted to go for fun (it was an open invite), Sam and Louise wanted to go to have the full high school experience, and Phil wanted to see if a high school party in Hawaii is any different than the few he went to when he lived in England. Before my performance during the winter pep rally, I was someone that no one spared a second glance. Five months later and two more performances from the spring pep rally and junior prom under my belt, I get hellos from random students in-between class periods and invites to parties from popular students. So here I am, a red plastic cup filled with Pepsi in my hand (I have my values and know better than to take one sip of alcohol) while watching my friends dancing, breathing through my mouth to avoid sniffing the sickly scent of weed and cigarettes.

“Dan!” Phil stumbles out of the kitchen holding an empty Heineken bottle.

“Hey… Phil.” I finish the rest of my drink and toss the cup into one of the trash bags lying around next to the snack table. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“I am! Aren’t you?”

“If by watching people shamelessly doing things they might regret in the morning, sure.”

“Aw. Lighten up, mate!” His palm slaps the back of my shoulder. “Want me to get you a bottle?”

“I’ll pass… wait, how much have you had to drink?”

“Eh, couple bottles I think. Might go for a third.”

“No you aren’t.” I grab his wrist and drag him to the front door. When we’re outside, I lead him to the backyard. I don’t want to haul an intoxicated Phil back to his house. Perhaps some fresh air can sober him up.

I lay him down on his back on the grass, then sit down next to him. His mouth forms into a lazy smile.

“You look pretty, Dan.”

I laugh. “I’m not a girl, dude.”

“What a shame. You’d be my perfect Buffy.”

“You and your Buffy obsession.”

“Yeah… but I love you more than Buffy.”

My blood goes cold. He isn’t saying what I think he’s saying, is he?

Phil takes my silence as a sign for him to continue. “Why did I meet a perfect guy who’s taken? You’re so smart and talented and so good at video games. I had so much hope the first time we met that we could someday be something more, then I find out you have a girlfriend and I had to learn how to just be friends with an impossible dream.” He sighs. “Why did it have to be you I fell in love with?”

Suddenly, he takes a fistful of my shirt and yanks me down onto him. I fall on top of him, my face inches away from his.

“I… love you,” he mumbles before his eyelids flutter close.

I roll myself off from his body, then scramble to sit up and scoot away from him. Heat rushes to my face, my own body quivering from his words.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

I touch my lips. He may not have kissed me, but his words feel like he did.

~:~ One week has passed since Chris’s party.

There’s no one I can tell about Phil’s drunk confession. He has no recollection of what he told me, and I have no clue if what he said is true. There’s a likelihood it isn’t. People can say all sorts of unpredictable things when they’re shitfaced drunk and not mean any of it.

Yeah right. No one says “I love you” to me without being serious.

“Fancy playing Mario Kart while we wait for the others?” Phil asks. We’re sitting on the sofa in my living room, waiting for Sam, Louise, and PJ to arrive. The five of us aren’t in the mood of going out today, so we planned a casual indoor hangout in my apartment.

“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll go get us some drinks.”

“Grab me an iced tea, yeah?”

I smile. After living in Oahu for nearly a year, Phil gradually got himself addicted to Hawaiian Sun drinks. “You’re in luck. Mom bought a fresh stock just for you.”

I leave Phil to peruse my video game collection under the TV stand and head to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator door and grab two cans of Hawaiian Sun: an Iced Tea for Phil and a Lilikoi for me. Carrying the cans back into the living room, I’m putting the two drinks on the coffee table when I hear three knocks on the door.

That bus ride was quick. I dash to the front door. Upon unlocking it, the face that greets me is one I least expect to see.

“Daniel.” The way he speaks my name has the familiar tenderness that would gravitate me into his arms when I was in elementary school. But hearing his voice now is a thousand needles stabbing at my heart all at once. My lungs shrivel at the pain scorching my chest.

I can’t breathe. My vision is blurring from months of pent-up resentment. Not knowing what to do, I back away and rush to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I collapse on the floor and bury my fingers in my hair. This cannot be happening to me.

A few minutes later, I hear the door swing open.

“Mate!” Phil kneels down in front of me, his face contorted into a concerned expression. “You look like rubbish.”

“No shit.”

“That guy at the door told me he’s your father. Is it true?”

I remove my hands from my head. How he could be staying so goddamn calm? He should be furious at me for lying to him, not composed and acting like I didn’t drop a bomb on him.

“He is,” I whisper.

“You said he was gone.” “He was, but he may as well be dead to me.”

“Why? What did he do to you?”

I swallow my anger threatening to rise again. “He left me, alright? He left my family for some woman named Erica he met on the streets while we were on vacation for the summer in the Philippines when I was nine. They were contacting each other behind our backs after we left and Mom caught ‘em together at Ala Moana a year later when Erica came to visit him. Mom and Dad ended up getting divorced the summer before I was in 7th grade, just shy of my 12th birthday. He left for the Philippines afterward and he’s been living there with Erica since.”

Phil doesn’t immediately respond, just staring at me in shock. I use his silence to continue my rant.

“Music is important to me because of my dad. He played all sorts of gigs when he was my age, but gave up his musician dream so he could support my mom when she was pregnant with me. He taught me how to play a guitar and got me into rock music when he told me rock is music in its rawest form.” I direct my attention to the vinyl cover of Muse’s Origins of Symmetry album nailed next to the window. “Dad’s the reason why I love that album. He bought it for me on my 7th birthday. I listened to that record on repeat after the divorce and was what got me through the first few year without him.”

“And you hadn’t seen him since the divorce,” Phil concludes.

I shake my head. “He came once during the holidays when I was in 9th grade. I pretty much avoided talking to him the whole time.”

The wake of a wildfire is outside of my bedroom. He’s the cause of why my family is a mess. He chose another woman over us. How can I forgive the man who destroyed my picture-perfect family? How can I let go of the hurt I’m still feeling four years later?

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” Phil says.

I turn my head to look at Phil, vulnerability running through my veins. “I’m a horrible person. I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I kept it a secret because I didn’t want you to know how crappy my life really is.”

“Again, not blaming you.” He drapes his arm across my shoulders. “I get that you felt betrayed by your dad, and nothing can erase the pain you still feel. But he’s out there right now. He flew whatever miles it is from the Philippines to Hawaii to see you. Nothing’s hunky-dory between you two, but you can still fix things with him. I saw how crushed he looked when you ran off on him like that. He wants to make things right. I’m not saying you should outright forgive him, but I think you should give him a second chance. Let him be a father to you while he still has healthy lungs and isn’t in a wheelchair.”

I look into his eyes, his blue orbs looking back at me with a softness that douses my anger away. As tension rolls off my shoulders, the memory of his drunk confession flashes through my mind.

“Why did it have to be you I fell in love with?”

Did Dad or Erica ever speak the exact same sentence to each other at one point in their relationship? What was it about Erica that drew my dad to him? How did Dad know he loved Erica more than my mom? I don’t know the answer to those questions. I don’t know why Mom didn’t fight for her right to remain as Dad’s wife. I don’t know how Erica’s family reacted when they learned about her relationship with a married man. I don’t know much about their relationship, other than how they met and how they loved each other to a point of sacrificing their family’s trust to be with each other.

The clarity hits me like a curveball.

Love is an emotion that can’t be tamed. It can blind us, be an intense slap to the face, hurt us in any way possible, but it can never leave us completely empty. It’s why I’m still affected by my dad’s choices. It’s why I still prefer rock over any other genre of music, even when it was Dad’s preferred music style. It’s why there’s still fire raging inside me whenever I think about Dad. I still love him amidst the ache he imprinted in my heart. It’s why, as I gaze into Phil’s vibrant eyes that always seem to contain a gentleness I usually don’t see in males, I finally understand what I’ve been fearing all along. I wasn’t afraid of thinking about the past and making the same wrong choices as my dad; I was afraid of listening to the other side of a story and discovering things that may have been right in front of me all along.

“Go talk to him,” he murmurs, drawing his arm away from me. The loss of his friendly touch leaves a dull ache in my chest.

It’s time to face the music.

“Mind if you come with me?”

“Of course. Did you think I was planning to let you face him alone?”

Fireflies stir in my stomach. Once I deal with the person outside this room, I’ll think about what these fireflies mean. I don’t know why the fireflies popped up unexpectedly, but I sort of like it.

Phil helps me stand, staying close to me as I open the door. We walk into the living room, where I find Dad sitting on the sofa. I take a deep breath, my hand taking purchase on Phil’s arm. His presence is my gravity, helping me to control negativity in my emotions. If I’m going to make an effort to patch things up, I can’t go berserk if I feel the slightest agitation.

“Dad?”

I hear his breath hitch when he turns his head to the direction of my voice. Same dark chocolate eyes. Same unruly brunette hair. Same mole marked on the ridge of his nose. I’m looking at an older version of myself, albeit as someone wiser that has seen more of the world. That, and I can’t stand my natural messy hair. I can’t leave the house without using my hair straightener.

“Anak,” he says softly.

The fireflies glow for a brief second.

“It’s okay,” Phil whispers. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

Dad glances toward Phil. “This is your friend, right?”

Phil gives an awkward wave at Dad. “Hi. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself earlier. I’m Phillip, Phil for short.”

“Phil … it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Howell.”

I can’t help the low chuckle that escapes my lips. “This isn’t Pride and Prejudice, dude.”

Phil laughs. “What? This is a momentous occasion, Dan. This is more nerve-wracking than making a first impression to my girlfriend’s parents.”

“You never even had a girlfriend.”

“I will one day.”

For some reason, I’m a bit upset by his response. So did his drunk confession mean nothing? Or is he making an Oscar-worthy ruse to cover up his feelings? My effort to analyze his emotions is only confusing me further.

Dad clears his throat. Right. Dad first, Phil later.

“Anyway-” I say, “Dad, what are you doing here all of a sudden? If you’re looking for Mom, she won’t be home from work till around six.”

“I’m aware of that. I actually wanted to talk to you first, if it’s okay,” Dad replies.

“Fine, but Phil stays with us.”

“I see no problem with that.”

Phil and I make our way over to the sofa, my hand still on Phil’s arm. Dad moves to give us room, leaving me to sit in the middle so Dad is to my left and Phil is to my right.

“Where’s Erica?” I begin.

Dad shakes his head. “I asked her to come, but she thought it would be best for me to be here alone.”

“How long will you stay?”

“A week, two weeks at the most.”

“Dad…” I move my hand from Phil’s arm to his jean-covered thigh. “Ummm… this might sound out of the blue, but how did you know you were in love with Erica?”

“Oh… to be honest, Jessica was the reason why,” he tells me sheepishly.

“Mom?” I say incredulously. “But… how?”

He smiles, leaning back on the sofa. “In many ways, Erica is a lot like your mother. She put her studies first, cared about her family more than anything else, and worked hard to give herself a good future. She became an attorney to provide for her family, and she cherishes her job so much, though she told me more than once she felt she was missing something from her life. She didn’t know what it was until she reunited with her childhood friend.”

“Who was that?”

“Your mother.”

“Wait… what? I thought Mom and Erica were strangers until you got together with Erica.”

“Your mother and I only said that because we thought you weren’t ready for the truth.”

“Dad! I was 11! I watched enough episodes of Maalala Mo Kaya to know what reality is about.”

He looks at me forlornly. “I know that now, anak. I’m sorry.”

I sigh. “I’m turning 17 next week. Whatever secret you’re keeping from me, I wanna hear it.”

He nods. The story he tells me drastically alters my perspective of Dad.

Mom and Erica knew each other because they were best friends when they were kids and lost touch with each other after Mom immigrated from Cebu to Honolulu when she was eight.

Dad courted Erica in high school. When he got accepted into an exchange program for the University of Hawaii in Manoa, he made a promise with Erica to go on a date with her once he graduated from college and moved back home.

During his third year at UH Manoa, he met Mom during an open mic night at a bar in Waikiki. Mom was in UH Manoa’s nursing program and skipped a night of studying to hang out with her friends at the bar that Dad had his gig at.

Mom and Dad became friends, which gradually turned into love.

Dad was guilty about breaking his promise to Erica, but Erica understood and she wished the best for him and Mom.

Parenthood treated Mom and Dad well when they had me and Adrian.

Then came the Philippine vacation.

Dad hadn’t communicated with Erica since he told her about his relationship with Mom, so he was surprised when he bumped into her at a Chow King restaurant while buying lunch for Mom, Adrian, and me. They exchanged phone numbers and used long-distance phone-lines for communication over the course of a year, where they found themselves revisiting their past and falling in love with each other all over again.

During winter break of my 5th grade year, Erica lied to her parents about wanting to spend Christmas and New Years with a friend in America so she could see Dad, even if it was just for a few days and a majority of her time would be spent cooped up in her hotel room at Ala Moana Hotel. On that fateful day when Mom saw Dad and Erica together, she was at Ala Moana Shopping Center to do some last-minute shopping while she supposedly thought Dad was helping my Tito Kevin pick out a gift for my Aunt Elizabeth. As soon as Mom exited from Macy’s, she witnessed Dad and Erica holding hands while sitting at one of the tables outside the neighboring Starbucks. Erica saw Mom and that was when all hell broke loose. Mom tried not to cause a scene at Ala Moana, but she had a crying fit when she learned that Dad’s mistress and her childhood friend, Erica Bautista, were the same woman.

That night, when I overheard my parents arguing but Mom told us she and Dad were disagreeing on something about bills, it was really about Mom’s reaction to finding out about the affair.

For months, they kept the issue a secret from Adrian and me. Mom swallowed her pride, staying in the sidelines as she encouraged Dad to go after his true love. The issue loomed like a raincloud over their heads once Dad chose Erica over Mom, and that raincloud lingered until Mom and Dad finally told me about Erica and their mutual decision to file for divorce.

Unfortunately, that raincloud only transferred over me, towering over my own head and remaining there to this day.

“Damn” is all I can say when Dad finishes speaking.

The pieces are coming together.

It was never supposed to be Mom and Dad.

If Dad never met Mom, it would have been Dad and Erica.

It’s a classic case of how wrong timing can affect even the strongest of relationships.

“Fucking hell,” Phil breathes. Hearing him swear surprises me. He rarely swears, and when he does, it’s when he’s incredibly emotional about something.

“I didn’t tell you this because I thought you might dislike Erica more if I told you the truth,” Dad tells me.

Everything coming out of Dad’s mouth sheds more authenticity to the entire situation. All this time, Dad was never at fault. It wasn’t his fault that Mom was an intervention who prevented him from keeping his promise to Erica. It wasn’t his fault for reaching a point where he had to choose between his wife and kids over a woman his heart subconsciously still yearned for. It wasn’t his fault for allowing his heart to direct him down a path that led him to hurt those he cared about. Everything happens for a reason, and it’s the reason why I’m existing in the first place. If his life went according to plan, I wouldn’t have ever taken my first breath in this world.

Love isn’t always kind. It isn’t an easy stroll through the park or a cookie to steal from a cookie jar. It’s having to pay 75 cents for a gumball from one of those machines in supermarkets or trying to find parking during Black Friday at any mall. Love always comes with a price. For Dad, the price for his happiness with one woman is the trust he has from those he loves the most.

“That was a possibility,” I say. “Or I could’ve appreciated her role in your life. We’ll never know. Either way, it wouldn’t have changed how much you love Erica.”

Dad nods in agreement. “Erica hasn’t changed how much I love you, Adrian, and your Mom. It was wrong of me to leave you how I did, but I’m here to right my wrong.”

The fire in my chest blazes more furiously than it ever has before. Flames send the fireflies in my stomach glimmering in a flurry of excitement, sending my emotions in a tailspin.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a good father ever since I moved to the Philippines,” Dad continues. “It wasn’t my intention for you to think I didn’t care about you anymore, but it was my way to give you space. You were angry at me, and I believed distance was the solution to ease your anger. When you refused to speak to me when I spent Christmas with you on your first year of high school, I realized the distance led you to resent me more. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, anak. I’m tired of being away from you. My life may be in the Philippines, but my heart belongs here with our family.”

My insides melt. These are the words I longed to hear Dad say. I’d be a fool if I ignored my subconscious whispering how I should stop being hostile and allow my dad to make up for lost time.

“Did you steal that line from a Justin Bieber song?” I joke.

Hope swims in Dad’s eyes. “So you forgive me?”

“Not… exactly,” I answer hesitantly. “But we have two weeks. We can go around the island like we used to.”

I’m not looking at the enemy anymore. For the first time in years, I’m looking at my idol, the man who rooted my dedication to music, the greatest hero I’ve ever known.

A smile cracks on Dad’s face. “Your old man is looking forward to that.”

~:~

Summers brings goodbyes, hope, and refreshing starts. Four years ago, summer was bidding a reluctant farewell to the perfect family I had. One year ago, summer was sharing my first kiss with a girl who meant more to me than my best friend. This summer, a new chapter with a man I granted a second shot at redemption opened up, and an opportunity to follow my heart like every protagonist in a cheesy YA novel is ushering in a wave of anticipation of what the vast unknown will bring.

The sky is enveloped by a murky blanket of gleaming stars and a moon illuminating the night. Sitting cross-legged on the rooftop of my apartment complex, I fish out another roll of Smarties from my jacket pocket. I unravel the plastic packaging and shove pieces of the colorful candy into my mouth, savoring its sweet, tangy mixture. Aside from the occasional car zooming along the streets at midnight, I relish the relative silence. My mind is still reeling over all the things that occurred since Dad showed up at the front door of my apartment.

The two weeks that Dad was here was a hodgepodge of family beach trips and father-son visits to various music stores around the island. He shared tales of his life with Erica in Manila, and in return, I shared my memories about Sam and my friends over the last four years. Those two weeks were us being mismatched pieces slowly fusing together to create the complete puzzle, with several holes that are yet to be filled. By the time he flew back to the Philippines, I was closer to the point of one hundred percent forgiving him. It’ll take me months before I can truly move on from the past, but I’m getting there. Time will tell when that day will come.

After Dad left, I took the time to figure out my feelings for Sam and Phil. Before I met Phil, I thought Sam was my endgame. I saw a future with her after high school. I visualized the two of us moving in together, having a beachside wedding, honeymooning in Paris, and raising our kids with our brown or black hair and brown eyes. But after Chris’s party and the long conversation I had with Dad, I questioned where my heart belonged. Sam was everything a boy could ever want for a girlfriend, someone who Mom was ecstatic about someday watching me say “I do” to, someone who filled that empty void when Dad left. Phil, on the other hand, was everything I never knew existed as an option for me, someone who enamored me since day one and opened up parts of me that I never showed to anyone aside from Sam, PJ, and Louise, someone who was the reason why I willingly mended my relationship with Dad.

I was confused. Do I choose safety with the anchor that has always kept me grounded, or do I choose happiness with the candle who sparked an incandescence within me that not even Sam or my friends were able to light up?

A few hours ago, on a park bench with the sun dipping down in the horizon, I broke up with Sam. It was a difficult choice that I nearly backed down from doing, but it was one Dad would be proud of me for doing. Being in a position of dumping my girlfriend made me understand why it was hard for Dad to divorce Mom. True love isn’t measured by years or the number of people that approve of the relationship; true love is the person who makes your heartbeat stutter and makes you smile to any love song that plays on the radio, no matter how cliché the lyrics are. Love is the fire that ignites your soul and what makes you the best person you can be.

Despite the tears that were shed, Sam understood. In fact, she had a hunch that Phil harbored feelings for me. She knew it was a matter of time before I caught on and braced herself for the feasible day where I could return his feelings. Following a friendly hug, we left the park knowing that even though we aren’t a couple anymore, our friendship will never fade. We’ve always been there for each other; we won’t let our breakup drive a wedge between us.

“Dan?”

I turn around. Phil stands behind me, his ruffled raven hair reflected under the moonlight and his blue irises flickering with uncertainty. We’re heading back to school next week, so my friends and I are spending our last few days of summer break with a weekend-long sleepover in my apartment.

“Yo.”

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods, then moves to sit directly across from me, mirroring my sitting position.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

I chew the remaining chunks of Smarties in my mouth and swallow. “How can I? We’re seniors. We have one more year in high school before we’re thrust into adulthood and we’re little fishes trying to swim away from huge-ass sharks. Not that I’m ready to grow up, but my teen years are moving way too quick and I need time to slow down just a bit.”

He chuckles. “True. I’m not ready for senioritis to bite me in the bum yet. But I think that’s not what you’re really worried about.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You have a few candy wrappers next to you. You don’t binge-eat sweets unless you’re thinking really hard about something.”

He’s right. My sweet tooth is my version of stress-eating.

“You’re not wrong,” I say. “Truth is, you’re kinda the reason why I’m this close to getting a cavity.”

“How come?”

“Well… how else do you cope with realizing you love someone who’s so close yet so far beyond your grasp?”

“What? Dan, what Shojo anime have you been watching lately?”

“None. I just… God, I’ll just say it. I like you, Phil. I really, really like you and I might even love you, but I don’t know if I do yet ‘cause it’s too soon to tell.” I bend my legs so my knees are curled to my chest and my chin is on my kneecaps. “Fate is so screwed up. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I do. You’re strangely interesting and you get me so well. You’re the ying to my yang. You complete me, and I can’t live with the idea of seeing you with someone else. It’s so selfish of me since I already had Sam, but there’s something about you that wants you more than a friend. And… yeah.”

He blinks. “Whoa.”

“I know. Now let me down easy so we can forget I said any of that and I can start dealing with rejection.”

“Rejection? Dan, what are you, blind? I’ve loved you the moment you approached me and said, and I quote ‘I like your shirt.’”

“You still remember that?”

“How can I? It was love at first sight.”

“Love at first sight? This isn’t the 19th century.”

“Not according to the swiping on Tinder.”

I laugh. Being with Phil is easy. He’s carefree and doesn’t mind my wit. Even Sam has her occasions of being offended by my snark.

“I’m serious though. I do love you.” He leans closer, his hand reaching out to rest on top of mine. “I love how you can speak like a wise old philosopher. I don’t know how I went most of my life without you, because you’re what I was missing out on all this time. You came into my life with a purpose. I don’t know what I did to deserve you as a friend, but whatever it is, having you around made my life so much better.”

I look down at our entwined fingers. Holding his hand is comforting, a gesture that should be so wrong yet feels so right. This is what tadhana is. Destiny works in mysterious ways. As our fingers entwine, I’m reminded by how touching him soothed me when I spoke to Dad. He was my gravity then, and he’s my gravity now. The gravity is a force that’s much more powerful than I foresaw.

“Are you sure about this?” I murmur. “I’ve already hurt Sam. I don’t want to hurt you too if this doesn’t work out.”

“It will.” His eyes sharpen with conviction. “I won’t let anyone ruin what we have. Even if the universe hates what we are, I won’t ever hate you.” He releases my hands and maneuvers them to caress my cheeks. “I love you, Dan.”

I nod. Someday, I’ll be able to repeat those three words back to him.

Because when our lips meet and my stomach is churning with gentle waves, I’m certain that what Phil and I have is a fire that’ll never be extinguished.

What we have is real and here to stay.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

For any of you that read any of my former phanfics, I used a few lines from The Story of Us and Don’t You Wonder. I couldn’t resist using my one-liners while I wrote this.

Anak means “my son/daughter” and tadhana means “destiny.” I can’t speak Filipino fluently, but I do understand some of the language.

Maalala Mo Kaya is an ongoing Filipino TV series that showcases real-life stories of celebrities and average people like us. Dan’s family background was highly inspired by numerous eps I watched of MMK involving broken families.

Hope ya’ll enjoyed this! I had fun incorporating aspects of the “local” life in Hawaii, especially since the release of Pokemon Sun and Moon. If you haven’t tried a malasada, you should. There’s a reason why Hau loves ‘em. Don’t give spam such a hard time, because I eat spam musubi’s often and they’re delicious. And the bus system? Trust me, if you aren’t sure familiar with public transportation involving the bus system, you’re easily gonna get lost. Heaven knows how many tourists I witnessed questioning what bus to catch. Hell, even a local like me sometimes has to consult Google Maps to figure out what bus to ride.

Originally, I approached this story with a love triangle angle, but it was my professor who recommended I should try focusing on a father-son relationship instead. Best decision ever, because writing the story that way felt way more real.

~ AA