slow burn [✓] | second chance [✓]

♪ 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼  𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰  𝓯𝓸𝓻  𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻  𝓽𝔂𝓹𝓮 ♪

'just wanted something that's familiar'

Staring down at the note in her hand, her hand shook. Not in anger, not in sorrow, but in realization. The beautiful Manila white card that was bleeding with ink, ruining the beautiful handwriting.

The water that stained the sheet wasn't tears, in fact, it was a substance purer and clearer than anything in the world.

Rain.

She had run through the entire school to get to her locker and braved the rain back home.

The gentle, open, honest words danced across the page, yet there was no liquid in her eyes, none at all.

Only a spark of light and nothing else but an empty void.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered. "I did it again." Sighing, she stared out of the window, the rain pelting down vigorously in a rhythm only she could decipher.

She grabbed the guitar next to her and strummed a couple of chords, shifting her hands into a more comfortable position against the familiar indentations of the fingerboard frets.

The cool metal sent a ghost electrical wave down her fingers and into her palm, where a paper cut, thanks to the card, still sat, freshly open, a wound that she hadn't yet managed to heal.

Without quite knowing what she was doing, her fingers moved on their own accord, playing a familiar, haunting melody, one she was all too closely acquainted with.

"And we're right back where we started," she whispered, her words brushing off the walls gently. The echo in the room was almost studio-like, perfect for recording and singing.

Willowing in sadness and talking to yourself? Not so much.

She slumped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the handpainted star constellations.

"Why do I always find myself falling for the same type of people? I know people have a type, but damn, why do I always fall for the painfully sweet ones?"

A peal of gentle laughter lingered in her ear, teasing, almost taunting her.

She checked the time on her phone; she had just under three hours to get ready. Shutting her eyes tightly, she blacked out entirely, dreaming of white light and a glass box.

Waking up with a start, she hit the snooze button on her alarm and shot to her feet, rushing to the bathroom, her heels pounding on the warm carpeted floor.

Throwing on her already previously prepped clothes, she walked out of her room and then back in again, her fingers closing around a smooth piece of metal. She shut the door behind her. Exiting the house, she speed-walked to the stadium only two streets down from her house.

It was already filled with excitedly chattering fans, most carrying lightsticks or watches they had bought from the pop-up stores in front of the stadium.

The rain had stopped completely, filling the air with a moist and gentle layer of mist.

She cut straight to the front of the line, handing the security guard her ticket and a silver token, which allowed her immediate access to the stadium.

She had paid nothing for it, and had even considered throwing it away five hours ago.

Now, she caught it as the guard flipped it back to her, holding back the crowd of fans as she stepped into the sheltered building. She grabbed her seat, the one with the best view of the stage, and smiled at the waiter who'd gone round the entire box, offering people snacks and drinks.

She grabbed the honey butter-covered almonds and opened the packet, graciously accepting the lemonade the waiter had pressed into her hand, smiling kindly as he did so.

A good hour later, and the lights cut.

The show had started.

A rising platform appeared from the stage, revealing a blonde-haired boy with ice-blue eyes. The next performer entered the stage with a puff of smoke, a silhouette turned real, his hazel eyes gleaming with excitement as he ruffled his puffy brown hair. A dramatic show of mist unveiled the third member of the group, a red-haired boy with bright brown eyes.

Delicate laughter, the same one that had echoed in her mind just before, wrapped the theatre, captivating all eyes toward the top of the stadium.

Shocking violet eyes met her own clear green ones as the black-haired boy waved to his fans, 'flying' down on a carefully designed swing. They broke eye contact while he descended to the stage, waving enthusiastically to the crowd.

Once more, his eyes darted back to her, lingering on her for a moment longer before he continued scanning the stadium.

The quartet broke into their first song, an upbeat, blood-pumping song that she'd helped write, a song she knew every word to, every melody, every harmony that could've changed the song in ways so significant the whole vibe would've been different.

Yet she stayed still. She wasn't jumping around and yelling like the other fans around her; she moved not an inch throughout the entire performance.

When the final song came on, the one she had written, composed, and produced, she rose to her feet.

She met all four sets of eyes on the stage before locking her gaze onto gleaming mauve orbs that shone brightly with happiness, and a thin underlay of sadness and acceptance shimmered beneath the bliss.

She held up the silver coin, and then reached into her pocket to pull out a guitar pick, one inscribed with her initials.

She set it down on her seat and turned her back on him, striding up the stairs.

She had an apology note to write in return for the confession she'd received at the beginning of the day. It would be sad and filled with remorse, but remorse that was the result of her being unable to love the author of the note.

It wasn't that she didn't want to; it was that she couldn't.

Her heart belonged to the boy who'd painted stars on her ceiling and inscribed a guitar pick for her. One who sat on a piece of wood and clung onto flowering vines as he soared down the audience stands to his rightful place onstage.

It was his, and only his.

Maybe he wouldn't be able to call it his now, but one day, and on the day he could call her his, she would be able to call him hers too.

It hadn't taken much for her to realize who her heart belonged to. All it took was an unexpected confession, a run through the rain, a concert, and a clear head.

Sometimes, clarity came in the form of confusion.

'never get it right'

✎...A/N: what a romantic love story. sometimes, it takes time, but time is all we have

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