A ‘push through the pain’ kinda guy, Seungcheol will push himself until he is physically stopped, either by management, his members, or his own body. He is the eldest, the leader… he needs to be strong all the time, right? (Hint: not true)
Easily overwhelmed when he doesn’t feel well. Prone to stress headaches, and has pushed himself to higher fevers by stressing too much about being sick.
Voice gets deeper whenever he’s even slightly congested. He’s been told numerous times it’s actually rather hot, but Seungcheol doesn’t want to hear that when his head feels like it's filled with concrete
Seungcheol prefers to be left alone when he’s sick to avoid spreading germs. But he also won’t refuse cuddles, so… it’s a difficult battle.
Wants to be whiny SO BAD - Cheol’s inner monologue is all “woe is me, this is the worst thing that’s ever befallen anyone,” Victorian child levels of drama. BUT he also can’t bring himself to be outwardly needy, it's just not who he is. So he RARELY actually expresses any of those thoughts. You can catch him pouting into space, but if you ask what he’s thinking about, he’ll snap out it.
Loses his appetite. That’s a major warning to the members that their leader is coming down with something. Has to be reminded to eat, or sometimes force fed, so he gets the nutrients his immune system needs
Wonwoo
One of the weaker immune systems in the group, Wonwoo catches almost anything the members bring into the dorm (unless very strict precautions are taken!) He tends to come down with something once a tour, twice a winter, and after every other plane ride or so. Usually it's just a small cold or something he can work through in a day or two. But it's annoying, and he wishes his immune system was less of a brat and responded to all the preventative vitamins he takes.
The sleepiest sickie, Wonwoo wants nothing more than to be laying down, or at the very least sitting, when he's sick. Fatigue is a main symptom for him, no matter the illness, and it's usually accompanied by severe body aches, even without a fever. The boy just wants to curl into a ball and sleep it off.
Throws on a mask, pops some meds, and soldiers through his schedules. Wonwoo is not one to complain, and will go about his day as normal, just with a little more coughing mixed in. He HATES disrupting others' schedules, and will avoid it whenever possible.
Very easily embarrassed, and does not like attention drawn to his symptoms or his illness at all. Often attempts to stifle sneezes so no one notices - often fails, but the members know to not make 'a deal' out of it. Just wrap him up in a blanket and let him be.
Voice gets even deeper when he's congested, or has a sore throat, and he revels in that more than Seungcheol does. Wonwoo once said he think he looks sexier when he's sick, which he's honestly told himself because he's under the weather so often (comparatively.)
Mingyu
Hello, Patient Zero! Mingyu has been responsible for starting roughly 90% of the full-group epidemics that have swept the Seventeen dorm over the years. This is for three reasons. First, he is hopelessly bad at covering his mouth. Second, he has the world's most effective puppy dog eyes. And third, he needs to be close to people when he isn't feeling well, or his anxiety will spiral. A dangerous combination.
Also... very bad at determining when he's actually sick. Mingyu is the guy who says 'it's just allergies' when he's been sneezing all day, and wakes up with a fever. He's the guy who says 'hm, my stomach is a little unsettled. Probably cause I haven't had enough water,' and then throws up almost immediately after. For someone so fit and physically active, Mingyu is NOT on the same page as his immune system, and it shows.
Very easily upset when he isn't feeling his best. Mingyu will assume the worst, that he's failed and ruined everything, and will cry about it. Even if he doesn't want to cry, he will.
Runs hot naturally, so fevers climb high and take him out very quickly. The kind of sickie to bundle up in all the layers one minute, and violently rip them off the next.
Has to be physically removed from the kitchen. He just loves to cook, it makes him feel normal, but the others physically cannot have such a biohazard in their common space/around their food.
Vernon/Hansol
An unsurprisingly chill, easy patient. Will not hide being sick, will work or sit out depending on what he's told to do, will take medicine without complaint. It’s just a part of life. Unless….
The most emetophobic member - does not do well with others vomiting, and is an absolutely anxious mess when he’s the one doing it. Gets panicky when a member even mentions being remotely nauseous, and suffers panic attacks if he starts to feel off.
Very conscious of germs, and does his best to be as sanitary as possible. It's not that he's a germaphobe, per say, but Hansol's just more dialed into that kinda stuff, and gets grossed out when others aren't. So you can be sure that he always covers his mouth and cleans up any used cups/tissues/etc. Would die of shame if someone else got sick from him being careless (if they cuddle him, Hansol refuses to be held responsible.)
Joshua is his comfort person. Hansol will accept care and cuddles from any member, but he prefers Joshua's presence when he's unwell. Has been known to cry and push anyone but Joshua the few time he's been really sick.
A sick Hansol is either SO HERE for shenanigans or NOT HERE for anyone's bullshit. He is either the silliest boy (inhibitions down) or a miserable, agitated mess (patience completely gone). Either giggling uncontrollably or snapping at nothing. Will cry if it's the latter and he realizes how out of line he is (the members know by now Hansol doesn't mean anything he says when he has a fever, so they've learned to role with it.)
summary: a piano prodigy had captured the eye of jj ever since they were young, but their friendship is constantly up and down. she claims she's interested in piano and piano only, but (un) fortunately the heart wants what it wants.
word count: 18.8k (tad of a slow burn)
content warnings: drinking & drug use, angst if you squint, cursing, crying, miscommunication-ish, reader being kinda cold, anxiety, "original songs" are mainly by Taylor Swift, all songs linked
loosely inspired by Charlie Brown's "Schroeder and Lucy"
Enjoy!
"OH, SCHRODER!"
The girl had barely sat down. Her sheet music wasn't on the music desk. Her favorite ballpoint pen hadn't been laid in front of it, ensuring the AC didn't blow the pages. Her fingers hadn't been cracked or stretched out. Her iced matcha with almond milk hadn't even begun to condense.
She let out a sigh.
Beginning piano at just two years old had certainly captured much attention of the young girl and as she grew, she adapted to the name of "prodigy" that had been placed on her. With that name, she had gotten everything from people who wanted to see her "succeed" or at least appear to care about her in order to up their appearances. Everything from a brand new piano to music classes with composers and pianists from Juilliard and entry to every performance she wanted to see was given into the palm of her hand.
Everything.
Including two free periods at the beginning and at the end of her school day in the music room in order to practice. She had barely brought up the suggestion to the Board of Education of Kildare, the ones receiving paychecks from the government because of her interest in the arts and was the reason for funding in the school, and she already had a cleared out schedule in her hands.
The room was to be spotless and cleared out for her.
And only her.
And yet that didn't stop people from disturbing her.
"Yes, Maybank?" She said refraining from calling him "Lucy", but a minor laugh made its way to the end.
It wasn't even nine in the morning. She was surprised he was up that early as he spends most of his time in art sleeping in the back. Not that she takes notice or anything. She's at the table next to him and he snores a little. And it wasn't like she could ignore him - not like they were friends, but they weren't enemies.
Frenemies.
"Aw shucks, how'd you know it was me?" He jogged up the steps onto the miniature stage that was implemented in the music room.
"Well no one else bothers like you do in the morning. So," She slammed down her sheet music on the top of the piano, letting the sound echo before replying with a sarcastic smile, "lucky guess."
"Didn't know I was so important to you." JJ leaned against her piano, crossing his ankles and his arms. She wanted to whack his backwards hat off his head.
"Believe me, you aren't. And now you are just bothering." She huffed, placing everything in order before massaging her hands. When she noticed that he stayed put, like always, she rolled her eyes, "Don't you have algebra right now or something?"
"Something." He shrugged.
He always did this. He always came in, unannounced, and tried talking her up and distracting her. She'd understand if he was trying to get out of class or just wanted a quiet place to do his homework or escape a few teachers (she'd done the same herself) but he purposefully came in to talk to her. Sometimes she enjoyed the company to fill in the moments of isolation. Sometimes she was more annoyed at it when she needed to work. Such as that particular day.
And no pointed finger at the door, no retort or comment on how he was bothering her, and not even a threat to complain to the Principal about his intrusion scared him away. If anything, it only caused him to come around more often. If he wasn't there her first period, he was there her second. If he didn't show up in the morning, believe that he will be there in the afternoon for her final two periods. He'd chew gum loudly, blow on the trumpets to try and get her to mess up her piece or make paper airplanes of sheet music lying around and throw them around the room.
And she needed to work that day, so only God knew what he was going to do to distract her that day.
Once he'd even had the audacity to climb on the piano and lay on it. He had done it once and only once because that was the day that she actually coaxed him off the piano with a sweet smile and eyes before grabbing onto his shirt and dragging him out of the room and told him that if he did it again she'd personally see to it that he's stuffed into the piano and left there for the weekend before slamming the door in his face.
He still came back the next day, still bothering, but sitting on the floor this time.
She narrowed her eyes at him as he tapped the sleek black with his index figure. He took note of her silence before following her eyes to his finger and his posture against her instrument, silently chuckling before stepping away with his hands in the air.
"Don't shoot me."
"Believe me, I stop myself every single day." He winked at her, shiny eyes looking at her, and she could only roll her eyes and place her hands on the keys, "Don't bother me and I won't drag you out of here again. I need to actually practice today."
Oh she needed to practice. Her recital at the Kennedy Center was her top priority. She couldn't deviate from her plans to practice.
"Yes ma'am."
Another roll of her eyes (maybe the apples of her cheeks heated up, but she'd never admit or check that) and she began to play. Her warm up always consisted of three songs - one from a classical composer, another from a movie and the final is a popular song that she converted into a ballad. Every musician, athlete and gambler she knew had a system and this was hers - the number three. Three warm-ups to get her started for the day.
That particular day, she chose Beethoven's Piano Sonata No.14 in C-Sharp Minor, which she had claimed to be one of her favorite pieces to play. She found it soothing although the song did sound daunting to the common ear. The notes were smooth and crisp to her ears that she had played it nearly every time she had to perform. The music so raw and emotional.
"Why do you play depressing songs? I thought pianists were supposed to be lighthearted." His voice cut through her piece halfway through, making her miss a note. She continued, ignoring the blond boy, "Then again, you're uptight enough that I'm not surprised by your music selection. Do you ever play rock music on that thing? Maybe some Fleetwood Mac or Meta-"
She stopped playing abruptly and turned her head, noticing that he was laying on the floor near the edge of the stage, only a couple inches from her, "Beethoven is one of the greatest composers to ever exist." She hissed, not feeling friendly at the moment he insulted one of her favorite composers, "His music changed people's perception on what music can be. Unpredictable and emotional." She saw red for a moment, "Do you ever hear yourself and think "I should shut up" when you don't know something? Hmmm?"
He looked up at the ceiling in false thought before shaking his head, "So that's a no to both our questions."
She almost smiled, but only deadpanned, "I should lock you out."
"Oh you see, but you've tried that already." He threw up his hands in the air, "Just can't keep a jailbird out."
"Oh this is a cell?" She hummed. You would know what a cell is, don't you?
"For you, yeah." He shrugged, looking around for second before whistling lowly like he always did, "But hey, what a girl wants what a girl wants. I can't explain your mind to you."
"It's not a cell, now shut up." She snapped at him before turning back to her keys.
Taking it that she wasn't going to get far with Beethoven, she turned to her second soundtrack. She let her keys play the beginning notes to Mia and Sebastian's Theme, a song she had fallen in love with however heartbroken she had been at the end of the movie. She had seen the film with her best friend friend, Sarah, and hadn't noticed a tick she had until Sarah pointed it out. She had been pressing her fingers down on her knees as if she was playing the song in real time.
As the song came to its fast crescendo and decrescendo, a snap of fingers hit her ears.
"See now that's all lovey dovey and heartaching-y and I don't know if you're trying to foreshadow anything, but maybe don't play the ending to that."
"Do you even understand what foreshadowing means?"
"Not in the slightest sense." He smiled brightly before laying down on the floor with his arm as a pillow. "I'm bored with all this slow music."
"Oh, am I boring you?" She grumbled, pulling out her third set of sheet music, hoping to not get interrupted. He's usually tolerable when it came to his unwarranted visits, but today, she was neither interested in his jokes or his presence and he seemed to feed off of it. Her recital was in June.
It was nearing the end of May and the clock was only ticking.
"Oh you? Never. Maybe your depressing music, but never you. Your voice is music to my ears."
"Once more," She sighed, "Shut. Up."
She didn't wait for a reply and began playing her final warm-up song. Her pop songs usually came from Sarah, who had challenged her to play something she usually wouldn't. Sarah had chosen Shawn Mendez's In My Blood, and surprisingly she enjoyed it. Especially the chorus. Her fingers flew back and forth, playing both the melody and the "lyrics" portion. She had almost made it to the end when the sound of a can opening brought her out of her trance. She accidentally hit the keys hard on her unfinished notes and whipped her head to the boy on the floor. He wasn't looking at her, only drinking from a can of Monster before glancing at her hardened state and her whiten knuckles.
"I didn't say anything."
◇ ◇ ◇
Many believed because she was a piano prodigy that she had nothing else she wanted to do. And you'd be right. There was nothing else for her that she wanted to do. Not a single thing as she grew up. Everything revolved around her talent - natural, God given, incredible and undeniable talent. If it were art or soccer or anything, but an instrument, she would have been treated equally with a bit more praise than others.
But piano was an instrument that took years to master and it didn't help that she was a girl. A girl with much smaller hands than those of grown men who played at the same level of her, if not lower. Piano was not kind to those with smaller hands and she learned it the hard way. She always had to reach and strain her fingers in order to play smoothly. Her skin tore, became sore and she had consistent nights with ice on her tan skin.
Because of it, every adult gave her special treatment. She was a one of a kind pianist. She picked up on notes perfectly - she had perfect pitch. She learned songs in only a few hours, even the most complex ones - she had a solid memory bank for music. She never complained about her hands being sore or being tired of playing - she was resilient. She was a young girl from the Cut with a talent that would bring her out of the depths of poverty - she was given a gift.
Praise came to her from every direction ever since she was young. And it worked to her advantage. From a young age, she was invited and paid to play at recitals on the main land, eventually growing to paid trips to play with a group of equally gifted children and orchestras. She got to know people and use their connections to make other connections in order to create opportunities for her and her family.
She loved piano and it loved her back as it created opportunities for her to grow. However, every gift has a cost and one has to be willing to pay it.
For her, it was the payment of isolation.
Through her traveling since she was five and her constant hyper fixation on what could bring her from the bottom to the top, she skipped out on what being a kid really means. Fooling around with friends never came. Going to the movies and watching back to back movies never arrived in time. Creating lifelong friendships never had it's destination called.
The piano prodigy never built friendships and soon decided she couldn't have them.
The few times that she did try and create them, she was met with peculiar stares and judgmental glares. No one truly knew her, so why should they let her get to know them? Those from the Cut became jealous that she had a one-way ticket to Figure Eight and those from Figure Eight only saw a girl from the Cut who got lucky enough to climb up the social ladder, but she'd always be from the other side of town. She had her foot in both worlds, but was rejected from both.
Too much of a pogue to belong on Figure Eight and too much of a rising-kook to belong on the Cut.
Sure she had a few people who she'd say hi to, share the homework with, sit in class with, text to see how they're doing and happy birthday to, but never anyone to truly fit in with.
That was until she met Sarah.
Sarah Cameron was a kook. She was one of the kookiest-kooks that the prodigy ever got to know, but she soon took the title as best friend. The day they met was when they were thirteen - around eight to nine years after she began performing on Figure Eight for charity events and some other events that could be related to Midsummers. She had just played and decided to go hide in the hallways of the country club so that no one would bombard her. Her mom was off chatting with some adult that would hire her to play for a private party. She was enjoying the new-found life that she was being provided by her thirteen year old daughter. The prodigy couldn't blame her - with the money she was earning and even with the amount taken to be put into her savings account, they were on track to move to Figure Eight by the time she's seventeen.
And just as she had sat down, there was the sound of footsteps hitting the floor. Hard. As if they were running. She turned her head and saw a girl, around her age, who came dashing down the hall, grabbing the prodigy's hand, pulling her down the hall with her. She had no clue what was going on, but she ran. As they dodged party goers in the lower level hallways and staircase, she found herself laughing with the dirty blonde girl.
Soon they were near the beach and laid flat on the sand. Their breaths were hard and rapid, but laughs soon came out. Her name was Sarah Cameron and she had been running from her older brother, Rafe, because she had messed with his hair one too many times that day. Thankfully, he stopped chasing the moment she had pulled the prodigy up from the floor and with her. After that, the two girls chatted on the beach. Although she didn't know much about gossip, people or fashion choices, Sarah was friendly, open and accepting of the piano prodigy.
She even wanted to know what it was like being a piano prodigy at such as young age. Sarah said it sounded lonely and for once, she brought herself to agree with her.
And after that Sarah decided that her new friend would never be alone again.
Skip three years later and the two sat together by the pool on a Saturday afternoon, the sun going down earlier than usual, and listened to each other. Unfortunately the money that had been and was being collected by her recitals wasn't enough for her to go to the Kook Academy, so she went to the general high school, away from Sarah. With their school work and outside hangouts and recitals, they only hung out in person every weekend and the occasional weekday, but they were always texting and facetiming.
And there was something constant in all of their calls since they began high school.
She huffed, kicking the water, "All the time. He always has be in that room, opening a can, commenting on my song selection, making paper airplanes and throwing them around the room or talking his ass off. I can't stand him sometimes."
"So I've heard." Sarah chuckled. "I can't believe he hasn't given up yet. It's what? Almost junior year?"
"Yeah." The pianist grumbled, "And nothing I do gets him to leave when I need him. Yesterday, he told me my song choice was depressing and boring. Beethoven is one of the greatest composers to ever exist. I should have thrown him out of the music room the moment he said that. Heck! My middle name is Elise, like Fur Elise. Beethoven's music is phenomenal. What does he know about classical music?"
Sarah almost laughed, "Nothing. Trust me. He listens to music with John B when they're fixing up the Druthers. It's all rock, rap and old school music like Fleetwood Mac or Billy Idol." She grabbed her cup of soda from her side, "Why don't you just tell on him or something?"
"Tried that." She admitted, "Freshman year. He got detention and came back with even more fervor than before. It's like it fueled him to be even more annoying. After that, I just decided to not add fuel to the flame." Part of that was true.
Maybe she liked him around sometimes.
"Well there is the other theory."
The girl's head whipped in the blonde's direction, "You're still on that?"
She shrugged, "Hey, it's classic textbook for boys. Annoy the person you like in order to get their attention. It may be unwarranted and may have undesirable outcomes, but hey, they get your eyes on them." She tapped her best friend's shoulder, "And JJ is a person who likes attention, especially from girls. You go against that. You focus on your work and work only."
"Yeah well," She grabbed Sarah's cup, taking a sip, "he's not gonna get it from me. That's for sure. I'll just lock the door again." She handed back the cup, "And on an unrelated note, I have my recital next month and I need you to RSV-"
"Done."
"Great. I'm still trying to decide on a few songs. I know I'm going to play a piece from Beethoven, but they've been telling me that original pieces would attract more of an audience. They're trying to get me more into originals than ever now. I have a few, but I'm not so sure. I'll send you some pieces for some feedback. I also need an outfit-"
Sarah listened to her best friend chatter about her recital. It would be on the mainland and it'd be one of her biggest yet. And while she was happy for her, her mind wandered back to JJ Maybank's constant desire for attention. Even if she didn't admit it, she knew that her friend liked the attention she got from the boy. If she really didn't want him around, she would have already found a way to keep him away. She would have gotten him suspended or had his schedule changed so that they never crossed paths again. Maybe the attention did annoy her at some moments, especially, when she needed to practice, but during their art and history classes (which they had together) she didn't seem to mind it, due to her lack of complaining. If Sarah knew it, she knew that JJ definitely knew it too. And maybe that was why he kept going. She never truly pushed him away, more so keeping him on a thin line that he couldn't push forward. Like a piece of music that she had written down, but never played.
If anything, Sarah suspected that it wasn't only JJ who had a crush.
But that was just her opinion.
And Sarah Cameron was usually right.
She may have been right this time.
◇ ◇ ◇
Another week, another tug of war game between the pianist and surfer boy. It was a beautiful spring, almost summer, morning - school was almost at its end and she was dying for school to end. No more distractions. More time to rehearse for her recital. It was the next month, as she had told Sarah, but she was getting more jittery as the days passed. According to her manager, Margie, this was going to be her highest paying recital yet. More of an audience. More expectations. And the more she got, the more popular she became. She was already being recognized nationwide and they wanted to extend it internationally. Margie was trying to get some British, French and Spanish reps to come and if they did, it could extend an invitation to come schools with scholarships - just as Juilliard did - and maybe paid trips to perform. Even if they didn't, people from California and New York were coming down to see her perform solo. It was only a fifteen minute time slot at the end, but her body was beginning to recognize how much she needed to succeed and she felt her anxiety levels beginning to rise.
And JJ Maybank interruptions were not helping. And his last comment on her music taste and his song suggestion (a song by Alt J?) actually had her consider throwing him out of the room. He wasn't particularly annoying at first, but then again it was JJ.
His attention be damned if she messed up her recital, her biggest paying one yet.
And although she could have rebutted, she didn't. There always was a pull that told her to fight, to reply and give him the reaction he wanted. It was as if they were magnets and she was either pushing and he was pulling or she was north and he was south. To forces fighting to land on top.
But she had to let it go for now.
Instead, she put away her stack of warm-up sheet music on her red folder. Red was for warm-ups, green was for classical, blue was for originals, orange for everything else and purple was for recital practice. She decided on blue because Margie kept telling her that originality sells along. That and classical music. Plus it was like writing whatever she wanted.
And a little secret of her own, she liked to sing. And she could actually do it too. But not in front of people. No way. She could play piano and let people focus on the music, while looking around the room or silently speaking, but if she sang, eyes would be on her immediately. So singing was off the table, but she found that writing lyrics that went along with music helped her write better and quicker. She'd sing in her head while playing.
She had multiple songs lined up, but she found herself focusing on one she had titled Champagne Problems. Her entire idea was based on the idea of a failed proposal and admittance that it was her fault - kind of reverse of what one would usually hear. No failed marriage. Just a failed proposal. She had some lyrics written down, but not a full song.
She played for a few moments before writing a few notes down and repeating the process for a full ten minutes. She hadn't noticed, but she had begun to hum and sing lightly under her breath. She especially liked the chorus, but she found it repetitive. Without lyrics, it wouldn't be as interesting.
Maybe I should cut it short. Just the chorus and the bridge. Short like a rejected proposal.
"What song was that?" Her ears perked up to JJ's voice, which was filled with curiosity.
Her response was instantaneous, "One you don't know."
"Nice." He quipped, turning towards her, pulling his knees into his chest, watching as she pushed a piece of hair behind her.
Surprisingly, JJ didn't speak anymore, but instead let the pianist write and mess around with her instrument. He didn't feel the need to interrupt nor did he want to interrupt. She was so concentrated. Her bottom lip was captured by her top teeth, signaling her fixation on what she doing.
"Damn it." She mumbled. It's definitely too repetitive. Maybe changin- but that wouldn't work. Would it?
"What?"
She glanced down to the boy, who was watching her, "Nothing. Just trying to figure out how to make my song less repetitive."
"You wrote a song?"
She paused her writing.
Okay, one thing to note about the pianist and JJ was that they actually talked a lot in person. Sometimes online whenever she posted on her story something about her recitals or she'd post herself playing the piano in some grand room or opera house and he'd comment or reply with some joke or quip about her getting famous or something of the sort that she'd reply back with a sarcastic or lighthearted joke. And they were frenemies (as she deemed it, she didn't know what JJ thought) but she didn't think she could trust him with something that personal, something so close to her that only few people knew. He'd probably just think it was stupid writing songs that she didn't even sing outloud.
"No." She mumbled and tried to swallow the fear that was beginning to form in her stomach.
"Huh."
"What?" She glared.
"Nothing." He shook his head, grabbing his phone and his backpack. He stood for a moment, the two of them staring at each other for a moment. Neither of them looked away and it was almost as if neither wanted to. She felt her heart quicken, mistaking it for a feeling she was all too common with, before the she looked away. "Nothing." He repeated, "Nothing, just...sounded good."
The pianist didn't say anything, only watched as he left the room, like he usually did around that time, but she felt something else biting her stomach. He was able to leave the room, glancing back at her only to see her eyes planted on him and not on the piano as she usually did.
He grinned, seeing her curiosity about his response. He winked and headed out the door.
And it was about ten minutes later when she looked back at the now closed door when she mumbled, "Thank you."
◇ ◇ ◇
As the weather turned from spring to summer, the heat came as strong as it could. The chill spring wind was being replaced with the humid Kildare summer air. Unfortunately, the Cut was victim to it as ACs didn't work, fans were old and opening windows wasn't an option most times. And you can't just go swimming in the marsh or driving to the beach at two in the morning because you're sweating in a tank top and shorts in your bed. Due to this revelation, the pianist tried to visit Sarah more often during these times - the rich loved their air conditioned homes and boats. And it was the day after her and JJ's strange moment that school was called out because t was unable to hold students due to the heatwave coming through.
Free day for the Kildare High School students.
Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for Sarah as her school had enough funding to hold over fifty ACs in the school 24 hours a day, seven days a week. However, when she woke up drenched in sweat and in desperate need to practice in a comfortable area, Sarah offered her home. Neither she, her dad, Rose, Wheezie or Rafe, who was a Senior at the prep school, would be there, but Ward Cameron welcomed the pianist into their home constantly and agreed to let her come by that day and any day she needed.
The only issue was getting there in the first place.
She had to walk due to her mom taking the car to work and couldn't call her to come get her. While they had money due to her accomplishments, there was always something happening. Either the AC wasn't working, a light went out, or anything else that happened, they had to be prepared. Always vigilante. Always checking off boxes twice.
So she had to brave the elements.
She put on a blue sports bra and white button up over it (keeping it unbutton of course) and jean shorts that were loose enough that it wouldn't bother her while walking. She grabbed her bag, remembering putting extra clothes, knowing she'd get cold in the chilled house before running out.
She hadn't made it to the bridge that separated the Cut from Figure Eight and she was drenched in sweat. Her hair was up, water nearly gone and her white button up would have been thrown into the backpack if it wasn't her only protection from the sun's devious rays. She was melting.
"Someone save me, please." She choked out, trudging through the heat. "Only you, Kildare. Only you."
A high pitched whistle hit her ears with a bang. The girl jumped back, only to see her blond boy in a van and not some stranger ready to kidnap her, "I would ask if you're delusional, but I think I have my answer."
"Jeez!" She put a hand on her heart, "You scared the crap out of me. Don't do that!"
"I can see that." He chuckled, driving slowly on the abandoned road, "What I can't see is why the hell you're out here in this heat. We're in a heatwave." He took the hat he had off his head and plotted it on her head.
She would have hit him with some sarcastic retort and tore off his hat from her head that gave her much relief, but she had no energy for it, "I need to practice. My house is crap. Heading for the Cameron's." She wiped her forehead, feeling agitated by the sweaty hair sticking to the nape of her neck. "Why are you out?"
"It's hot, sunny and the waves are perfect according to the report." JJ looked forward for a second before saying, "Get in."
"What?" She choked out, but it was out of confusion, not suspicion as it would have been if she was cognate with her mind.
"Get in." He repeated, "I'll drop you off nearby. I'm getting John B from a house job anyways."
Once it registered in her mind, she didn't reject the offer. She ran to the other side and jumped into the passenger's seat of the van, "Thank you." She wheezed out, leaning back in the seat the moment she buckled up.
"No problem." She thinks she heard him chuckle, but she couldn't be so sure at the moment.
They drove with the windows down and the breeze did miracles with her pending state. Five minutes into the drive, she was wide awake and conscious. She finished up her water and leaned back as she watched the Cut pass by. She, then, turned to JJ, and immediately noticed that he was shirtless.
Glistening tan and freckled skin with muscles flexing with every breath and spark of movement.
She shouldn't have stared for as long as she did and if you asked her about it, she'd deny it. But hell, she couldn't deny that he was attractive. With or without a shirt, but at that moment, his shirtless state was definitely affecting her more at the moment. She'd hadn't denied it in her mind that her annoying fucker that liked to interrupt practice sessions was attractive - fuck it, he was hot - but now that she was face to face with one of his attractive aspects mixed with the delusion of the heat...all rational thought was gone.
"So I was thinking." He turned his head and she pulled her face together as if she wasn't ogling him.
She snapped back into her sarcastic tone, "You do that? Never would have guessed."
"And I was thinking you could expand your music taste." He ignored her tone, "There's a whole world out there that isn't classical music that could apply to your piano playing."
"Really? This again?" She groaned. "Sorry that I'm not into whatever the heck you listen to. Piano playing is delicate, but strong in its chords."
"I have no idea what that means, but you could totally change your mojo." He replied as if he believed in what he was saying.
"I play classical and the occasional movie score. Okay?" She quipped, rolling her eyes, "It's what people want to hear. Not Metallica or Red Hot Chili Peppers."
"Nah, people want to hear music. Something with soul and meaning behind it. Not just instruments." He explained, "Do you even like what you play?"
"Of course I like what I play." The half-truth slipped out with ease, "And even if I didn't, I don't get paid to play what I like."
"But you could." He pointed out.
"No, I couldn't. When you get hired for a job, you do the job or else you get fired. I'm pretty sure you understand that."
"You don't get it." He turned up the radio. An upbeat song was playing. Michael Jackson. "If you were able to convert songs like these onto the piano, you'd have a bigger audience. I promise you that and Papa J never fails in his assumptions."
She thought for a moment, ignoring the fact that he called himself "Papa J". If she was able to convert those songs into piano themes, she would have a bigger audience. But it's not easy. There's so much practice that goes into doing things like putting Beat It into piano formation. It's not impossible, but it'd be difficult. Out of his mind, but...he wasn't wrong.
"C'mon! What'd it take you to do it?"
"Answer a question for me."
"Shoot."
"Why do you keep come into the music room to bother me? You've been extra annoying lately." Bingo. He'd never give into the question. "You tell me that, truthfully, and I'll convert any song you want into a piano ballad or something."
His eyes narrowed. JJ wasn't a guy to open up about his feelings or about the reasons he did things. He usually just did it and then thought about it later if he even thought about it again. He's impulsive. Never has a reason for anything.
"Gets me out of homeroom."
"I said truthfully." Her voice took a playful tone, which caused JJ's eyebrow to lift up, "You skip either way."
"I don't know. I never really thought about it." He shrugged. "I guess..." He shifted again. He was uncomfortable. She could see it as clear as day, "You're easy to be around."
He didn't say more.
She blinked, not able to find the confident nature she had only moments ago. He didn't answer her question correctly, but it caught her attention. She was easy to be around? Lately, she constantly glared at him, told him to shut up, and dragged him out of the room once. She wouldn't consider herself "easy" to be around even when she wasn't doing any of those things. Especially in the music room. She was her most uptight in those moments. She didn't care who she hurt as long as she got her work done. Her target was mainly JJ - and now thinking about it, she felt bad. Yes, he annoyed her, but she felt shameful of her behavior.
"Easy?" She scoffed, "I wouldn't call myself easy."
He clicked his tongue, "That's my fault." He admitted, "You're easy to get to when you're working."
"So you admit that you do it on purpose?" They stopped at a stoplight and he turned to look at her. And she knew. She just knew that he did. She also knew by his expression that he was getting a kick out of her just figuring it out, "You little shit."
"Glad to know you just picked up on that." He teased and she almost had the decency to push him out of the car, "Now what song to pick."
"You don't get a song."
"What?"
"You lied to me first."
"Oh come on!" He complained, hitting the gas again when the light turned green. "You can't take that back. I get a song."
She couldn't get over the fact that he was whining about getting a song played by her. He looked kinda cute actually.
"Fine!" She rolled her eyes. "You get one song, any song, as long as you keep your bothering to a minimum and I'm talking the most JJ minimum you can give me. Deal?" She held out her pinkie.
"Really?" He asked, almost missing how she used his name for the first time, and she nodded with a confidence that should have been hilarious in any other situation. "Deal." He wrapped his pinkie around hers. "Original."
"What artist is that by?"
"You."
She paused and deadpanned, "I don't write songs."
"Look who's lying now. You said any song, therefore I get a song by you. I already have a name for it." He put his hand out in front and moved it across the air, " "The Ballad of JJ". Upbeat. Nothing fancy. Something like Bohemian Rhapsody."
She shook her head, "Do you even know what a ballad is?"
"Sounds cool. So, why not?"
This kid will actually kill me.
"Fine. You win. "The Ballad of JJ" it is." And he smiled like he won a million dollars.
He dropped her off at the front of the house, watching her disappear into the house with his hat still attached to her head. And while she did practice, she allowed herself to begin to write for the blond boy, who wasn't so annoying today.
Or really any day.
Not that it mattered.
Right?
◇ ◇ ◇
What JJ had said bothered her.
A new audience.
She scoffed.
Based on ratings and statistics, people enjoyed classical music over anything else. Covers of pop or rock songs didn't fit the mold nor did they get high ratings. Maybe on youtube they did, but not for live concerts.
And it was like he was challenging her. Challenging her to try something new. As if she was afraid to do it. She scoffed at the thought.
Afraid?
She wasn't afraid.
She'd show him.
◇ ◇ ◇
"That was excellent!" Margie Jones clapped her hands. "Truly wonderful. I have no words other than magnificent."
Her mother joined in, "I've never heard you play something that energetic before. It's mostly mellow. Is it original?"
She nodded proudly, "Yes, it is. Got some inspiration. It's not fully done, but it's getting there."
"What's it called?" Margie asked, pulling out some files, but still with a wide grin.
She opened her mouth to reply, but the words couldn't come out. Her one piece of music that was the light of her mother and Margie's life at the moment was orchestrated because a boy had her write it. Not just any boy. JJ Maybank. Her annoying (ex-annoying) music room bother. It wasn't exactly The Ballad of JJ, just an alternate verison of it (she felt like it was personal to the point that only the two of them could hear the original),but it was similar enough to be connected to the song titled in her blue folder with his name. However, she couldn't have it leave her mouth. Weird.
"Oh, I don't know yet. Like I said, it's just coming to me in pieces, so I'll figure it out in a bit. It's just one of my originals."
"Excellent." She nodded, "More originals open more doors for your solo career without any orchestra or becoming back up for a band. More money for us." She clapped her hands, "And this is good because I got news that the scouts from France and the United Kingdom are coming."
She gasped and stood up, "Really?"
"Yes and because of this, you'll be performing for a longer bracket. I talked to the managers and everyone I needed to and they agreed that instead of a fifteen minute time slot that you'll take on an hour time slot. Thirty minutes for the first half, a ten minute break, and then your final thirty minutes. With this you'll have to do a setlist that I'll need by next Friday. We only have three more weeks."
Her heart dropped.
Her mother clapped her hands, "Wonderful. How about the pay?"
"Because she's bringing in the scouts for the entire program, not just the orchestra part, I negotiated for her to get triple for her section plus her original fee for her part in the orchestra."
As Margie and her mother spoke, they hardly noticed the sixteen year old girl sitting on the seat by the piano, turning pale by the moment. She had never done anything more than twenty minutes straight of playing. Now she has to do an hour with a set list and most likely originals that she had never tested before. Plus the orchestra. That would be two hours of straight playing.
She didn't know if she wanted to do it.
She was a performer. She had played in front of a hundred people before, but this was a concert hall in Washington D.C. Hundreds of people and staff. Now scouts for her future in music. For more time than she had been used to. With original music she had never tested. She was performer, it was her job.
But they hadn't asked her if that was what she wanted.
Her breath felt heavy and her chest began to heave. Her body didn't feel in control of anything. She hardly said anything as she excused herself to the bathroom. She closed her eyes as she slid down the luxurious bathroom wall and tried to level her breathing. She flexed her hands back and forth, trying to stop the shaking.
She was a performer. She had to do this. She had to do more. She had to take the job. She couldn't say no. She was a performer. Performing was what she did. It was her job. Her future. She couldn't say no. She had to for the money. A better life. More for her mother. More for her. She couldn't say no.
But she really really wanted to.
◇ ◇ ◇
That weekend, she stayed as close to Sarah as she could. Distracting herself from the reality that she would have to do something that was holding her heart down. She didn't understand it. So she ignored it.
A tale as old as time.
Sarah sensed something wrong, but didn't say anything. She knew she'd come around eventually and she'd give her space until then. So, she suggested that they go to the beach and get acai bowls at the Playa Bowls nearby.
The two girls walked arm in arm and got their bowls and sat by the docks, watching early tourons and kooks and pogues alike spend their Saturday with their friends or family. From the docks, she watched people surf on the waves as if it was second nature.
She didn't know how to surf - another downside of piano being your life - but she liked watching it. She found it interesting how people were able to move their bodies in a way that allowed them to move with the ocean's ripples. She believed it was similar to how her fingers meshed with the keys of a piano and became one with the instrument. However, that was only one part of her body. Surfing was control over the entire body to not go flailing around. She admired the people who could do it.
Sarah chatted to her as she nodded along and allowed her to speak. She felt like she was in 2nd grade again when she hardly ever spoke. She only spoke when she had something she needed to say, but no coaxing would get her to open her mouth. It wasn't until around middle school that she started speaking full sentences to people. Even then, she was only chatty around people she was comfortable around such as Sarah Cameron or her mother. And she only wanted to listen that day anyways.
And as she watched the waves, she noticed one person surfing as if his life depended on it. Flips and turns and going through waves and making it to the end. She began to observe him up until he came up to the beach. That was when she noted who it was.
She turned her head before he could spot her, but she heard a classic high pitched whistle. She turned back and noticed JJ, staring right at her with his hand lifted in a hello. She couldn't help, but smile and wave. His friends, who she recognized as John B and Pope Heyward, turned to her as they began to nudge JJ around, teasing him. He swatted them away.
A nudged on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned to Sarah.
"What?" She furrowed her eyebrows.
"Oh Schroder." She teased, "Don't leave Lucy hanging by the piano all day."
"What are you on about?"
"Gonna play dumb? Okay, Schroder, I'll play Linus." She put her finger up, closing her eyes as if she were the comic character, "'No problem is so big or so complicated that you have to run away from it.'" She opened her eyes, "Running away isn't the answer even if you think it's yours. I should know. I do it a lot."
"I'm not running away." She took another bite from her bowl. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Okay." She hummed, "But don't be surprised when Lucy decides to stop waiting by the piano and goes out to become a psychiatrist that you meet in twenty years wondering "what if"."
"What in the actual hell are we talking about now?"
◇ ◇ ◇
She didn't hear her alarm. Two weeks had flown past her like sand falling out of her dry hand and she had been pushing herself everyday to practice playing nonstop. Finishing a handful of originals and practicing complex songs that made her hands cramp from how much she pushed. Staying up late nights was all too common for her. Missing her bus and a ride from her mom was not.
Everyone looked up at her when she entered the door. She feels like she came to school with no pants and mix and match shoes by the way everyone looks at her. Miss Prodigy is never late, never tardy, never disheveled, never not perfect. This was a sight: her hair was brushed, but was covered by a red hat, the bags under her eyes could carry bricks, her shirt collar was half up, her socks were different colors and her shoe laces were untied.
"Sorry." She mumbled to her history professor, handing the pass that the office lady had signed with the same amount of shock.
She walked to her seat and sat down, taking out her textbook and notebook. The shock had passed and whispers ensued as the class continued. She noticed the stares, but she just fixed her collar and payed attention to the lesson. It wasn't as if the other ten of them didn't come in late every other day in worse conditions.
From behind her, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned slightly to her left and saw JJ quickly passing a note to her. He sat in the next row but two seats behind her. She grabbed it and turned back around before opening it discreetly.
Didn't know prodigies came in late. Sounds like a crime. You look like crap also.
She scoffed lightly before grabbing her pen and scribbling down her response before tossing it over without so much as a whisper. And it just kept getting passed back and forth.
You sure do think of me a lot to know it's a crime. And yeah I know I look like crap. Thanks, Lucy
Shit I didn't mean it like that. Like you look tired. You know like the little alien in Lilo and Stich?
I have so many questions, but do you mean Stitch? I know I'm shorter than you, but you don't have to stoop to that level.
You just called me Lucy from the fuckin Peanuts comics so I think it's fair game
You've called me "Schroeder" since freshmen year. I think it's bound time I respond correctly. I've been scattered brained lately. Can't remember to hold my tongue. Oops
Or wear your own clothes. Nice hat. Where'd you get it?
She touched her head, pulling down the hat that she had grabbed from her desk only to realize who's it was. She heard him chuckle behind her and she put up the bird in the air, waving it in his direction, not daring to look at him.
The bell rang within the next ten seconds, signaling for her next period, which she knew she was going to skip. She packed up her items and before she could head for the door, a hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"Truly amazing fashion choice. You get it at a boutique or something?"
"Ha ha. Very funny." She rolled her eyes, "I would give it back to you, but my hair did not cooperate this morning so I will be keeping it at the moment."
"Looks good on you. Not better than me, but close enough." He said as they walked out of class together.
It was a stupid compliment, and he was teasing her, but she still felt the apples of her cheeks begin to burn and she rolled her eyes, shoving him slightly with her shoulder, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get to class."
"We both have art next." He pointed out with his thumb at the classroom door.
"Not me." She sang before heading down the hall to the stairs towards the first floor. The sound of hard boots followed her, "Class, Maybank."
"I'm good." He shrugged, "Where we going?"
She rolled her eyes, but she didn't command him away. In fact, she couldn't bring herself to even if she needed him gone. Something about his presence lately had been calming to her, even if he was as calm as a hurricane. She'd felt in the car the previous week, when she saw him at the beach that weekend and even now as her anxiety began to peak for being late.
He made her feel like everything would actually be alright. (It confused her for a moment before she shook it off).
"Music room. I need to practice." She said, taking a moment to yawn. She covered her mouth, "A lot of practice."
"You keep saying that. What the hell's got so much of your attention?" She noticed his tone, but kept her observation to herself.
"Recital. Big one."
"And?"
She sighed, "Recitals make me money. I get a lot from it. I play with the Virginia Orchestra and they have their annual recital event. Because I'm part of it, a lot of people come. Some from New York. Others from Los Angeles and other places. It's a big deal." She pulled the music room key out of her pocket, "I got news that some scouts from Europe are coming to see me. It's next week, so pressure's on."
"That's amazing." He complimented as she swung the door open.
"Thank you." She shrugged as she headed for the stage, "It's just that I have a bigger time slot now so-" She didn't finish her sentence as she dropped her bag and began to pull out her blue folder.
"You don't seem so happy about it." He grabbed a chair that was on the stage already and pulled it so it was right next to her. "Don't you like playing?"
She nodded, "I do. It's everything to me." She pulled out her pens, "I just never played for two hours straight before. It's new."
"Hours?" He blinked, whistling lowly at the thought of playing piano for hours.
"I play for an hour with the orchestra and then an hour solo." Candor began to spew from her mouth, "I've never played solo for an hour in front of scouts before."
He didn't speak for a moment and she glanced at him. He nodded slowly, as if he began to understand why she was killing herself the past month. Why she stopped joking more and more with him and began to be stricter and cold to him. She was nervous.
"No wonder you've been such a buzzkill." He laughed, "You're anxious."
"I guess," She fiddled with her hands, "I'm not nervous. It's more like a feeling that I can't do it and that I'll disappoint everyone if I'm not shiny enough." She couldn't control her mouth. It just came out. She had told some of it to Sarah, but nothing like she was now, "I'm the main income in my home and now this is paying triple for my set, which could get us closer to getting out of the Cut, but-" She laughed, but it was more pained, "And I would have done it either way, but they never asked me. Just threw it in my face and I think I sound like an ungrateful brat for saying that because these scouts could eventually be my ticket to some great music school or job in the future. I just...wanted to be asked for once." She looked up at JJ, who had gone quiet. She blinked and sat up straight, turning back to her music, "Sorry. I'm ranting."
JJ reached out, hesitantly, but put his hand on her shoulder, "It's okay to be anxious and like so much is on you. It is. You don't have to apologize. And you're the artist. They should have asked you."
She looked at him with appreciation. A thought sparked her mind and she turned to the folder, "Oh, um, I have your song. Well part of it."
"Oh?" He leaned forward, seeing lines and song notes both scribbled and written over. The Ballad of JJ was written at the top of it, "How's it coming?"
"Halfway done. I just need to figure out the ending."
"Play it. The muse needs to know what's being created." She rolled her eyes at him, but complied. She had been able to get through the entire half she had before he spoke again, "I like the whole crashing part."
"The what?"
"The way the playing gets loud and wild, I mean. I don't know how to speak music."
She laughed, "You're a wildcard, Maybank. If it was about you, might as well get loud." He paused, but she hadn't noticed, "Now I'm thinking for it to start off loud and maybe end loudly, but I'm not so sure. Maybe it can mellow out or-"
JJ only nodded, feeling a smile creep up his face. He reached out and pulled his hat, that was on her head, down so that it covered her face. She pushed it back up, shoving his shoulder before smiling and going back to writing music.
And there it was.
Air shifted.
Something was changing.
Maybe their frenemies ways were turning more friendly than they both expected.
◇ ◇ ◇
Within that week, whenever she could, the pianist would sneak off to the music room, hoping to pack more and more time into her playing. And more and more she did, JJ Maybank followed. He'd come in, less distracting than usual after she had told him about the important recital. and sit down next to her on a separate chair or lay on the floor. He would comment here or there, but he left her be for the most part. When she wasn't looking, she could feel him staring at her. She'd then hit him with her foot or glare at him and he'd just laugh and the cycle would repeat.
And then there were moments where she wasn't sure if she should be feeling the way she did.
The moments where time would stand still as they stared at each other. His blue eyes meeting hers and the small smile she'd give him as he brushed his hair out of his eyes and smirk. The moments where she'd take her eyes off her sheet music to stretch her hand and catch JJ's puppy-like eyes following her every move. The moments where she'd pack up and he'd hand her the sheet music and their fingers would touch ever so slightly, making her heart jump a few octaves.
There was one day that week when he brought her a Monster, saying that it'd give her energy like him. She didn't think he needed any energy drink to be the way he was. He was high off of life. She drank it and by the end, she was practically running around the room. The jitters left her and she was just left with the energy rush. She said out loud that it actually helped.
"If you think that's helping, just wait for weed. Bring you right up."
She hadn't been big on drugs or usage because she needed to focus, but she thought that maybe it would be a good idea to try for some creative juices. She held it off until after the recital though. She didn't need some sickness to hit her. She didn't know if weed even caused sickness, but she wasn't going to risk it. The two made plans to smoke together after her recital - weirdly enough she trusted JJ to be the person she smoked with for the first time.
JJ also helped with his ballad. He helped her navigate what he wanted in the song and she was nearing to finish it. (A part of herself was nervous if he would like it).
She didn't know if she should have done it, but had asked Margie was an extra pit ticket. She didn't know why. It was for a friend? She didn't tell JJ.
It was Friday when Sarah decided the pianist could use some fun. She would have rejected the offer, but the recital wasn't until that following Monday. And according to JJ, she deserved a break. So, she (surprisingly) said yes to the kegger that was being thrown on the beach. Sarah had personally taken care of the outfit - a white tube top and colorful skirt that fell to her knees. Sarah dressed similarly in order to have her more comfortable and also because it got desperately hot during the day.
The two girls made their way to the beach by foot and made it around sunset. The girls stayed together the entire night, drinking from cans instead of solo cups, and chatting on pieces of wood. Kooks and pogues alike were there - it wasn't touron season yet, so it was just Kildare kids. No trouble was stirring up, so it was calm as people drank and smoked whatever they had on them before passing it on to their friends. Girls and boys chatted each other up, some couples fought at the farther end of the beach, some made out near the fire that was starting up while others swam in the ocean or sat with their friends.
At some points, people would say hi and boys would come up and chat up the two of them. Sarah was more likely to entertain than the prodigy ever would. She didn't like their dark hair and dark eyes or the way they would try and shoot out jokes. She just watched the ocean, seemingly ignoring them. Soon enough, a kook from Sarah's school - his name was Topper which was weird as hell - and by the way he sat by Sarah, he was there to stay.
"I'm gonna get another drink." She said and Sarah nodded while the boy chatted her up. Sarah nodded and said if anything, she'd come running.
She walked to the coolers, where closed drinks were. She wasn't stupid enough to take from the "punch" bowl or 2 liter soda bottles that had been opened. She neared the coolers, noting that many of them had water in them.
"Hey!" Someone called out her name and she turned her head, seeing John B Routledge calling out to her. She walked over, "What's up, Miss Prodigy?"
Oh he was tipsy. Not fully drunk, but he was getting there based on his loud volume.
"Hey John B." She chuckled slightly. "I'm doing good. How's it going?"
"Not bad, not bad." He raised a tap he had in his hand, "Want one?"
It is closed, she thought. And one isn't bad. Right?
She nodded and John B filled up a red solo cup half way before tossing it over to her. It was mainly foam and however bitter it was, its coldness soothed her.
"So uh, how's you and J?"
"What do you mean?" She wiped her mouth with her wrist and looked at the boy. She gestured for more beer, the coolness had filled her dry throat and warmed her stomach.
"I mean, I'm surprised you were able to tie the man down. He talks nonstop about you as if his life depended on it." He said. She had a feeling that JJ didn't know that he was saying that, "So you two are like-" He put his hands together and before he could continue, she shook her hands.
"Oh, no. Me and J...we're not like that." She chuckled nervously, "J's a good friend, but he doesn'-he would never- I mean you know." She drank more, hoping it would help more. She wasn't stupid to the insinuation, so she looked up, "Umm, does it look like that?"
John B rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly growing nervous, "I mean, yeah. Especially with these last few days. You two are always together at school."
She thought for a second. Maybe...
"Well, I didn't mean to make it awkward or anythi-"
She waved her hand off, "Don't worry about it. Sarah's called him Lucy one too many times for me to not notice." She surprised herself with the candor.
"Lucy?"
"You know. Schroeder and Lucy? The Charlie Brown comics?"
John B laughed loudly, "I can't get that out of my head now. I have a new nickname for him. I can totally see him in the little blue dress, and waving his feet in the air and-" He kept laughing, "Thank you seriously. He won't get me to shut up."
"Glad to be of service. He's annoyed me one too many times." She finished the cup, "Is he here?"
"Uhhh yeah. He's somewhere over by the fire."
"Hmm." She placed the cup in the trash by the tables, "I'll pay Lucy a visit."
"Go get em', Tiger."
She threw a thumbs up and walked closer to the fire.
Okay, she wasn't dumb. She knew what John B was saying and what Sarah was saying with the Lucy comments. She knew how it looked and before it would have inconvenienced her, maybe made her mad, but it didn't. In fact, it excited her. Could it be that JJ liked her? Like really? A boy she may possible totally liked actually liked her back? I mean, she's had boys who liked her before, but they weren't anything like JJ. He was funny, charming, annoying and a total nuisance at times, but she always liked it.
At a kegger in the middle of the night, searching for the boy who had captured her heart, she came to terms with what she had been hiding for over a year.
With a mind that was not sober, in fact tipsy from her lack of consumption in the past, she decided that she'd tell JJ. She'd tell JJ that she was sorry if she ever made him feel unwanted in the music room because she wanted him there. She wanted him to come and annoy her and tell her what he thought of her playing, of her original pieces. She wanted to teach him about Beethoven, Chopin and Brahms and listen to his song recommendations. Maybe he'd teach her how to surf. Maybe he'd want to go to her recital. She had a ticket prepared for him like she had for Sarah. She could play his ballad. She'd tell him how she wanted to him that summer coming up because then she'd get to know more about him - filling her brain with more about him because he made her feel like she wasn't just a prodigy or someone who only played piano. He made her feel like she was human, like she was girl who had more. She'd tell him that she liked him more than just a friend. She'd tell him that she wanted to be with him if he'd have her.
And he had given her all the signs, so she wasn't saying it out of the blue. He had stared at her. Carried her bag. Didn't mind that she still had his hat. Was considerate of her. Made her laugh. It all pointed to one conclusion. Just like Sarah had said. There was one theory as to why he always bothered her and in the middle of the night, during a kegger, with people talking and a fire burning, she decided that it was one she'd consider.
Maybe JJ Maybank liked her. She wouldn't know unless she asked.
But she knew.
The piano prodigy liked JJ Maybank.
And maybe he'd like her too.
She had made it to the fire when she spotted a glimpse of blond hair. Her heart picked up a beat as she came closer, only for it to drop to her stomach when she saw what he was doing. Another girl, who she had known as a pogue and lived on the Southside, was touching his shoulder and he brushed his hand against her hair. He was staring at her like he had stared at her that morning. He leaned forward, saying something in her ear, causing her giggle and shove him a little
It was a tiny thing. Miniscule. She still could have gone up to him and told him and maybe the night's ending would have been different. But it made her blood boil. He had always given her attention, but she hadn't considered that he gave other girls the same attention as well. She had heard about JJ Maybank's notorious history with girls - his endless list of makeout sessions that girls swooned over, his mysterious hookups and his knack for making girls fall to his feet. She hadn't judged him because everyone had their "things" that they did, whether proud or not.
But if she wasn't the only one he was giving attention to, who else was there?
Yes, the green jealousy monster came to haunt her. Maybe it wasn't fair. She hadn't been interested before, but she had shown signs too. RIGHT? She had stared back and laughed and flirted a little without her knowing. She wrote him a song! But he was there, with another girl, touching her, laughing with her and he would probably kiss her by the end of the night.
JJ had said before that her music was sad and depressing and emotional. That's because the composers were. Artists, writers, composers, poets and the like were tied to emotions. It was how the most heart wrenching, beautiful and one of a kind art was made. How Shakespeare wrote about doomed romances. How Beethoven wrote Fur Elise. How Van Gogh painted with such originality. How Louisa Mae Alcott wrote a story about four sisters. How Taylor Swift wrote in a way that made poetry come to life through music. How she wrote songs.
And as a pianist, she agreed.
She was emotional.
She was strung by her emotions constantly. It was why she responded angrily when JJ bothered her. Why she cried in the bathroom when she felt used and ignored. Why she spiraled when she felt anxious. Why she tried to ignore her feelings in the first place because when she was emotionally attached, she hyper fixated.
Her emotions controlled her.
And it was why she turned around and let the tracks in the sand be the only proof that she was ever there.
Whatever confidence, whatever hope, whatever beautiful thing she had felt for the boy was shattered like a chandelier falling from a ten story building. The pieces, whatever was left, would be hidden in the back corners of her mind, collecting dust for the rest of eternity.
Her sober mind knew that it probably wasn't completely fair for her to get angry. It wasn't like they "talked" or flirted outright or kissed or anything of the sort. He had a right to go off and be with who he wanted. He wasn't tied to anyone.
But it didn't stop her from feeling the way she did.
She was angry. First at JJ for being with someone else. For making her feel like she had been led on. For making her distracted. For filling her up with hope. For giving her attention that she thought was only hers. For making her feel like she had a piece of him that no one else did.
She was angry. Secondly, at herself. For allowing herself to get distracted when her music was what she needed to focus on. For allowing her mind to be filled with teenage ideas of love and boys. For believing that someone actually liked her for her. For thinking that JJ may have been hers.
She was stupid to think those things. Irrational. Irresponsible.
She walked away from the party, walking down to the Cameron's home to get her bag that she had left. The streetlights were the only thing lighting her path and it was there that she felt the first tears of anger fall onto her cheeks.
It wasn't fair to him. For her to be angry for something he didn't know he did.
But she really wanted to believe that he liked her and her only.
So on the sidewalk, in the middle of the night, alone, the pianist cried out into the dark for a boy that she held close to her heart. She would allow herself to cry once and once only.
Before stuffing it in the farthest corner of her hardened heart, locking it away forever.
◇ ◇ ◇
He's liked her since they were in elementary school. Truthfully, he never looked at girls until he was in middle school. Boys thought girls were icky and girls thought boys were gross, but there was always something about her that intrigued him. She was the quiet one, sat in the back, never talked to anyone and usually ate lunch alone on the field they had. That was if she was there. Out of the 250-ish days of school, she had been there less than 100 of them.
Piano prodigy they called her. Girl with a gift. Marvelous. A wonder. A bunch of words that he knew a lot of his classmates got jealous of. Even him at one point. All because she could touch keys in order to make music.
She was hardly ever there - always on Figure Eight, on the mainland, in New York, Washington D.C or any other place that required her presence. But when she was there, it was as if she was a ghost. No one talked to her. If they ever looked at her, it was with jealous envy.
He didn't know why he liked her so much.
The one time she spoke to him, it was during the one rare moment when they had to work in pairs for music class. They got to choose their pairs and while he would usually pair with his new best friend of 2nd grade, John B. Routledge, he made a beeline to the pianist. She looked at him, tilting her head, as he asked if she wanted to be partners. She merely nodded his head and let him pull up a seat next to her desk. It was music class and anyone else, even John B who had paired with the new kid named Pope, thought he was in it for an easy 'A' as did anyone who was partners with her. The pairing up was to help each other with piano playing on the little keyboards.
She had been flawless with her rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star", but he had been a mess of a player. Wrong key every two notes and wrong note every key. He semi-expected her to laugh at him, but she didn't. Instead, she stood behind him and put his hands on the keys and guided him through the motions. She never said anything, only used her hands to help him. It took a whole class period, but he was able to do the lullaby as easily as she did by the end. He shyly thanked her, although he didn't know because he was never shy about anything as a kid. She nodded and while they waited in line to go to lunch, he kept on yapping.
He eventually figured out why he kept talking, but at that time, he was oblivious. He eventually said that he probably won't be a pianist like her when he's older since he's too hyperactive to be sitting down playing songs. He stopped mid-sentence when he saw her smile.
"You're a wildcard, JJ."
The class was led out of the room and before JJ could ask her what she meant by that, John B caught up with him and was pulling along the new kid with him.
A wildcard. Something with unpredictable behavior. Uncontrollable. Unkempt. Wild.
They never really talked after that incident, but he always watched her. In class. When they passed by in the halls. When she played at their 5th grade recital. The middle school play rehearsals. Their short interactions around Kildare. When she was on the news. She was always somewhere and anywhere she was, it caught his attention whether he wanted to pay attention or not. Always a thought in the back of his mind.
As he got older, he hated that she had some hold on him. She didn't do anything and neither did he, but he just liked her. Her. Her work ethic. How she found a way for herself. How she practiced day and night to get better and better. Her confidence in what she did. Her concentration. He liked her because she was just her and unapologetically so.
And when high school came around and she began to attend school more often, he found himself in the music room, escaping his pre-algebra class when found her there. The more he skipped some classes, he would escape to the otherwise empty music room. She was there for her first periods and her last periods. So he sometimes found himself in the room with one other person occupying it. The first time, he sat in the back as she practiced. If she saw him, she didn't say anything. The second and third time, he sat closer - seeing if she would say something. She merely glanced at him while fixing her sheet music and continued with her practice. Nothing moved her. Nothing shook her. She was still and commanded with everything she did.
And eventually he began to make some noise. Open a can of Monster. Take leftover sheet music and make paper airplanes that landed on or around her. He even blew a trumpet once. She never said anything, only glared and handed him the airplanes back, pointing her index finger to the back of the class. The more he seemed to bother, the more attention he got from her. The more she looked at him with her focused eyes, the more he wanted them on him.
And eventually, she became more vocal with her dislike and her annoyance. She'd tell him not to do something and he noted that when he began to push her, she pushed back. Soon their bickering became a common thing to do.
At first, he had to admit that he was trying to get her to dislike him, so that whatever little crush he had on her would disappear as her dislike grew. He wanted her to look at him with malice that maybe he'd grow some too. But instead, it had the opposite effect on him. Her dislike grew, but his crush only grew. Whether he bothered her or not, she never told on him (only that one time at the beginning of Freshman year) and used her words instead of her fists to tell him to stop bothering. And he did. Usually. By the time of the beginning of Sophomore year, he had accepted that he did like the pianist.
He liked her a lot.
He liked her hair and how she fiddled with it when she grew restless or anxious. How her short fingers moved across keys and flexed ever so delicately. How her eyes were as expressive as her face. Her shorter figure that always demanded she look up to him when she spoke. The smiles that told him that she enjoyed being with him. Her hands too. Delicate and soft.
Oh yeah, he liked her a lot.
But now her resentment had grown into a full grown hate and he didn't blame her for any of it. He didn't even have to speak for her to glare at him. So he toned it down. Only making playful remarks with some sarcastic crack at her and it seemed to work. She was less aggressive with him and he even caught her smirking a few times. He'd made the rare notion of messing with her outside of class, but he wasn't met with the harsh stare or tongue of malice, but instead with a similar joke or a narrow of playful eyes. He swore he even saw her look at him a few times during history and art.
But now came the interesting million dollar question.
What now?
He liked her. He was sure that maybe she felt the same way, but then the doubt sinked in. What would she have with him? She was future a pianist in some famous band or orchestra or would become a solo artist or whatever in New York or D.C or heck, even in the United Kingdom or France. She was destined for more.
And him?
Some punk from the Cut who never had more than fifty bucks in his pocket. Wasting his life away at keggers, fights, weed and barely passing his classes. He'd go out with almost every girl who caught his eye. He'd never been in a committed relationship. He didn't even know if he wanted that. He didn't go out with girls to forget her because he wasn't a boy waiting for a girl. But that wasn't the full truth. He couldn't forget her because she had made her mark. She had imprinted herself like a golden tan on his mind - forever a reminder that there was some amazing girl out there that liked Beethoven and Mozart, who enjoyed drinking iced matchas with almond milk and writing music, who could push back as much as you pushes her, who had a confidence that others would pay for, who shined like a bright star whenever she played. She was everything he wasn't.
So, what would she have with him?
Easy.
Nothing.
She would never look at him the way John B said he looked at her. She would never willingly want to hold his hand or spend every waking moment with him or go to the beach to watch him surf or spend time listening to him talk about fishing or surfing or rock music.
That was the thing of dreams.
So he went out with other girls. He continued on with his life as if she hadn't completely flipped it around.
But then things began to change within that last month. She was more playful, nicer even to him. She still had the ability to give him hell if she wanted to and if he decided to push, she'd push back. But their friendship grew and flourished. All because he finally let his guard down and allowed her to drop hers without judgment. She responded to him as much as he responded to her.
So, he knew that if he shook the boat too hard, she'd obliterate it.
They were similar that way.
But she wanted him around. She even complied with writing The Ballad of JJ. She called him "wildcard" as she had done before as a kid. She smiled at his with a kind of sparkle that almost made him kill her in order to feel it. And for once, he had hope, but what was hope if, again, she was destined for the stars and he was stuck on Kildare just like his old man and every man in his family beforehand?
If he tried hard enough, maybe he could deserve her.
Or maybe he would never and he would merely be a song that she wrote as she went off into the world.
Either way, he was done waiting.
He decided that at a kegger he went to. He was sitting with a girl he knew from school, flirting and talking, when he realized he didn't want to do that. The pianist was plaguing his mind and all he thought about as he flirted and touched the girl's hair is how much he wanted to be with her. Did she like keggers? He never saw her at them? What would she wear? Did she drink? Does she like dancing?
Questions that went round and round when he stopped and realized what he had to do.
He was done waiting.
Because it was stupid. Waiting. Hoping. He was a doer. If he got rejected, that was it. He would live. He would go on with his life. He wasn't going to keep pining. If he ruined a friendship, well, he's ruined worst things.
It was stupid to tell her how he felt. It was stupid to ask her out. It was stupid to believe that she would say yes.
However, he believed in his personal philosophy.
Stupid things have good outcomes all the time.
◇ ◇ ◇
He just hadn't realized how stupid he had been
◇ ◇ ◇
It was Sunday, the day before the recital and she's determined to avoid JJ at all costs after Friday night. She had told Sarah about what happened and she immediately told her to come over. She offered to pick her up, but she just wanted to walk. To think. To find closure within. She semi-regretted it as the June sun began to beat on her.
She believed the world hated her because she would have never believed that she would have run into the very boy she was trying to avoid on the day after he accidentally fractured her heart. She was walking, ten minutes away from the Camerons, when she heard her name being called followed by a short but hight pitched whistle.
Driving the same van as before (which she know knew as the "Twinkie" as John B called it) JJ Maybank slowed down his driving near the girl he had caught feelings for.
"Hey, what you doin'?" He asked with a cheeky smile.
"Walking," She replied, her tone mimicking the same unimpressed one she had at the beginning of May when JJ came around to the music room.
"I can see that. Very nice walking." When she didn't respond, he cleared his throat, "So uh, where you going?"
"Camerons."
"Cool." He cleared his throat awkwardly. The one word answers were not normal after their week of delight. "Is everything okay?"
"Peachy." She folded her arms and kept walking, never putting her eyes on him.
Shit, JJ thought. If she was pissed off, he couldn't ask her out. And if she was pissed off, there was something wrong. So, he made a risky move and quickly (and illegally) parked the car and ran up to her. His hand caught her arm and she turned around, pulling her arm out of his grasp as if he had burned her.
"What?" She asked.
"What's wrong? You can tell me if something is wrong." He reminded, "We're friends." He winced internally. Probably not the best phrase to say as he's about to ask her out, "Is it the recital?"
"Friends." She mocked and turned back around.
He didn't relent and decided to push, "What's wrong with you?"
"A lot of things. Thanks for the reminder." She chuckled dryly before digging her hand in her tote bag, "Oh and here." She tossed it to his hands.
He caught the item, noticing that it was his hat. He furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding.
"It's yours." He said, falling into pace with her, handing it back, but her hand pushed back.
"It's yours. I don't want it."
"Wait, wait, wait." He finally stood in front of her, blocking her path. "What's happening? Did I miss something?"
"Nothing. Just giving you your hat back." She tried to move to the side, but he blocked it with his body.
"No, no. You're doing something else."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"No!"
"Yes!" He shouted back.
"Fine!" She relented. "I don't want to see you. I don't want you around. I don't want your hat. I don't want you in the music room. I don't want you near me. Okay? Okay." She shoved him to the side, but before she could even take a step, he grabbed her bicep and pulled her close, close enough that she could smell sea salt and smoke on him.
"What the hell are you saying?"
"I was stupid enough to actually believe that you liked me, but I guess you like every single girl on the damn island." She tried to pull out his grasp, but he held on tighter. It didn't hurt, but her heart did.
"I d-"
"If you did, you wouldn't have been with that girl at the kegger. If you did, you would have said something by now. You can go out and be with as many others as you want but you don't have enough interest to tell me?" She scoffed, "You've distracted me enough. You made me feel so stupid for thinking that you liked me and I was even more stupid for thinking I liked you back." She tugged at her arm, but JJ was like a statue, staring with his mouth parting. "I don't have time for you and I don't want to make time for you anymo-"
It happened quickly.
She almost didn't process what he was doing when he did it until she was doing it with him.
His mouth fell onto hers as his other hand pulled her in by her waist. His hand fell from her bicep and instead cupped the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair as he kissed her. He tried to put every ounce of feeling into it - the passion and yearning he felt, the desire and burning. His mouth was soft, but demanding.
She felt all her anger and her malice fall as his mouth moved. The thoughts in her head flooded away as she pulled him in closer by his black button up. Her left hand held on tightly to his shirt while her right hand was flat on his chest, as if deciding whether to push him away or not.
His mouth almost pulled away, but she finally responded and allowed her mouth to open, allowing their kiss to deepen. They were breathing into each other's mouth, desperate to stay connected to one another. His teeth nibbled at her lip to which she pulled at his shirt even tighter. A chill ran down her spine as her body began to heat up more and more from their closeness. Not even the sun and its direct rays could have created the amount of heat between them.
JJ was in complete euphoria as their kiss went from soft and slow to burning and passionate as if they were speaking with their lips and lips only. His tongue teased her lips and her mouth opened slightly, allowing him to make his entrance. If they weren't in kook public, he would have pinned her up against a wall or a car in order to allow more room for movement.
And maybe it would have gone farther if her brain didn't zip back into rational thought and pulled away. Their breathing was rapid and heavy as they stared at each other, unsure how they got that far. She was silent, unsure how to respond to a sudden and stolen kiss.
JJ, not usually one to talk about his feelings, untangled himself from her, taking a step back before placing the hat that she had tried to return on her head.
"Keep it." He huffed out before walking back to the Twinkie and driving down the street.
The kiss had confirmed what both of them suspected and now knew.
Their feelings were real and reciprocated.
However, it didn't make anything else clear.
In fact, everything felt more complicated. She was angry at him for "leading her on" after she saw him with another girl. He was angry at her for not wanting to see him because of a miscommunication. She was angry at herself for not letting him speak and clear everything. He was angry at himself for being with another girl because now it fucked up everything with her.
But it didn't stop their minds from wandering to the same question.
What now?
◇ ◇ ◇
Sarah swore that she had never been friends with a dumber person. She may be a prodigy, but man, was she stupid sometimes. JJ had kissed the living daylights out of her, gave the hat back and she was doubting everything now. It was clear to Sarah - he was telling her that he liked her and that he was sorry.
But her best friend didn't see it that way.
In a way, she didn't blame her. She wasn't use to the dramas and the mind games of relationships, situationships or friendships that weren't friendships at all. And she knew that she was embarrassed by her outburst. So she allowed her best friend to wallow the day away.
The day of the recital, Sarah got an idea. It was risky and could backfire, but she knew that if she didn't do it, her little prodigy would never resolve this thing on her own. She was too focused on her recital that she couldn't take a break to think about the blond boy that had been pining for her.
The prodigy was near to leaving when Sarah snuck away from her, past her father and Rose who were speaking with the pianist's mother, and outside to the Druthers. She knew one person who could help and she was placing all her bets that he knew what was going on.
"John B." Sarah said, "We need to talk."
The boy put down the bucket and hose that he was using and wiped his hands with a cloth, "What about, Sarah Cameron?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Unless JJ didn't fill his very best friend in." John B shook his head and Sarah sighed, "Look, she's embarrassed. She didn't mean to blow up at him. She doesn't know how to apologize."
"Tell me about it. JJ doesn't know how to apologize either. And the fact that he wants to apologize is something you don't hear everyday."
"She likes him. A lot." She smiled softly, "She wouldn't be all frazzled and upset if she didn't. So," She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, "Let's give them hope."
"A ticket?" He asked.
"To her recital tonight in D.C." She sighed, "I don't know if he's gonna make it or want to go. It's a long five hour drive or train ride, but if he wants to go, it's there."
"I don't know." He shrugged. He'd never really seen JJ like that. Quiet. As if he thought too much that he couldn't even speak. "It could complicate things more."
"She was going to invite him on Friday." She admits, "She had the ticket in advance."
And with that he sighed, knowing that he couldn't take an opportunity away from his best friend, "No promises, Sarah Cameron."
"Wouldn't expect anything less."
◇ ◇ ◇
She pulled on her dress once more. It was a beautiful dress that had been bought by her mother, but she did feel kind of warm in it. The bow in her hair matched it and so did the shoes. She had been dressed in a simple black dress beforehand, but this one was made of velvet, and was longer in length than when she played in the orchestra and pockets.
Pockets!
Her performance was more important, she guessed.
But her mind was anywhere, but her performance.
Through the ferry ride to the mainland to the five hour limo ride to the concert hall - the Kennedy Center for Performing Arts - her mind was occupied with JJ Maybank.
"Oh great!" Margie barged into her dressing room, "You're on in ten. Let's get going."
She nodded, sitting up from her vanity, glancing once at the hat that was sitting on it. It was like her was actually there, assuring he that she'd be okay. She reached her hands out for a moment, but hesitated.
Margie called out her name once more, impatient by the door.
She followed Margie out the room.
The concert hall was full and from her view from the stage when she played earlier, she could see a few people she knew. A few senators. A couple congress men and women. Directors of universities. A professor from Juilliard that she had studied under when she was nine. But there were some she hadn't known, but knew from their posture and the way they took notes that they were either scouts or people of importance.
She was prepped and ready, but began to breathe heavily. She could do it. She could do it. She knew she could. The anxiety told her she couldn't, but she tossed them aside. She couldn't do anything, but play now. Whether she had boy problems or not, whether she just had her first kiss less than 48 hours before, she was a pianist first. She put her first love first before anyone else. Her future first.
But having him there would have been better.
She stood at the corner of the stage, breathing more steadily as her announcement was made. A round of applause followed and she walked elegantly on the stage. Her shoes clicked against the clean and slick floor as she made her way to the sleek black piano. She moved her dress aside so she'd sit comfortably. Her sheet music was out for her as a guide, but she knew she wouldn't even have to look at it.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
She put her fingers on the keys and played her first piece. As written on the program handed out for her time slot specifically, she played it as tribute to herself. And down she went on the list for her first section - classical and somber.
Fur Elise - a tribute to her middle name and her favorite composer of all time.
La Campanella - at only the age of eight, she played this piece during her first live performance in Lincoln Center.
I Wanted to Leave - an spectacular original piece by our composer. the inspiration came during a late night practice session at her home when she decided to write her own music. it is one of her first original works.
Mists - one of the most challenging parts of her journey was learning to be spontaneous with her music. much like Beethoven, Iannis Xenakis' work inspired her to try less regulated music and explore the chaos.
Cardigan - this original song took over two years to write. her inspiration for this piece was the idea that when one is young many believe that they know nothing. her song explores the highs and lows of both the piano and life, showing that she does know more than others believe. She dedicates it to her five year old self.
Gymnopedie no 1 - going back to her roots, she plays one of the first songs she's ever memorized. she dedicates it to her mother, who encouraged her to play from day one and to her father, who once told her she'd play for audiences around the world.
The first set of thirty minutes ended as soon as it started. She was given a loud applause and she gave a small curtsy, a spotlight on her, before the curtains enclosed the stage and the lights turned on for the audience. She let out a breath as Margie, her mother and others came towards her, catering to her. Someone gave her a water bottle, another brought her lotion for her hands and another with a small towel to dab her forehead.
"Beautifully done, honey." Her mother kissed her head. "Your last piece made me remember the first days when you kept playing it. Drove your father and I crazy."
"Thank you, ma." She smiled.
"Okay, okay. Costume change!" Margie sang. "I have to go check up on your audience."
Quickly, she was rushed to the back and put on another outfit. It was a dark blue dress made of tulle. It was airy and light compared with the black dress that had made her feel suffocated. It was off the shoulder with tulle frills. She was thankful as long sleeves combined with hot stage lights did not combine well. Her shoes were replaced with Mary Janes. It was relief to her sore ankle that kept rubbing on a sharp part of the heels she was thrown into.
She received a text from Sarah as her black bow was replaced with a gold hair pin that kept her hair back. She congratulated her on her performance, saying that there was a lot of positive feedback. The pianist smiled for a moment before, replying with a smiling emoji, before thanking her hair stylist. For a moment, she was left alone to give herself some room to breathe.
Alone was the damn hat.
She picked it up. It felt intimate now. Touching the hat from the boy she liked and who liked her back. The hat that he had told her to keep after he kissed her for the first time. She couldn't help, but smile.
That boy made her crazy.
She had been distracted and pissed before, but now, all she felt was acceptance.
When she got back to OBX, she'd make things right with him. Maybe he wouldn't forgive her and she'd accept it. Maybe he would decide that he didn't want to be with her and she'd accept his answer. Whatever the ending would be, she'd be thankful for the hours of attention he gave her and the feeling of being cared for. He deserved her explanation without yelling because he had been nothing but good to her.
Maybe she'd always like JJ Maybank. And she was okay with that thought.
A knock on the door came and so did a ding from her phone. Margie barged in, calling her for her last thirty minute set. She nodded before standing up. She glanced at the hat.
She followed Margie out of the room.
The same process repeated.
Deep breaths. A last sip of water. Another announcement and she was off onto the stage. She sat on the stool, but before she put her hands on the keys, she placed JJ's hat on the empty space to her left, hidden from the audience's view. She had hidden the hat in her black dress' pocket, but without any pockets, she put it to her side. She smiled for a second before placing her fingers on the keys.
"Why do you play depressing songs? I thought pianists were supposed to be lighthearted."
She paused.
"There's a whole world out there that isn't classical music that could apply to your piano playing."
Her mother and Margie would probably kill her later. It was stupid to deviate from the plan.
But if there was anything JJ Maybank taught her: stupid things have good outcomes all the time.
She turned in her seat, gesturing to the stagehands for a microphone. Margie and her mother stared from the sidelines, slightly freaking out. Realizing she wasn't going to play without a microphone, she was quickly handed one by a stagehand. She tapped it, making sure it was on before, turning to the audience.
This is so stupid, but here we go.
"Uh, hi, everyone. Thank you for being here today. I know you're probably wondering what I'm doing with a microphone if I'm a pianist." She chuckled, "Don't worry, I'm not going to sing. I'm not total singing potiental, I promise you," A round of laughter, "and it's not what you came here for. You came for piano and I promise I'll give you that, but I've changed my mind about something." She took a breath, "I will not be playing the complete set that is written on your programs. I've realized a common theme in my playing tonight and someone who I care about recently told me that, um, there's another world that doesn't contain classical or melancholy music that could be applied to my talent. And I didn't believe in it before, but I do now.
"I believe in it now because I experienced something I never have before and I am very grateful for it because it has expanded what I once believed. It has challenged me and brought me to what I now believe and want. I thank that person for telling me that. I...I wish he was here tonight" She let a beat pass before sitting up straighter, "Which is why I will be changing up the setlist tonight. In honor of changing my way of thinking and thanking the people that have impacted my life in many different ways. I hope you still enjoy it."
She turned back to the piano, sliding the microphone into the holder that was already on the piano.
"This first one is to my best friend, Sarah Cameron. She's in the audience. Hi, Sarah." The audience chuckled a little, "This one's for you. For being my best friend and for choosing me during our rocky years."
She didn't play the setlist chosen for her. She played her own. And in each song, she explained the meaning behind it. Something she had never done before, but felt right in doing so.
Later, when her performance went viral online for her unexpected change of plans, Margie would have her write up the reasons for the songs she chose to post online with a deeper thought process.
The Climb - a song for Sarah Cameron. my best friend. we watched the Hannah Montana movie a million times at her house and at mine and we always sang it together. we know the journey is tough, but with each other, we're never alone. i adore her. she helped my journey so much that i had to start with her.
Viva La Vida - it was one of my favorite songs as a kid. i used to sing it all the time. i liked the history behind it. the fall of a famous king. i played it once for my mom and she recorded me without knowing. i think she still has the tape.
Sweet Nothing - this song is original. i wrote it when i was struggling with being alone. it began when i was in elementary school and i finished it the summer before freshman year. i wrote it in order to convince myself that one day i'd have people in my life that would want nothing from me, but myself. i never played it because of how personal it was and i didn't think anyone wanted to hear something sweet and about me. thankfully, someone changed my mind.
Don't Stop Me Now - the person who told me there was another world of music i hadn't tapped into was right. after that conversation, i decided to try it out. simple to see if he was right. i decided on this song by Queen because my dad loved the song. i know he was smiling when i played it. it was so upbeat and fun to play that i forgot i was on stage.
Never Grow Up - okay, okay, i had to. yes, slow songs are my forte. at the time, i didn't really have other original upbeat songs, but i thought this was the sweetest to play. again, it was another song to myself. it was to my younger self, who didn't know where she'd end up. it was a apology to her, to tell her she still had time to be a kid. it's my apology to her for growing up too fast. i hope she can forgive me.
Left Hand Free - so the same person who told me to explore other world told me randomly that a song by Alt J would be perfect for me. i rolled my eyes at the time, but i decided to play it. it was like a little inside joke as i'm pretty sure most people in the audience didn't know what i was playing. it's kind of like the theme song of OBX, where i'm from. my gift to you from paradise on earth.
By the end, she hadn't realized that her time was almost up when the stage manager gave her the five minute warning sign. she nodded and picked up the microphone again.
"So I don't have much time left, but if you're still here, then thank you for still being interested." She laughed, "But uh, for this last song, I want to play something that I actually wrote for someone else. It was my second time writing something for someone else in such fashion. It's called The Ballad of JJ No.2 . If it sounds weird, blame his parents for naming him JJ because that wasn't me." The audience laughed, "It's part two because the first part is for him and him only. This second part, however, I can share with the rest of you because I don't think it's much of a secret." She turned back to piano and put the mic back in it's slot before picking up the hat and placing it on her head, "And to JJ, thanks for being a wildcard."
The Ballad of JJ No. 2 - so JJ is actually the boy who told me the quotes that I mentioned during the recital. he was my friend at the time (more like frenemy) but during the second half of the recital, i just thought back to him and how he was right. the reason i wrote the song was because he answered a question for me and i had to write a song for him in return. he was the one who titled it "The Ballad of JJ". he actually helped me write the first part. i decided that since his name was in the title, it might as well be a song about him. the first part is up and down and all around. wild. just like him. and sorry to all who want to hear it, but it's for JJ's ears only. the second part i wrote as an "alternate" version and it was the one i shared with my manager, mom and best friend when i was testing out originals. it was unfinished at the time, but i completed it on the way to the recital actually. i didn't know i would perform it, but i'm glad i did. his second ballad was what i felt about him. wild. electric. passionate. enchanted, it was everything i felt for him in a song that i couldn't say in words at the time. if you're reading this, i know you're going to tease me, but thanks for challenging me, J. it's the best thing i've ever written (also know that you're never getting your hat back. it one hundred percent mine now and you're the only one to blame).
The last note rang and she let out a breath. It was done. It was out in the open. No denial. No pauses. No hesitation.
(Later on, that one specific part of the recital went viral for her "love confession". It was all anyone could talk about for a couple days. No one outside of the OBX knew who "JJ" was or how he got her to write not one, but two ballads about him. She found it funny how everyone thought "JJ" was her boyfriend, when in reality, they weren't even together. At the time, at least.)
Claps and shouts rang through the concert hall. She stood up and as she did, so did the audience. A standing ovation she received for her performance. She walked to the edge of the stage and gave a final curtsy. She stood for a moment, taking in the cheers and approval for her performance. She hadn't failed, but she didn't care for failure at the moment.
She did something new.
A whistle came from the audience.
She knew that high pitched whistle anywhere.
She scanned the audience, hoping she wasn't dreaming, but couldn't find the person anywhere.
In the first box on the right, Sarah Cameron was waving frantically. The pianist's attention was soon caught and she scrunched up her eyebrows as Sarah rapidly pointed downwards to below the box she was in. Her eyes followed and landed on a boy with messy blond hair, blue eyes and a dopey smile on his face.
He was there.
Before the curtains could close properly, she ran towards the side of the stage where she barreled through the stage crew, her mother and Margie as she made her way out of the backstage. Her shoes hit the ground hard as she ran with all her might. She didn't have to go far because as soon as she saw the door that led to the audience's front row, it swung open so hard that it hit the wall with a bang.
"JJ!" She shouted, catching hit attention. She stopped short once she made it in front of him, "How...why...I-" She had run so fast that she was out of breath, panting.
"Sarah gave me the ticket you saved for me." He said, "Well she gave John B the ticket, who gave it to me almost two hours before your performance. I had to take a train to get here and I didn't see everything, but I made it during the beginning of your second round."
"So you heard-"
"Everything? Yeah," He grinned, "Really ballsy changing your music at the last minute. Did not expect that."
She shook her head with a laugh, "I just knew.I had to. I have to like what I'm playing. Like you said." Her breathing had become more regulated, so she spoke clearer, "I'm sorry I blew up on you. I wasn't being fair to you. I was angry and jealous and a complete ass to you. I'm sorry." She confessed and it was like a weight lifted off her shoulders, "I really like your attention, but I really really like you."
JJ replied with, "I'm...sorry too. I should have told you earlier instead of fucking around and ignoring what I felt for...you." He cleared him throat, "When I'm around you it's like...it's like heavy and like," He moved his hands around his chest, "It's like my heart wants to implode and just like...just...wow! You know?"
JJ had never been good with communicating his feels. Especially to the girl he's liked since elementary school. He was never good with his words, but he was good with his actions. That's why he kissed her. Saying everything he couldn't in action. But even then, he tried his hardest to say what he felt. And she saw that fully. She had trouble saying it too. That's why she played it instead - it was a love note to him that she couldn't say out loud.
"It's like...fireworks or like the freaking butterlies. Ever since we were kids and now I just..." He took a breath, "I really really reall- I never thought that you would even look at me. You're you and I'm me. I'm a reck and you're just-."
And the more hand movement he had, the more he made her smile. A bright one that said everything he needed to know. He noticed and stopped speaking. He knew she knew. No words could say what he felt, but every action said it for him.
So, he reached forward and pulled his hat down so that it covered her face, "Nice hat. Where'd you get it?"
She pulled it up, meeting his eyes, "Some guy I wrote a second ballad for."
"Oh yeah?" He took a step forward.
"Yeah." She nodded nonchalantly, "Don't know what he thought of it though. He hasn't even heard the first one fully."
JJ looked amused, chuckling as he looked to the side, "Oh he liked it. So much so that you can play both of them on your first date with him."
"Oh really?" She tilted her head to the side, with a teasing smile, "He won't try and distract me, right? Throw a paper airplane. Blow a trumpet. Crack open a can of Mons-"
Her sentence didn't even get to finish as JJ only shook his head with a wide smile and pulled her into a kiss. She smiled, knowing that her rambling would caused that reaction. His body pressed up against hers, molding into each other as if they were made for one another. His strong arms eloped around her, one around her waist and the other around her neck. She put her hand onto his shirt, pulling him closer as her other hand ran through his hair.
Their first kiss was matches and gasoline being poured together. Their second was thunder and lightning. Same passion, different area. The first was destructive based on two opposite forces. The second were merely nature, two forces that worked together.
Both beautiful in their own categories.
Her hand tugged on his hair and his tongue slipped into her mouth. Their noises were drowned out by the clamor outside the door. Her fingers trailed his jaw and his throat. His stroked her waist, causing her stomach to erupt in butterflies.
More. More. More.
It was all they wanted.
More as everything ran through them. The wants. The desires. The love. The fire. The passion. The need. The unexplainable euphoria that ran through their bodies and into their souls - their souls that spoke to one another in this one moment.
He smelt like sea salt and smoke. He tasted like sugar. He felt like fire. His hands like water as they drowned her in sensations that she hadn't felt before, but would die to feel over and over if it was him causing it.
She smelt like old books and flowers. She tasted like sweet chamomile tea. She felt like velvet. Her presence, her entire being, was like the salty air of the beach - consuming every part of him until he desired nothing more than to stay in that moment forever.
"So that's a yes?" He pulled away abruptly, eyes sleepy and hands shaking.
"Shut up and kiss me."
And he did just that.
◇ ◇ ◇
thedarlinglore: you'd be dead if you took a shot every time i used the word "maybe". it should be illegal with how much i used that word. it took me three days to write this and one to edit. it took me out of my writing slump. might make a part 2. thank you mr.maybank ❤
Hello! I’ve always really loved your stories! I have an idea for Feveruary Prompt 1: Unlikely Caretaker .
The story could be set during ATEEZ’s first European tour in 2019, when Seonghwa and Yeosang were roommates. At first, Yeosang comes down with the flu, and Seonghwa naturally takes care of him. However, later on, Seonghwa gets infected as well, and Yeosang—who hasn’t fully recovered himself—has to learn how to take care of Seonghwa instead.
There could be some memorable moments, such as: Seonghwa lying in bed exhausted with a fever, while Yeosang frantically searches everywhere for medicine to give him, but can’t find any and ends up waking Seonghwa. Half-conscious from being woken up, Seonghwa can only respond to this younger member with helpless fondness, telling him it’s okay because he’s set an alarm to take his medicine himself.
Or when Seonghwa keeps coughing nonstop, Yeosang panics and doesn’t know whether he should pat Seonghwa’s back first, get him some water, or find throat lozenges. Or on a rest day, Seonghwa sleeps almost the entire day, and Yeosang keeps hovering over him—checking if he’s still breathing by feeling near his nose and mouth, or using an ear thermometer to see if the fever has gotten worse—only to accidentally wake Seonghwa up.
As Seonghwa’s fever gradually goes down, Yeosang also seems to slowly get better at caring for a sick person through days of practice. Even though Seonghwa’s coughing remains severe, Yeosang knows to decisively grab water first before patting his back, and on mornings with schedules, he can get ready himself first and wake Seonghwa a little later.
The Best I Can Do
Fandom: ATEEZ
Sickie: Seonghwa (flu)
Caregiver(s): Yeosang (+ some Hongjoong and Yunho)
Word Count: 3,003
Notes: Dear anon, this was SO FUN to write! It may not hit EVERY suggestion, but the main idea is there. Hope you enjoy!
Yeosang woke to coughing. His immediate response was a bone-deep sigh. He was so sick of coughing. His body had almost kicked this stupid flu with the exception of the congestion in his lungs. The continual coughing ensured that his muscles were still achingly sore even though the fever was gone. It was torture.
But then, a realization struck him.
The coughing that had woken Yeosang wasn’t coming from him.
Yeosang shot up from his bed, slapping on the side table lamp. The same congested, choking sound that had come from Yeosang not a day or two ago was now coming from Seonghwa. Immediately flooded with guilt, Yeosang sprang from his blankets, hands out to… what? What was he even supposed to do in this situation? Yeosang was once again smacked in the face with another realization: he’d never had to be a lone caretaker for another person before.
Yeosang decided to run to the bathroom for water. Flicking on the light, Yeosang winced as he rushed to the sink, filling one of the hotel glasses to the top. When he hurried back into the room, albeit a bit slower so as not to spill, Seonghwa was bent over the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and hands pressed into his eyes as he gasped in air.
“Hyung?” Yeosang asked, voice shaking as he approached. Seonghwa turned towards him, looking pale and sweaty and so, so tired. Yeosang felt his lips begin to tremble. “I’m so sorry…”
Seonghwa shook his head. “Not your fault. We did everything we could.” His voice already sounded rough. Yeosang held out the water and Seonghwa accepted it with a grateful nod, taking a few slow sips.
“You… didn’t say anything last night,” Yeosang said.
“I just felt overtired. I didn’t realize it…” Seonghwa sighed, rubbing at his throat. “Damn, this sucks.”
“You’re telling me.” Yeosang offered a tiny smile that Seonghwa attempted to return.
“I don’t think you complained nearly enough if this is day one,” the older man said.
Yeosang simply shrugged. “What can I… what can I do for you?”
“Can you grab the thermometer?”
“Of course!” Yesoang scampered to the bathroom, the light still obscenely bright in the sleek white room, as he scanned the vanity for the requested item. Instead, his eyes caught the nearly empty bottle of Theraflu. A lightbulb flashing in his brain, Yeosang flipped the bottle over, taking a second to watch the tiny amount of remaining liquid began to float to the top. It looked like there was just enough left for a single dose. Pleased with himself, Yeosang located the thermometer and ran back into the bedroom.
“Hey!” Yeosang chirped. Seonghwa had been staring off into space, and blinked a few times to focus on him. “We have one capful of Theraflu left. You want it?”
“Sure… Wait, Sang!”
But Yeosang had already run back to the bathroom for the medicine. When he slid to a halt in front of Seonghwa again, he held up the bottle with a bright smile. “What’s your temp?”
Seonghwa’s smile was small but fond. “I don’t know, love, you took the thermometer with you.”
Eyes wide, Yeosang’s attention turned to his left hand where he, indeed, still had the thermometer clutched tight between his fingers. His cheeks flushed crimson. “Oh. Sorry,” he muttered repentantly as he handed the device over.
“You’re fine,” Seonghwa mumbled as he turned the device towards his forehead. Yeosang watched nervously as the thermometer beeped and Seonghwa frowned down at the screen. “Shit.” Yeosang leaned forward and Seonghwa turned the screen towards him: 38.3.
“Shit,” Yeosang repeated. His chest ached with guilt. “I’m so fucking sorry…”
“Sang, we’re not going to keep doing this, okay?” Seonghwa replied. “I accept your apology. There’s nothing more we could have done; it is what it is. Can you open that bottle for me?” He nodded to the Theraflu on the table. Yeosang nodded, happy to be of use, and poured up the last capful. “We’ll just get some more of this tomorrow, huh?”
“Of course, hyung,” Yeosang agreed as he offered over the cap. Seonghwa shot it back instantly, not even grimacing, but reaching for his water immediately. After the older man drank down the last few sips in the glass, he reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, finding it empty. “Here, I got it!” Yeosang snatched the water bottle perhaps too enthusiastically and raced to refill it in the bathroom.
When he returned, Seonghwa’s lips curved into an affectionate smile. “You know I would’ve just handed it to you, right?” His tone was gentle, joking, but Yeosang’s cheeks still lit up like a Christmas tree.
“I’m so sorry, Hwa! I just wanted to…”
“Sangie, please, no more sorry’s,” Seonghwa cut him off, grasping Yeosang’s free hand. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about me so much. If I need something, I’ll tell you, okay? Team work.”
Yeosang nodded. “Team work. Got it.” After placing the water bottle on the night stand, Yeosang reached for the extra pillows from his own bed, propping them behind Seonghwa’s as the older man settled back under the covers. “Get some rest, Hwa.”
“I’ll try my best. Sweet dreams, Sang.”
“Sweet dreams.” Yeosang’s voice was quiet. He hoped Seonghwa would assume it had to do with the late hour instead of the guilt clawing its way through Yeosang’s chest. As he turned off the light and lay awake listening to his hyung’s labored breathing and restless shifting until the Theraflu kicked in, a litany of ‘how can I fix this?” began to echo through his brain. Because he, Kang Yeosang, had to fix this. It was his fault, after all.
So he’d have to keep Seonghwa alive. No matter what.
~
Yeosang, unsure when he’d actually drifted off to sleep, woke to the sound of whispering. He rolled over, seeing Hongjoong perched on Seonghwa’s bed opposite the eldest, staring intensely at their current invalid.
“I mean, I don’t think we need to waste the time,” Seonghwa was saying, voice sounding even more ragged than last night. In the pale light of the window, his skin looked far paler than the night before too. “It’s definitely the flu. I don’t need a doctor to tell me that.”
“But a doctor can medicate you faster,” Hongjoong pointed out. He wasn’t arguing yet, meaning that the two were genuinely trying to figure out options.
“An IV’s only going to get us so far, Joong.” Seonghwa paused, coughing into his sleeve. Hongjoong’s lips pressed into a straight line, his entire body taut with what? Concern? Tension? Frustration? Yeosang couldn’t read him.
“Hwa, I can’t have you…”
“Sangie never sat out.” Seonghwa’s tone had a harder edge to it now.
Hongjooong’s right eyebrow twitched. “Well, Sangie didn’t hit 39 in his first 24 hours.”
Yeosang couldn’t help sitting up at that. “39, hyung?!” Seonghwa’s face somehow drained of even more color as his eyes snapped to his roommate’s, Hongjoong’s following. “I thought it was just 38.3.”
“It’s higher now,” Hongjoong cut him off. “And I think we need to consider that moving forward to today’s activities.” The captain’s eyes flicked to Yeosang, softening considerably. “Also, I know Hwa said this last night, but no guilt wallowing, Sangie. This isn’t your fault, yeah? Immune systems are, as much as it sucks, out of our control.”
“Okay.” Yeosang didn’t even convince himself when he said it, but Hongjoong nodded nonetheless, and returned his attention to bargaining with his most stubborn member.
In the end, Hongjoong lost. Seonghwa was given the green light to participate fully in group activities, hopped up on the medically recommended limit of Theraflu and Ibuprofen, and properly masked up with the only exception during their concert that night. Yeosang was thoroughly awed by Seonghwa’s sheer willpower to push through five different interviews, soundcheck, and a full concert with the bare minimum of complaints, which really only happened because someone asked how he was feeling. He was almost convinced that the eldest was, in fact, not completely human.
That all faded, though, when the concert came to an end. As the members walked off stage after their encore, the moment the audience couldn’t see them anymore, Seonghwa practically melted into Yunho’s side, the dancer only able to catch him because, the eagle-eyed performer he was, he’d noticed the older man shaking and swaying during their final song. Yunho was the epitome of calm and collected as he carefully maneuvered Seonghwa to the floor, holding the eldest’s head in his lap while the staff swarmed. Unable to keep his eyes open, unable to draw a true deep breath, Seonghwa’s facade had fully collapsed, and all Yeosang could do was watch pitifully from the sidelines while Hongjoong took orders from the staff and Yunho played with Seonghwa’s hair to keep him conscious.
Management forced Seonghwa to the hospital, where he’d been hooked up to an IV for two hours. Yeosang was still awake, a ball of anxiety, when Seonghwa arrived back in their room, physically escorted by a manager. Yeosang hopped from his bed, taking up Seonghwa’s other side and helping him to the bed.
“No…” Seonghwa whispered when Yeosang pulled back the covers. Despite the weakness of his body, Seonghwa resisted the manager’s gentle push towards the bed.
“What is it, kid?” the manager asked, rubbing at his back as Seonghwa, face screwed up with pain, fought for the right words to explain what he needed.
“Nooo.” Seonghwa’s trembling fingers tugged feebly at his shirt. The manager looked at Yeosang with a shrug of confusion.
It took the performer a few seconds for things to click. “Oh! Outside clothes!” Yeosang chirped, snapping his fingers. He dashed away from the pair towards Seonghwa’s suitcase, digging around for pajamas, which were neatly folded in a corner of the bag. “Ta da!” Seonghwa’s face relaxed instantly, and Yeosang’s heart skipped a beat at being correct.
After helping Seonghwa peel away his hospital clothes and don the fresh pajamas, the manager filled Yeosang in on the details from the hospital. Nothing terribly crazy had happened but still, Yeosang hated that this was happening. Hated the way that Seonghwa curled in on himself once in bed, looking so much younger and weaker than he truly was.
“Look out for him tomorrow, yeah?” the manager asked, his eyes pleading.
Yeosang nodded. “Of course. I… You can count on me.”
~
That promise led Yeosang to his current predicament. He’d let Wooyoung talk him into going from breakfast. When he’d left, Seonghwa was fast asleep, on his left side, left hand tucked under his cheek and right arm hanging nearly over the side of the bed. When Yeosang came back from breakfast, Seonghwa was in the exact same position. San and Mingi had convinced Yeosang to join them for a walk. When he returned, Seonghwa still had not moved. Even after Yeosang got out of the shower, where he’d intentionally tried to make some light noise, Seonghwa was still in the same damn position.
Panic bloomed in Yeosang’s chest. Was Seonghwa still… breathing? Had he choked in his sleep while Yeosang was out and…?
Anxiety high, Yeosang moved none-too-quietly to the bed, kneeling next to his hyung. He reached a hand forward, pressing his palm against Seonghwa’s chest to check for movement. The motion, however, was not nearly as gentle as Yeosang intended, and ended up physically pushing Seonghwa backwards. Seonghwa’s eyes flew open in shock with a startled gasp. Yeosang yelped, flinching back from his own shock as Seonghwa attempting to edge backwards, away from Yeosang, clearly unaware of whose face was centimeters from his own, but ended up coughing instead. Coughing that seemed unable to stop.
“Aaah!” Yeosang, utterly panicked, scrambled to his feet. He threw out a hand for the water bottle on the night stand, unceremoniously knocking it over with a loud clang. “Shit!” His fingers felt slippery as he reached for the bottle again, making contact and finding it nearly empty. Another distressed noise, a refilled water bottle, and a stubbed toe later, Yeosang stumbled back to the bed just as Seonghwa pulled in a ragged yet true breath, body still heaving from the force of the coughing fit.
Yeosang thrust the water bottle forward, and Seonghwa accepted it with a grateful nod and a hoarse, “Yeosang…”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” the younger man cut him off, falling to his knees next to the bed to be eye level with his hyung. “You were just sleeping so much, and you hadn’t moved, and I was worried, and I…”
Seonghwa’s hand, warm and trembling, cupped Yeosang’s cheek, effectively silencing his babbling. “Sang-ah. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I was just startled.”
Yeosang took Seonghwa’s hand in his own, folding their fingers together. “I’m… I’m scared, hyung. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re doing your best.”
“But you’re… you’re not getting better…”
“Cause it’s been two days, Sang-ah.” Seonghwa laughed softly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, his body too wrung out for that. “You gotta give me more time.” A congested rasp bubbled through the last few words, prompting another harsh round of coughs.
Yeosang squeezed Seonghwa’s hand. “Do you need more medicine?”
Eyes pinched shut from the effort and pain, Seonghwa shook his head. “No, I’ve got an alarm set on my phone.”
“Are you sure?” Yeosang frowned. “Cause I know you just said it’s still early, but… I don’t know. Shouldn’t you not be coughing like this if you’re medicated?”
Seonghwa shrugged. “I don’t know, Sang. But I’m still,” he checked his phone, “about an hour and a half away from medicine time, and I’m not risking taking too much at once.”
“Okay. I trust you. But I’m… please tell me if you need me.”
“I will, love. Thank you.”
Yeosang nodded and stood up as Seonghwa curled up under his blankets again, eyes slipping closed. He had to trust his hyung. He had to trust the one with more experience.
~
Yeosang’s trust in Seonghwa lasted exactly 36 more hours. After that whole day of sleeping, and another full day of medicine, Seonghwa was no where near feeling better. Of course, yesterday’s performance hadn’t helped matters; terrified to disappoint the fans, Seonghwa had gone on, danced his muscles past their limit and sang his voice raw. He hadn’t collapsed back stage this time, but the weight of his exhaustion was obvious the second he was out of ATINY’s view. Usually he could hide it better. Now he didn’t even have the energy to care.
But the worst of it was that damned cough. When Yeosang had been sick, coughing had been his main symptom as well, but it wasn’t like this. Persistent medication, water, and cough drops had sufficed to get him through the worst of it. That hadn’t been working at all for Seonghwa, though. Despite all of his best efforts, Seonghwa was continually coughing, sometimes able to swallow down a fit before it got going, but more often wracked with the scary type of chest rattling, choking-on-something-gross fits that wrung him out for minutes at a time. He physically winced each time, sometimes even gasped aloud after, clutching at his side.
It hurt every single member to see their eldest in so much pain.
So by one the next morning, as he listened to Seonghwa cough and gasp and toss and turn restlessly in his bed, unable to breathe or sleep, Yeosang had had enough.
Throwing back his covers, Yeosang stomped the few steps between beds. “Hyung,” he said, voice soft yet firm, as Seonghwa’s was so frequently with him. “Sit up for a sec.”
All he got in response was a pitiful sniffle. “I’m sorry,” Seonghwa whimpered. Yeosang turned on the bedside lamp. Seonghwa, tears running down his face, simply lay there, staring helplessly up at Yeosang.
Nodding to himself, Yeosang cast away one of Seonghwa’s pillows and, placing his hands gently on the elder’s back, pushed his body forward just enough for Yeosang to slide in behind him. Despite trying his best not to, (Yeosang could tell), Seonghwa gasped in pain at the movement. “I know, hyung, I’m so sorry,” Yeosang whispered. “Just a bit more,” he added as he maneuvered Seonghwa back into his arms, the elder’s head cradled against Yeosang’s chest.
“I’m sorry…”
“Please, don’t be.” Yeosang began to card his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair, establishing a rhythm, gentle and grounding, just as his hyung had done for him a thousand times before. He could feel the fever burning through Seonghwa’s skin, sweat beading at his hairline. He felt hotter than earlier. Yeosang felt a bud of hope; maybe this was it, maybe this was the fever breaking. “Sleep, Hwa.”
“I can’t…”
“You can. You will.” Yeosang slowed his own breathing, hoping to lull Seonghwa into a more peaceful state. “I think being horizontal might help you breathe easier.”
“It hurts so bad, Sang,” Seonghwa whispered, writhing a bit in Yeosang’s grasp.
“What hurts, hyung?”
“Everything.” Seonghwa swallowed thickly, the motion clearly agonizing. But he didn’t start coughing again. That was a start. “I’m keeping you up…”
“No you’re not. I was playing games until a few minutes ago,” Yeosang said, genuinely telling the truth. If he were completely honest, he’d been playing games to keep an eye on Seonghwa until he fell asleep, but Seonghwa didn’t need to know that right now. “But I want you to rest, so I’m happy I was still awake so I can hold you now.” Seonghwa didn’t reply, simply letting his head rest fully against Yeosang’s chest, eyes slipping closed again. With a soft, satisfied smile, Yeosang began to hum, a little melody that filled the space between them.
“Thank you, Sang. For being here.”
“Of course, hyung. It’s…” Yeosang paused, then his smile widened. “It’s the best I can do, cause I learned from the best.”
“staying up at night with with worry, holding their sick lover to their chest and watching over them”
I’ve been craving sickie San lately (you know me 😭) and maybe either Hongjoong Yeosang or Seonghwa as the caretaker? Or multiple?
If you’re not feeling those members for this prompt though anyone in Ateez would be fine! Or just ignore this all together if it’s not sparking anything 💜
-Tilly
Think Your Flu Shot's Gonna Hold Up?
Fandom: ATEEZ
Sickie: San (flu)
Caregiver(s): Seonghwa & Mingi
Word Count: 1,080
Notes: @tilly-poppies, I literally sat down and wrote this in an hour, and I didn't even realize that much time had passed because I had a BALL! Maybe not as serious as the prompt called for... but I had fun. Thank you, friend!
Seonghwa pushed open the door to San’s room as quietly as he could. Blinking a few times to adjust to the darkness, blackout curtains drawn against even the nighttime street lights, the room lit only by the bedside lamp, his eyes immediately flew to the bed, where Mingi waved at him. “How’s it going?” Seonghwa asked quietly, leaning in the doorway.
“He’s like… a little creature? A little goblin creature?” Mingi said, voice at normal volume as he gestured down to the entire Choi San slumped against his chest. San certainly sounded like a goblin-esque creature, snoring deeply around the congestion in his head.
“Please don’t ever tell Wooyoung that, he will either kill you for it or never let Sannie live it down,” Seonghwa replied, stepping further into the room. He placed two fresh water bottles on the nightstand, and offered a soda to Mingi, who took it with pure joy in his eyes. “You wanna swap out?”
“Nah, we’re good.” Mingi frowned down at the pre-opened pop can. “Very smart, hyung. You’re always thinking. But we would’ve survived a little tsssk. I mean, we’re talking full volume right now.”
“Better to be safe than sorry.” Seonghwa shrugged. He knelt next to the bed, pushing San’s hair away from his sweaty forehead. “How is he, though? For real this time?” He pressed his fingers more deliberately against San’s skin. “Temp feels lower.”
“Yes, I think his fever finally broke. He’s been very snuggly and also rather sweaty. Also snotty,” Mingi answered with a long suffering sigh. “I am very glad this hoodie is thick, and fear I may have to burn it after today.”
Seonghwa grimaced as he nodded in sympathy. “Thank you for your service. Still think your flu shot’s gonna hold up?”
“Oh, totally.” Mingi’s eyes glanced downward as he readjusted his arms while San shifted slightly in his hold. “Really though, he’s been asleep for most of the time I’ve been in here, which I think is a good sign given the past few days.”
“Seriously.” Seonghwa shook his head, turning a soft smile to the sleeping man before him. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you Sannie?”
San had given them quite the scare earlier that wake, waking up in the middle of the night with a high fever and losing his balance on his way to the kitchen, hitting his head on the counter in the process. While one late night ER visit later left him with a flu diagnosis, he mercifully didn’t have a concussion on top of it, just a headache and a gnarly bruise. But it terrified Seonghwa and Mingi regardless. They refused to leave their third roommate alone for even a second until his temperature returned to normal. Management had been cooperative, giving them some time off to be with San, but they drew the line at other members stepping in to play babysitter, scared of the virus spreading farther than it had to. Seonghwa and Mingi were considered potentially unavoidable collateral damage, but had thus far proved resist to the bug. Which was honestly a miracle given San’s seeming inability to cover his mouth.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna swap out?” Seonghwa asked, gazing back up at Mingi.
The rapper shook his head. “We are a-okay, hyung.”
“Huh?” San’s head pulled back from Mingi’s chest, his hair smushed up to the side as he blinked heavy eyelids. He took in Seonghwa’s face then swung his neck around to look at Mingi. “Hey, it’s you guys.” He sniffled wetly, a sound that had only just stopped making his roommate’s cringe about 24 hours ago.
“It’s us,” Mingi replied with a small laugh.
“Who else?” Seonghwa added, rubbing a hand over San’s hip, exposed from the blankets that he’d seemingly kicked down.
“Dun know. Thought maybe Woo would be here. Or Yeosang. Hongjoong.” San yawned wide, sniffling agin as he pawed at his nose with the sleeve of his pajamas.
Mingi clicked his tongue. “Yuyu and Jongho are gonna be pissed,” he stage whispered over to Seonghwa. San poked his cheek, sending Mingi cackling at a reasonable, indoor level.
“Everyone wants to come see you, babe, but management said not while you’re still contagious,” Seonghwa answered.
“That’s dumb,” San declared, pouting.
“Is it?” Mingi asked coyly. “Cause I feel like you’re a…”
Without warning, San lurched forward, sneezing almost directly on Seonghwa’s face. As the older man fell back in shock, Mingi swung his own sweatshirt covered arm around just in time to catch a second sneeze.
“A walking health code violation,” Mingi finished his earlier sentence with a dramatic shake of his sleeve.
“Oh my GOD! I’M SO SORRY!” San cried, actual tears brimming in his eyes as Seonghwa rocked towards them again.
“It’s… it is what it is.” Seonghwa grabbed a few tissue from the box on the nightstand, handing them to San before taking a few more to wipe at his own face.
“Hyung, I’m so sorry…” San whined guiltily.
“Nope. We’re not feeling bad,” Seonghwa interrupted with an exaggerated shake of his head.
“Hyung…”
“And you know what? I’ve had worse.” Seonghwa pointed up at Mingi. “That one’s thrown up on me before.”
“Hey, it was just on your shoes, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as that time Yeosang…”
Seonghwa held up a hand to cut Mingi off. “I do not wish to go back there.” The rapper nodded in understanding. “Case in point, I’m not mad, Sannie. Please don’t cry.”
“But please blow your nose, you’re dripping,” Mingi said, voice light and joking yet simultaneously serious. Swiping at his eyes once to clear the tears, San pushed away from Mingi before pressing the tissues to his face and blowing his nose. He coughed after, deep in his chest.
“Did you…” San paused, sniffling, before he peeked over his shoulder at Mingi, “call me a goblin earlier?”
“Sure did.”
San shrugged. “Cool. It fits.”
“Okay.” Seonghwa pushed to his feet. “I’m gonna go wash my face quick. Then, since Sannie’s up, maybe we think about dinner?”
“Okay. I’m still sorry, hyung,” San whimpered, smashing his face back against Mingi’s chest.
“Still think your flu shot’s still gonna hold up?” Mingi asked Seonghwa as the elder turned to go. Seonghwa glared back at the rapper’s barely contained, shit-eating grin.
“If I fall, I’m taking you with me,” he threatened, not waiting for a reaction before he walked out of the room.
Caregiver(s): ATEEZ (mainly Hongjoong and Seonghwa)
Word Count: 1,612
Notes: Oh my gosh, life has been INSANE lately. I have had so little time and energy to be creative... it's draining living like this, and I HOPE I can get back to a better balance soon. This one's for my anon who requested a sick maknae during travel 😊
Coordinating travel for eight idols, plus managers, plus styling teams, plus every other person necessary to make an overseas music video shoot possible was no easy feat. Sure, Hongjoong didn’t have to do the worst of it, but management always looped him in, and, in all fairness, he wanted to be looped in. He was the captain - whatever headache the managers were dealing with, he wanted to be aware and help if he could.
And things had gone so, so smooth this time around, Hongjoong just knew the other shoe was going to drop at any moment.
What he didn’t expect was that shoe coming in the form of Jongho stumbling out of his room the day of their flight, eyes glazed, face unnaturally flushed, asking, "Hyung, I think I have a fever. Do I feel warm to you?”
Hongjoong didn’t need to press his hand against Jongho’s blazing skin to know the answer to that question (but he did for the maknae’s benefit).
This was, undeniably, worst case scenario.
“Yeah, that’s a fever,” Hongjoong muttered nervously, removing his hand from Jongho’s forehead just to press it against the younger man’s cheek. “When did this start, love?”
“Just… just now?” Jongho replied, biting his lip. “I felt okay when I went to bed but… hyung, I feel so weird.” His voice turned into a petulant whine at the end, a timber so unlike Jongho that Hongjoong felt his heart snap into pieces. This was bad. This was really bad.
“Tell me more, baby,” Hongjoong said, his voice low, soothing. He grasped Jongho by the shoulders, keeping his grip light.
Jongho’s unfocused eyes tried to hold Hongjoong’s as he spoke. “I feel dizzy, like… like I’m… like the world is water? But like… hard water? Sticky… water? But not wet, though?” Hongjoong would have laughed in any other scenario, but right now, the stream of consciousness his youngest brother was babbling only made his heart race faster. “I feel so dizzy and hot, and thinking is hard and… and… and…” Jongho sighed, head hanging forward so drastically, Hongjoong was scared he’d passed out. But, thankfully, he hadn’t, head rearing up a heartbeat later. “And I don’t feel good.”
Hongjoong nodded, resisting the urge to scream at the universe for this middle finger. “It’s okay, baby bear. Why don’t we lay you back down, and I’ll go ask a manager what to do, yeah?” As Jongho allowed himself to be lead back to bed, something he’d maybe done thrice in the years Hongjoong had known him, the captain could barely contain the panic creeping through his veins. This was not the time for a member to fall dangerously ill, especially not his reliable Jongho. But Hongjoong couldn’t fall apart - his maknae needed him, his team needed him. So Hongjoong swallowed his anxiety and called their manager as soon as Jongho was out of his grasp.
*
“This is cruel,” Mingi hissed against Hongjoong’s ear as the team huddled together at the entrance to the jetway.
“You think I don’t know that?” the captain snapped back. He immediately took a sharp breath through his nose. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”
“No, you’re right,” Mingi conceded. “I know you know. And I know you’re pissed. Just wanted you to know we’re all in agreement.” The rapper’s face was taut with anger, and Hongjoong couldn’t begrudge him the right to complain. He just wished there was something, anything he could do to help the situation.
When Hongjoong had told management about Jongho’s sudden illness, their favorite manager had immediately gone to the next level, seeking some sort of lenience or alternative to account for their maknae’s ailment. But he’d been denied. Point blank. No discussion. The shoot couldn’t be delayed, or moved. Jongho had to be on that plane, so help them, or someone was getting fired.
Mercifully, yet also worryingly, Jongho hadn’t developed any other symptoms besides the wickedly high fever and its natural accompaniments: dizziness, aching muscles, lack of appetite, increased clinginess. He’d been passed around between members from dorm to van to airport, slumped on shoulders with arms clasped supportively around his waist to keep him upright. The staff has done an absolutely brilliant job minimizing their time in the public eye, and had Yunho had worked actual magic keeping Jongho upright in a way that looked more like shyness from the cameras rather than illness-fueled exhaustion. Once in the airport, all facades fell away, though. Sure, Jongho would drink water when told, but had mostly refused to eat, claiming he just wasn’t hungry.
Worst of all, though, Jongho hardly complained. When Hongjoong had broken the bad news, the maknae had simply nodded his head and stood up to get ready to leave. Naturally, he’d lost his balance and toppled right back onto the bed, and Wooyoung had hurried to finish packing for him before Jongho could attempt again.
Currently, Jongho was sat between San (pillow of the moment) and Seonghwa (because of course). Even from a distance, it was obvious the maknae was more than just tired. Mingi had been exactly right: this was cruel.
If Hongjoong had thought it was heartbreaking getting Jongho to the airport, he was woefully unprepared for what transpired on the plane itself. Getting settled was a breeze; upon fastening his seatbelt, Jongho immediately passed out. Seonghwa took the seat next to him, no questions asked about switches, it was known. Things were calm as the plane loaded.
But upon takeoff, when the craft began to bump and the altitude rapidly shifted, Jongho abruptly shot awake with a near-soundless scream of pain. Holding his head, the maknae collapsed forward. Seonghwa, thrown of guard, tried to ascertain the cause of the problem; he grasped the maknae’s shoulders, rubbed at his back, asked in the sweetest but most urgent of whispers what was going on. Despite Seonghwa’s efforts to stave off attention, Hongjoong noticed, as did Yeosang next to him. So did Yunho and Mingi, peering around from the seat ahead of them as much as possible with their seatbelts in place. Even Wooyoung peeked back from the seat diagonally in front of the eldest/youngest duo, catching San’s attention next to him. Seonghwa shot a fearful glance at Hongjoong before contorting himself as low as possible within the possibilities of his safety restraint, trying to peek at Jongho’s face.
“Baby bear, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Seonghwa said, gentle yet firm.
“Hurts.” Jongho tapped at his temples as his face screwed up in pain.
“Head hurts. Scale of one to ten?”
“Twenty.”
“Okay. Can you sit up with me?”
“No.”
Seonghwa gently pushed at Jongho’s shoulders as the makenae weakly tried to resist being moved. “Yes, love. Hunching over like that makes the pressure in your head worse.” Now upright, Jongho didn’t seem convinced, tears suddenly rolling down his cheeks as he kept his hands clasped over his ears. Hongjoong heard Wooyoung and San make tandem sounds of sympathy, felt Yeosang grab his hand. This was so far from normal, for all of them.
“Here, take this.” Yunho’s hand reached through the seats, dropping a packet into Seonghwa’s palm. The eldest’s eyebrows knit together in confusion at the hand warmer. “I know it’s probably silly, but maybe the heat will help relieve some of the pressure?”
“Where did you get that?” Mingi asked incredulously as Seonghwa shook the packet.
Yunho pointed to his coat. “Had it in my pocket, and found it earlier during security. Figured it might come in handy for something, but didn’t realize it be useful so soon.”
As Seonghwa pressed the activated pack to Jongho’s forehead, the maknae’s hands instantly fell to his lap, the tension leaking out of his shoulders. Seonghwa sighed in relief as Jongho melted against his shoulder.
“Thank you, hyung,” Jongho mumbled. Yunho beamed.
“Seriously, Yunho, I think you just saved the day,” Hongjoong added, causing the dancer’s smile to grow even brighter.
The rest of the flight passed with little incident. Jongho never truly fell back asleep, waking in fits and starts, shifting from Seonghwa’s shoulder to the plane wall and back, unable to truly get comfortable enough to fall into unconsciousness. Seonghwa noted that he never felt any cooler either - that fever was holding its own, despite the medication they pushed like clockwork. The headache seemed to have stuck around too, though far less intense than the ascent earlier. And Jongho was miraculously fine during the descent. It was a small mercy.
From there, the members were back to taking turns guiding their maknae through the airport to the van and into the hotel, Jongho following along listlessly, all his energy going into staying on his feet. Everyone was subdued, quiet, worried when they arrived at the hotel, unwilling to partake in their usual shenanigans.
While sitting on the edge of the bed opposite their now sleeping Jongho, Seonghwa perched next to him, Hongjoong did his best to be professional when explaining the need for a rest day to their manager over the phone, who also did his best to be professional communicating the situation to the company. It took telling them Jongho’s temperature had gone up nearly two degrees, sitting at a worrisome 39.8, for them to agree to delay at least his scenes and those for the full group. It was a small victory.
And that victory swiftly crumbled into defeat when Hongjoong woke to a texted image of a 39.2 thermometer reading from Seonghwa with the words, Another man down.
Hongjoong sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he texted back, who??
Notes: Every year, one of these prompts gets away from me. This is it.
It happened after they’d just passed the two week mark.
Two weeks of Yeosang fighting this stupid cold. Two weeks of restless nights, of incessant coughing and sniffling and sneezing. Two weeks of him having to remind his members that it was, after all, ‘just a cold,’ and he was more than capable of attending regularly scheduled rehearsals if he just took it easy.
It had also been two weeks of Yunho playing the role of caretaker, something he was slowly losing patience for. Given that both he and Yeosang were relatively germaphobic, Yunho had taken over doing all the chores in their apartment to prevent contamination, (except loading the dishwasher; that had been Yeosang’s one task because the dishes were about to get cleaned anyway). It had been two weeks of Yunho trying not to visibly squirm every time he encountered his roommate (or feel guilty when Yeosang purposefully avoided him.) Two weeks of fetching small things for Yeosang when the other man inevitably forgot about them, (not his fault, and Yunho didn’t really mind, but still…) Two weeks of Yunho tossing and turning at night, unable to stay asleep due to the near constant coughing from the next room.
Was it Yeosang’s fault? No. But that made it even harder for Yunho to be fully angry with his roommate, leaving the dancer in a thoroughly frustrating position.
At the two week mark, on a Thursday night, after a grueling day of rehearsal that Yeosang had been sent home early from, Yunho sat despondently on their dorm couch, staring blankly at his lock screen. He hadn’t seen his roommate since returning home an hour ago. To be fair, he hadn’t gone looking. Rehearsal had been hell, especially for Yunho as the guest choreographer had been particularly harsh on him as the main dancer, so a petty part of Yunho was jealous Yeosang had gotten out of it. Sure, Yeosang had looked worse for wear, paler than the past week, cough somehow more constant too. It made sense for him to sit out, but… still. The mental and physical exhaustion weighed heavy, and Yunho felt that an hour of staring into space, completely alone, was warranted.
But when Yunho finally stood to head for a shower, Yeosang stumbled into the room. Yunho pressed his lips together, biting back a wave of unbidden irritation. But then Yeosang paused, one hand grasping the kitchen counter for support as he bent in half with a desperately painful cough. That was… wrong.
“Sangie?” Yunho felt his stomach twist, concern peaking.
“Yunho, I… I’m not… I’m not feeling very well,” Yeosang stammered, voice ragged and breath wheezing as he tried to inhale. He gasped once more before stumbling forward, knees giving out. Yunho lunged forward, hooking his arms beneath Yeosang’s and gently guiding him to the floor.
“Yeosang?!” Yunno exclaimed as the shorter man continued to wheeze in his arms. The dancer pushed Yeosang’s hair back from his eyes. “Sangie, what’s…?” Pausing in a lighting bolt moment of realization, Yunho pressed his hand back against Yeosang’s forehead. “You’re burning up!” The panic in Yunho’s stomach wound tighter. “Holy shit, Yeosang, you’re burning up…”
Shaking his head, in a split second decision, Yunho hoisted Yeosang up to his feet and dragged him towards the bathroom. And it truly was a drag, as Yeosang hung like a sack of wet noddles in Yunho’s hold. Heart thundering wildly, Yunho deposited Yeosang onto the closed toilet lid before turning on bathroom lights. Now, the labored sound of Yeosang’s breathing echoed around them, and Yunho bit his lip, desperate to keep the panic at bay. He turned to the shower knobs, the whole reason he’d come in here; done right, a little water could fix anything. Hot water helped ease congestion, yes, but cold water brought a fever down. With a decisive nod, Yunho twisted the cold water knob, and then turned back to his roommate.
“Alright, Sang, work with me,” Yunho mumbled as he reached forward, lithe fingers pulling off Yeosang’s hoodie. He wore a thin, white t-shirt underneath, and was already wearing sports shorts. Yunho nodded, deeming that enough. So he hauled Yeosang to his feet and dragged him into the shower. Yeosang immediately started whimpering like a wounded animal as he fought weakly against Yunho’s grasp, the icy water crashing down upon them both. “I know, love, it’s so cold, but we have to get that fever down…”
Yeosang gasped, a terrible choking sound, and suddenly clutched at his throat, coughing desperately. He went completely limp in Yunho’s arms, the dancer nearly slipping in his effort to keep them both upright.
“Fuck,” Yunho whispered, his left arm wrapped across Yeosang’s chest while his right scrambled to turn the water off. Stumbling back into the bathroom, Yunho fell back against the wall with Yeosang landing in a heap on top of him. That terrible, rasping wheeze, punctuated now by harsh coughs was the only sound in the room, echoing louder and louder in Yunho’s brain. The dancer squeezed his eyes closed, terribly aware that he was seconds away from a full on panic attack despite the fact Yeosang needed him to be rational. With a steadying breath, Yunho put that thought on repeat: Yeosang needs me, Yeosang needs me, Yeosang needs me.
Snagging the towel from the hook above them, Yunho wrapped it around Yeosang’s shoulders before settling him against the wall. Yeosang whined pitifully as Yunho stood up. He slipped on his water-logged socks, left knee colliding painfully with the floor. Hissing in pain, Yunho pushed himself back to his feet, now limping slightly to the dining room table where he’d abandoned his phone. Fingers trembling, Yunho opened his most recent calls and clicked a number without looking, knowing that no matter what, a hyung would be with whomever he called.
*
A phone on the coffee table began to buzz. Mingi looked up from his Switch. “It’s Yunho, hyung,” he called over his shoulder to Seonghwa, the owner of said phone.
“You can answer it!” the eldest called back, nearly done preparing dinner for the trio.
Mingi snatched up the phone and hit ‘accept.’ “Hello?”
“HYUNG! You need to… it’s Sangie, he…”
Mingi’s spine straightened at the rushed tidal wave of words screeching from the other end. “Whoa, whoa, Yunho, slow down…” Out of the corner of his eyes, Mingi saw both Seonghwa and San freeze, eyeing him nervously. “What are you…?”
“Help! He needs HELP!” Yunho sounded no less panicked.
“Okay, we’re on the way. Hang tight.” Mingi hung up, jumping to his feet as he met the worried eyes watching him. “Something’s wrong downstairs.” With a nod, Seonghwa turned off the stove, abandoning dinner, and following after Mingi as the rapper dashed to the door. San grabbed his keys before following the other two into the hall and down the stairs, allowing them to enter the apartment shared by Yunho and Yeosang.
As soon as they pushed the door open, Seonghwa called, “Yunho?”
“In here!” The trio followed his voice to the bathroom where they found the dancer, sopping wet and trembling, desperately holding up an unconscious Yeosang. Despite the water dripping from his hair, it was obvious that Yunho was crying. “He’s so sick, hyung,” the dancer exclaimed, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze. Seonghwa nodded, eldest brother mode taking over.
“Mingi, take Yunho out of here. Sannie, I’m gonna need you to hold Sangie while I call a manager,” he ordered, calm and firm in just the way the others needed. San instantly slid to his knees, pulling Yeosang into his lap.
“Come on, love,” Mingi murmured gently, holding his hands out to Yunho to pull him to his feet. As the rapper dragged his best friend from the bathroom, Seonghwa heard Yunho begin babbling again, his voice getting higher and higher and tearier as it disappeared down the hall. He shook his head; he had to trust Mingi to solve that one for now.
Seonghwa pulled out his phone, dialed their manager and waited only two rings before he heard that familiar voice. “Hyung, we need an ambulance. Yeosang’s currently unconscious.” Seonghwa’s lips pressed together as he listened, San watching him intently as the eldest started rummaging through the drawers of the vanity. “No, we haven’t checked yet, I just got here and Yunho’s practically hysterical.” A low growl sounded in his throat as Seonghwa shut the last drawer with frustration, clearly not finding what he needed. “Can’t find the thermometer. He’s definitely burning up, though.” San pressed a hand against Yeosang’s forehead, shooting Seonghwa a thumbs up of confirmation. As Seonghwa nodded along with the other side of the conversation, San readjusted his arms around Yeosang, who’d started slipping from his grasp. The harsh grating of Yeosang’s breathing was one of the most terrifying things San could ever remember hearing.
“Okay, thank you, hyung. We’ll be here. See you soon.”
San watched, silent and scared, as Seonghwa hung up the phone, then clicked another number and held the device to his ear again.
“Joong, Yeosang needs to go to the hospital. I already called management, and they’re calling EMS.” Seonghwa nodded to whatever the captain was saying. “Okay. Figured as much. See you momentarily.”
*
As Hongjoong opened the door, Wooyoung sprinted past him towards the bathroom, which the captain expected. But Hongjoong and Jongho were stopped in the den, caught off guard by the sounds coming from the room. Mingi and Yunho were the couch, Yunho nearly shouting incoherent nonsense, nearly hyperventilating. Mingi looked up, helpless, at the newcomers.
“What’s going on?” Hongjoong asked, rounding the couch and kneeling in front of the duo, his hand finding Yunho’s knee and squeezing. He started a bit to find the cloth of the dancer’s pants were soaked, but figured that was a story for another time.
“It’s my fault!” Yunho gasped out. “I-i-i didn’t, I didn’t check on him, and…”
“Hey, hey.” Hongjoong grabbed Yunho’s tearstained cheeks, forcing eye contact. He could feel Yunho’s teeth chattering. “Breathe with me. In.” Hongjoong sucked in an over exaggerated breath.
“Hyung! He… Sang collapsed!” Yunho exclaimed, hiccuping panickedly. He shook his head. “I almost drowned him!”
The captain pulled one of the dancer’s trembling palms against his own chest. “Breathe, Yu. In.” Hongjoong inhaled again. Yunho mimicked him, admittedly very shallow. “Out.” Hongjoong kept it up until he felt Yunho’s hand stop shaking in his. “Good man.”
Yunho’s free hand clasped at Hongjoong’s fingers, the ones still resting against his cheek. “I’m sorry…” he sniffled quietly, the last few tears leaking from his eyes.
“Baby, no.” Mingi reached forward, squeezing his best friend’s shoulder. “You did so good tonight, Yunho.” The dancer shook his head, lips still wobbling. “Yes, you did. You tried to help Sangie however you could; that’s what matters.”
“Not to mention, hyung,” Jongho spoke up, leaning over the back of the couch, “there’s no way you could have predicted or prevented Sangie taking a turn for the worse. It was definitely him pushing himself at practice so much. Nothing to do with you at all.” The maknae ran a soothing hand through Yunho’s still damp hair, frowning a bit at that but, like Hongjoong, determining that could be clarified later.
“Yeah, you’ve been taking such good care of our Sang the past two weeks,” Mingi said, smiling softly, encouragingly, adoringly. Yunho bit at his lip, sniffling again.
“And I’m sure that hasn’t been easy on either of you,” Hongjoong added.
Yunho nodded, scrubbing at his eyes. Then his hands fell into his lap. “I’m just so tired.”
“Joong?” The voice was Seonghwa’s. Obviously, the eldest was oblivious to what was happening out here, but it tore the captain’s heart in two nonetheless, to be needed elsewhere when one of his crew was so visibly upset.
“Go, hyung,” Jongho insisted. “Mingi and I got this.”
Yunho nodded, grabbing Hongjoong’s hand and squeezing. “Sang’s more important.”
“Not true,” Mingi muttered as he pulled Yunho against his chest while Hongjoong stood and rushed towards the bathroom. Jongho looped around the couch, nodding to the leader before taking his place on the floor next to his tallest hyungs. Hongjoong felt his chest swell with pride. Damn, why were they all so good at this?
Hongjoong’s reminder that the eight of them were, after all, just humans came in the form of yelling as he got closer to the bathroom. Well, yelling wasn’t the correct term; harsh talking was more like it.
“…are not going,” Seonghwa was saying, tone a sharp, dangerous warning.
“Like hell I’m staying here!” Wooyoung shot back. As the captain settled into the doorwary, he saw San glancing helplessly back and forth between them. Wooyoung’s glare was pure fire as he clutched a pale, unconscious Yeosang against his chest. It shattered Hongjoong’s heart on sight. Which gave him the courage to step into the room, to take charge as ATEEZ’s Captain.
“Wooyoung, Seonghwa’s right. I’m the only one going to the hospital with Yeosang.” As Wooyoung began to protest, Hongjoong held up a hand, silencing him. “I know how you feel right now, I do. But what’re you going to accomplish at the hospital, Woo? I’m just going to sit in that waiting room for god knows how long. We have to let the doctors do their thing. That’s what Yeosang needs right now. And the second he wakes up, I will call you and get you into that room. You too, San, if you want.” San perked up instantly at the promise, nodding enthusiastically. Wooyoung’s lips were a tight line of discontent, anger warring in his dark eyes as he glared at Hongjoong. “You can be mad at me all you want. That’s not going to change anything.”
“Hyung.” All four of them looked up as Jongho appeared in the doorway. The maknae flinched a bit, not expecting such a rapt reception, and thus focused his attention on Seonghwa. “Mingi and I are going to take Yunho up to your place,” Jongho said quickly. “I fear seeing the paramedics would send him into another meltdown.”
Seonghwa clasped the maknae’s hands. “You are a saint.” Jongho nodded, shooting one worried glance at Yeosang before hurrying back down the hall. “And on that note, we need to prep our boy for lift off. Sannie, come help me pack him up a bag?”
The air was thick in the cramped bathroom as the two men disappeared into the hall. Hongjoong watched, expression guarded, as Wooyoung repositioned Yeosang so the performer’s body was more upright; he’d started wheezing again, that terrible rasping sound he’d been making when Wooyoung had arrived. It got a little less aggressive the more vertical Yeosang’s torso, which was difficult to maintain given the man’s current state.
“I’m sorry, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung muttered, eyes cast down towards his best friend. His fingers tightened against the towel still snugly secured around Yeosang. “I… I’m scared. For him.”
“I know, Woo. I’m sorry you can’t stay with him. I just… I don’t want the hospital to freak you out more.”
Wooyoung nodded, reluctant but resigned.
EMS arrived shortly after their manager, and whisked Yeosang away in a cloud of professionalism. When the door closed behind them, Wooyoung stood motionless in the hall, unsure of what to do with himself until a warm hand clasped his shoulder.
“Come stay with us.” Seonghwa nodded his head back towards the hallway, to San, who’d left on a mission to grab a few of Yunho’s things. “You and Sannie can have a sleepover.”
A few minutes later, the trio quietly entered the dorm. Jongho sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. The sound was so low, it was obvious he’d just turned it on to avoid dead silence.
“Everything go okay?” the maknae asked as San collapsed next to him, immediately resting his head against Jongho’s shoulder.
“Smooth as we could hope for,” Seonghwa sighed, watching as Wooyoung followed San’s movements, curling up on the performer’s other side as Jongho began to play with San’s hair. “Where’re the twins?”
“Asleep in Mingi’s room. At least, Yunho’s asleep. We slipped him some extra strength Benadryl to knock him out. Not that he needed it, but still.” Jongho shook his head. “I haven’t seen Yunho that worked up in a while. Maybe ever.”
“He’s scared,” San spoke up. “And he’s tired. That’s a bad combination when you throw in stress like your roommate passing out in your arms.”
“Thank you, Jongho, for being so calm through all that,” Seonghwa added, smiling with pride.
Jongho shrugged. “Hey, we can only have half of the team freaking out at once. Wasn’t my turn today.” San snorted out a laugh, and Seonghwa could see Wooyoung also fighting a smile. He had little choice when San threw an arm around his shoulders and tickled Wooyoung’s neck, eliciting a squeal from the younger man.
As the couch descended into light chaos, Seonghwa padded down the hall. He peeked his head through the doorway of Mingi’s room. The rapper’s eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of his phone screen, turned towards him instantly, followed by a small wave of the phone hand. His other arm was trapped under a snoring heap of Jeong Yunho.
“Everything good?” the eldest whispered.
Mingi nodded. “We might have to do some damage control in the morning, but…” He paused, beaming down at his best friend, “I think he just needed to sleep.” Then his face turned serious again. “How’s Sangie?”
Seonghwa shrugged. “We’ll know when we know. All we can do is get some rest and be ready to help tomorrow.”
Mingi saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.”
Seonghwa mirrored the salute, finally feeling at peace again. “As you were.”
Note: @sickonthedancefloor I hope I did you prompt justice, friend!!!
“Hey! Look who it is!” Taehyung exclaimed, arms thrown out in welcome as the door closed behind Hoseok. The dancer paused, holding up a peace sign before shuffling to the front of the room. “Look who finally decided to show up!”
“Ha ha, so funny.” Hoseok rolled his eyes over dramatically, his statement punctuated by a sharp sniffle that had Seokjin practically shoving him into the folding chair at the front of the practice room. “Hyung, I know what I agreed to!”
Jin’s eyes alone spoke volumes. “One incident today, Hobi, JUST ONE!” He held up a finger for emphasis, “and I’m sending you back home.”
“Relax, hyung.” Namjoon clapped Jin on the shoulder with a raise of his eye brows. “Hoseok-ah’s an adult. He knows his limits.” The leader’s eyes flicked warningly towards the dancer. “Right?”
Hoseok shot them both an enthusiastic, two-handed thumbs up. “Right-o! Cough’s been gone for about 24 hours, so I am cleared to return to work.” Another sniffle punctuated his statement. “I am still a little stuffed up, but it’s out of my lungs, and that was the deal.”
Seokjin narrowed his eyes at Namjoon, as the leader had agreed to the deal that Hoseok could return to work as soon as his cough settled. It was, after all, just a cold, albeit the scary kind that settled in his chest. Clearly, though, Hoseok hadn’t developed bronchitis (or, don’t even think it, pneumonia,) so the leader really couldn’t move the goal post now.
Namjoon nodded. “That was the deal. As was you taking it easy today. Thus,” he gestured down, “the chair.”
“I know, I know.” Hoseok waved away the leader’s concern. “So go stretch. My eyes’ll be sharper today since I can’t participate fully.” The smile behind his mask was overly sweet, and both Seokjin and Namjoon could sense it, immediately groaning and returning to the dance floor. Hoseok chuckled to himself, rubbing at his neck. While his throat no longer felt sore, a persistent pain was beginning to bug him, crawling from his neck up the right side of his head to his ear. Hoseok sighed; it was probably from all the laying down he’d been doing. Sure, he didn’t have anything more than a stupid cold, but it had knocked him out harder than he’d expected. He’d even spiked a fever three days ago. He’d finally turned the corner two nights ago, the ache in his chest finally easing from rest and medicine. Yet the fact that he was still uncomfortably stuffed up despite the congestion finally loosening its hold on his lungs? Criminal.
Pulling his water bottle and a box of tissues from his bag and setting it decisively next to his chair, Hoseok’s eyes scanned his members, all in various stage of stretching. It was SO GOOD to be back, to be able to participate, even in a small way. When he called the member together to start running through choreography, he was J-Hope the dance captain once again, all focus and precision. Sure, he winced a few times from the pain crawling up his neck. Sure, he had to pause a few times to ward off the occasional sneeze. But Hoseok was back in his element, and his members were on top of the world having their choreography virtuoso back in action.
Everything came crashing down an hour before their lunch break. The group moved to a newer song, a dance that hadn’t fully settled into their muscle memory yet. So far, Hoseok had been able to teach from his chair, watching their run throughs and providing verbal feedback with minor hand gestures. But the group was getting worked up. Something about this track… even Jimin and Jungkoook were struggling.
“Okay.” Hoseok held up his hands and vaulted to his feet. The movement caused a sharper pain in his ear then Hoseok expected, and he stumbled slightly. Six pairs of hands raised, as if nervous he would somehow faint immediately. “I’m fine. Just moved a little too fast.” While every member’s posture relaxed, their eyes did not. Hoseok did his best to ignore that.
“Sit down, hyung. We can figure it out,” Jungkook insisted, sincere and helpful.
“It’s okay, Kook, I can walk you through a few moves. I won’t go at tempo, promise.” Hoseok crossed his thumb over his heart, watching the older members out of his periphery. “The movement goes 5, 6, 7…” He began to slowly walk through the steps, breaking it down, hoping to provide clarity where it was needed. And he was highly successful… until the turn. The turn involved a level change - there was a plié and head tilt and, when he did so, Hoseok’s vision tilted. He stumbled again, blinking rapidly to clear the sudden stars swimming before his eyes.
Steady hands caught his shoulders. “Hoseok, sit.” Yoongi.
“I’m f-fine…” Hoseok attempted to shake his head, but the movement caused another burst of pain and he cried out, holding the right side of his head as he fell onto one knee.
“HYUNG!” The cry echoed around him, but Hoseok couldn’t identify the voice as the volume sent yet another shockwave through his body. What was happening? This hadn’t happened at all since he’d been sick. As the confusion swelled within him, Hoseok felt his heart beat start to race and the room around him began to spin faster and faster.
“Hoseok?” Yoongi’s voice, deep and soft, right next to his left ear. Warm hands still holding Hoseok like his life depended on it. “What’s wrong, love?”
“I…” Hoseok swallowed thickly, suddenly nauseous. “Dizzy…” he breathed.
“Jimin, go grab ice, please,” a voice directed from somewhere above Hoseok’s head. “Kook, go with him.”
Hoseok squeezed his eyes shut, willing the spinning to stop. It didn’t. Neither did the screaming pain in his ear.
“Jung Hoseok!” A hand against his cheek startled the dancer’s eyes open. He met Seokjin’s worried gaze. “Hobi, can you hear me?”
“Huh?” Hoseok gasped breathlessly.
“I’ve said your name three times,” Seokjin said gently, his thumb working caressing the rapper’s cheek. “You responded to Yoongi right away, but not me. You don’t seem to have a fever, you’re suddenly dizzy, you…”
“Are pulling on your ear,” Taehyung interrupted.
“Wha-?” Hoseok didn’t even realize he was doing exactly that until Yoongi grabbed his hand, folding it into his own. “I don’t…”
“Seok-ah, you’re pulling on the ear where Jinnie was,” Taehyung said, eyebrows creased in worry. “Isn’t that… a clear sign of an ear infection?”
Seokjin sat back on his heels, eyebrows furrowing. “Since when are you knowledgeable about that?”
Taehyung shrugged. “I have two younger siblings. When someone pulls on their ear, that usually means ear infection.”
“But I…” Hoseok paused, the world only starting to come back into focus. He sniffled harshly, suddenly aware of his symptoms again. “When was I…?”
“Just now,” Yoongi answered before he could finish. “You lost your balance, then grabbed for your ear. And Jin’s right, you didn’t seem to hear him at all, but heard me just fine. That sounds like infection, Hoba…”
“But… how?” Hoseok asked, meeting his eldest hyung’s gaze.
Seokjin shrugged. “A lot of ways. Probably your cold moving from your chest up to your head.”
“Yeah, all that snot’s gotta go somewhere,” Taehyung joked.
“That’s… so rude.”
Taehyung’s face fell. “No, hyung, I didn’t mean…”
“Oh, no, not you, Tae!” Hoseok shook his head, immediately regretting it at the shoot of pain through his ear. After he winced thoroughly, he forced his eyes up to the younger man, squinting against the light. “I mean rude of my body to do that. Your joke was, unfortunately, spot on.”
“Hey, Kookie, can you turn off the first light switch?” Namjoon asked suddenly, his eyes focused beyond the small group. Hoseok assume the ice brigade has returned. “I think the full fluorescents are hurting our dear choreographer.”
“It’s okay, I…”
“Stop.” Yoongi pressed a finger to where he assumed Hoseok’s lips where beneath his mask (he was mostly right.) “You’re allowed to be in pain. Just accept it. And sit back in your chair until we can you to a doctor.”
“So dramatic,” Hoseok muttered as Jimin pressed an ice pack into his hand, which the dancer immediately pressed against his throbbing right ear. “It’s just a cold… and maybe an ear infection.”
“Jeez, hyung, we leave for two seconds and you get sick AGAIN?!” Jungkook exclaimed, shaking his head. “I’m starting to feel left out.”
“Oh trust me, this is something you want to be left out of,” Hoseok replied as Yoongi and Seokjin lifted him from the floor and back to his chair. Did he need the help? No. Was he going to hate the coddling that was sure to come with this new illness development? Yes. But did he love it anyway? 1000 percent.
Feveruary Day 23: "Jeez, if that's your bedside manner, I'd rather take my chances on my own.”
Fandom: ATEEZ
Sickie: Wooyoung (appendicitis)
Caregiver(s): San
Word Count: 641
Note: @tilly-poppies, this one's for you! <3
“Okay, that’s it, I’m calling Hongjoong,” San declared as Wooyoung threw himself back against the tub after dry heaving for the third time in half an hour. The younger man whined in disagreement as he clutched at his aching abdomen. San paused, fingers hovering over the captain’s number on speed dial. “Actually? This might just be straight ambulance.”
“No hospital!” Wooyoung explained as he all but writhed on the floor, gritting his teeth against a violent wave of pain shooting through his torso. He gasped against his will.
San was not convinced. In fact, he looked downright pissed. “Youngie, this isn’t bad food. This isn’t the flu. This is your appendix.”
“You don’t know that…”
“You’re clutching your right side like your guts are about to spill right out of your skin,” San interrupted. Wooyoung, pale faced and sweating bullets, glared at him. “You suddenly spiked a fever, suddenly started vomiting. That’s all textbook appendicitis, Woo.”
Wooyoung somehow still had the utter audacity to roll his eyes. “Well, you drive me to the hospital, then. No fucking ambulance.”
“Fine.” San turned on his heels, racing to grab his shoes, wallet, and keys. When he returned to the bathroom, Wooyoung was still gasping on the floor, looking somehow even worse for wear. “Let’s go.”
Wooyoung glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nope. We’re going to the ER right now. Let’s go.” San waltzed forward, grabbing Wooyoung under his arms and hoisting him to his feet, only feeling a little bad when his friend screamed in pain. “Hey now!” San exclaimed as Wooyoung doubled forward.
“It fucking HURTS, San!” the younger man wailed, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes. “Holy shit, it hurts like hell!”
“Okay, okay, come on. The worst is over. You’re up, now all we have to do is get you to the car.”
“FUCK!”
“You can swear all you want, just move your feet,” San encouraged, carefully maneuvering the both of them forward. Wooyoung continued to cry out, but followed San’s movements, doing his best to swallow the worst of his pain, but it became increasingly harder the further they had to walk. Damn their dorm layout, having the bathroom so far from the front door!
“Okay, sit down a sec,” San instructed when they reached the door, starting to lean forward to help Wooyoung sit.
“No, please just take me to the car!”
“Woo, you need shoes,” San insisted.
“No shoes, just car!” Wooyoung wailed, nearly lost in the agony of his body.
“It’ll take two seconds.” San grabbed Wooyoung by the shoulders and sat him on the little bench Mingi had found for the doorway. He quickly turned to the shoe rack, grabbing a pair of slip on sandals from the rack (he didn’t know who they belonged to, but did know the owner wouldn’t mind loaning them to Wooyoung in his time of need). As San whirled back to his patient, he tripped over his own feet, fully losing his balance and crashing forward, his head nearly colliding with the bench. “SHIT!” Luckily, he caught himself before absolute disaster.
“Shit, San,” Wooyoung said, voice strained with pain. San’s eyes flew to meet his, surmised to find the faintest gleam of mischief in them. “You order me around, and then nearly concuss yourself? Jeez, if that's your bedside manner, I'd rather take my chances on my own.”
San blinked, stunned at Wooyoung’s ability to joke right now. But then he snorted, breaking the spell. “Oh yeah, tough guy? You wanna drive yourself to urgent care? Let’s see you stand up on your own, right now.” Wooyoung chuckled, a weak excuse of his usual laugh that ended with a pained moan, but it was something. There was still time. And San intended to get his friend to safety with plenty of it to spare.
