suncity - C.B.
genre: angst, fluff at the beginning?
word count : 1675
pairing : female! reader x corbyn besson
tags : @jonahmaraisstuff @ho-ho-hemmings @sunflowermotel @flowersforseavey @blissfulblake @tigerreece @0totally-tubular0 @5sos-seavey @katie-avery @yo-its-prettymuch-woohoo @seaveyssparkle @lacefuly
description: don’t let the city break your heart. ( loosely based off of suncity by khalid )
The party was not exactly something Corbyn had been excited about. They had just wrapped up a set in Austin, and Zach had dragged the boys out to El Paso to meet up with his friends. Corbyn had been tired the entire grueling ride there and he was tired now, seated on a cool leather couch in somebody he didn’t know’s house. His legs were spread, and he leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. Zach and Jack had disappeared when they had entered the house and were probably too gone by now to remember the name of their own band, Jonah was on facetime with his girlfriend, and Daniel was passed out on the couch next to Corbyn, too tired to care about the way too loud music. The lyrics were unintelligible, covered up by people laughing and yelling to each other. But the beat was strong, he could feel every pulse in his chest. Neon lights flashed around him, some cheap spotlights in the corners of the room. They bathed the room in purple, then orange, then red, then back to purple. Corbyn lifted his red solo cup to his lips and took a swig, wincing at the bitter taste. He was not in the right mood to be drinking. The lights flashed purple when he saw her.
Her dress was a tangerine orange, tight around her frame. It tied in the front, leaving a cutout just above her midriff. A strap hung lazily off her shoulder, bouncing as she jumped around, neon pink heels in hand. Her hair shook, messed up, previously immaculately done curls now messily jumping with her. Familiar guitar strokes pumped through the house as she turned, hair swinging around she and caught him watching her. She winked at him, trained strawberry-painted lips tipping into a smirk. Suddenly he was in the right mood to be drinking. He watched her as she walked over to him, heels swinging in one hand. She plopped next to him, but not before tucking a pillow under Daniel’s head. Corbyn’s brow furrowed at this, but he smiled. From what he knew, you didn’t even know Daniel. You reached down to rub at your aching feet before smiling at Corbyn, eyes twinkling in the poorly lit room.
“So, where you from, city-boy?”
Before he knew it, she was pulling him, grabbing his hand, up the stairs. They entered a room, and Corbyn stared at her for a second as she pushed a window open, leaving her heels inside the room before climbing over the window sill and out onto the roof below. Corbyn followed her. The roof was quiet, and they both sat, legs hanging over the edge. The moon-light washed over them, adding to the peace of the whole scene.
“So, when do you go back to LA?” She broke the quiet.
“Tomorrow we leave El Paso. But we won’t go back to LA for a while. Few months.”
She nodded, watching cars pass under the streetlight. Corbyn just watched her.
“How are you liking El Paso?” She looked at him, smiling a little.
He licked his lips.
“It’s, uh. It’s beautiful.” Corbyn hadn’t even seen much of El Paso. All he saw was her.
She laughed, nodding.
“Suncity is, it’s magical. It’s one of those cities. You either fall in love with it and embrace that, or just,” she laughed, “i don’t know, get your heartbroken.”
When Corbyn didn’t respond, she kept going.
“If you let it, it’ll show you beautiful things. Or it’ll forever be what could’ve been beautiful. It’s what you let it be.”
Corbyn nodded, encapsulated by her voice.
“I fell in love with it. It’s free. It’s fast. It’s,” she turned to him, giggling as she mocked him, “beautiful.”
Corbyn left happily that night, with a kiss on the cheek and a phone number to text which he gladly did the next day. And the day after. And for the rest of the week. And then the texts turned into snapchats, then 4 AM calls, and all of a sudden they were confessing their feelings a second behind the lag of a facetime call.
The first month was steady. They were dipping into the waters, deciding boundaries and becoming comfortable.
From there, everything built up. They really did like each other, both of them wanted to see where it was going. But 802 miles between them wasn’t exactly helping their cause.
Corbyn strummed on his guitar, humming a tune to himself.
“Corb?” she muttered.
He placed a hand over the strings, silencing the music. “Yeah?”
“Play me something?”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” he nodded, “Close your eyes, love.” He strummed slow, peaceful chords, quiet words tumbled out of his mouth.
She sighed contently. “I can’t do this, bear.”
The mumble-singing stopped as Corbyn frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t not be with you.”
He took a deep breath, thumping his hand on his guitar. “You could always come move in with us?”
“You’d let me?” She smiled softly. He did too.
“So, it’s good? Start packing, get here ASAP.”
“I’ll be there ASAP,” she giggled, “I love you, bye!” She waved enthusiastically and he smiled as she ended the call.
And she really was there ASAP. Only a couple weeks later, Corbyn was helping her unpack her things into the house, helping her pin her Heathers poster to the wall of his bedroom.
And they were happy. They really were. She stayed at his place with him. Well, with him in the sense that he lived there too. He wasn’t really home much. But they were happy.
She made a few friends. Tate. Gabbie. Both of them tried to accept her as one of their own but they weren’t the girls back home. They didn’t really know her.
She would often wander the house, cleaning to give herself something to do. Flipping through Corbyn’s photo albums and looking at family photos. She dripped a few tears as she remembered her younger brothers who she hadn’t seen in eternity. Okay, 3 months.
Basically eternity.
And she tried. She tried so hard. To be happy. For Corbyn, who was too blinded by her smile to see that it never reached her eyes. For her parents, who called everyday to make sure she was safe, but tended to forget to ask if she was okay. For Tate and Gabbie, who could never have even noticed that the bags under her eyes weren’t from “late night trysts” with her blond boyfriend, but sleeping with her back to him so he couldn’t see her cry instead.
But it didn’t work. She could feel it eating away at her bones. The unfamiliarity of the city, the homesickness she felt for El Paso, the need to walk into her favorite diner and see the sunset off that huge hill one last time. Or again and again and again until it was seared into her memory.
So, that night at dinner, she tried to sear him into her memory instead. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he leaned over the small table to whisper about the family at the table behind him. The way his hair fell after he ran a hand through it. The sparkle in his eyes when fans came up to him to take photos and the way he always gave them what they wanted.
She wished, so, so bad, that she could’ve given him what he wanted.
She tried to act like it was okay. She wiped away every tear that fell before Corbyn could even notice. She agreed that they should go bowling with the boys next week, even though she knew she wouldn’t be here to. She let him go on believing it was okay. Because she knew she couldn’t see the hurt in his face when he found out it wasn’t.
She laid next to him until he was asleep. And then she packed. She checked over the house one last time and her eyes stopped on the albums. The small one she had filled with her favorite pictures from all of his family albums. And she couldn’t leave it behind. She couldn’t leave every single piece of him behind so she buried it into her bag.
And she kissed him goodbye.
She stepped into the cold air outside his apartment, closing the door behind her softly. His favorite hoodie was still on her.
She took her bag to the staircase and she paused. She took out her phone and she sat down on the steps. She called his number and set the phone next to her.
She could hear his phone ringing, only 15 feet away, just behind that door. She wasn’t stupid. She knew he wasn’t going to wake up to get it. The phone went to voicemail.
“You’ve reached Corbyn. Drop your message at the beep!”
She sniffles.
“Hi, baby. I know. I know. And I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” She sobbed into her hands. “I can’t take it, Corb. I thought i was ready to leave Suncity, to leave home, but I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. You have to understand, I couldn’t stay here. It was never you. Please, for a second, don’t ever blame yourself. It was never you. I let the city break me, Corbyn.” She gasped for air. “Do you remember the night we met? I told you you’ll either fall in love with that city, or you’ll let it break your heart. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry it broke your heart. I loved you. Don’t ever think I didn’t love you. I’m sorry i had to this, and I’m sorry I can’t go bowling with the boys next week. Tell them I love them, too.” She watched the Uber pull up in front of the building. “I’m going home, baby. I’ll be safe, I promise. Please, when you get this, promise you’ll be okay. I don’t even know if I will, but please, for me. Yeah. You’re gonna be okay. Okay. Bye, Corbyn.”
