Realistic or Modern saving graces

[pasta]

SAVING GRACES

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

The small, beach town had a feeling of cold loneliness. With it being such a small population, everyone must’ve known each other, right? That made him an obvious standout if his clothing options and apparent discomfort didn’t give him away enough. He supposed he preferred solitude back in LA, so it shouldn’t be too bad if it was the same here, right? No, he was in a foreign state across the country. He knew California well, but Massachusetts was an entirely different story. He had visited Boston once a few years prior briefly, but it was for some art-related showcasing with his mom -- the recollection was visible in his mind as any memory with her was.

The flight had landed in Boston around 8pm, and he reached his bed and breakfast in Groveport by 9pm. The woman running the inn seemed a little too thrilled to have him there. He figured they didn’t see too many people from California there ever, until he noticed a few reproductions of his paintings in picture frames neatly hung on the wall behind the front desk. They were landscape paintings.

He never knew how to react when he saw people appreciating his own work. He wasn’t making it for mass consumption like that, but it seemed that’s how it turned out. Who knew emotional pieces with a heart and soul could be marketed on postcards.

“Oh,” the older woman piped, glancing behind her. “I was surprised someone from the west coast was booking a room here, and I told one of my girl friends about -- she gave me some wonderful postcards with your paintings printed on them. Just truly lovely.”

“Cool.”

“Cool? You idiot, that’s all you could think of?” he thought to himself as the woman stared deeply into his eyes, waiting for him to give her something to work with.

“I mean,” He cleared his throat “That really means a lot. Didn’t know my work could reach all the way out here.” Before she could speak again, he quickly interjected. “Could I have my key? My luggage is getting heavy.”

Gladly taking the key, he slipped through the conversation like sand through the cracks of the fingers. While he was grateful for the owner’s hospitality and admiration, he wasn’t mentally prepared to chat with any townies.

“Jesus,” he muttered as he shut the room door behind him. His limbs were cramped and weak, and for a moment, he considered letting the wet purr of the air conditioning lull him to sleep, but decided on checking out his new home.

Lazily, he dropped his suitcase and bags on the floor with a dull thud. He surveyed the room, picking up random knick-knacks and turning them over in his fingers. The decorations were outdated to stay the least. The room was characterized by magenta walls, moth-eaten velvet curtains, button-studded pillows, rose silk lampshades with fake pearls lining the brim, and a godawful comforter with rose patterns on a mossy green background. Everything was so different compared to the modern decor he was used to. Even the odor was different, it was like mothballs, and black tea mixed together into a strange soup.

Stopping in front of a garlanded mirror, Milo stared at his disheveled appearance. While he was told he looked a lot like his father, he still had his mother’s eyes; two emotional holes planted in his face, always glazed over with some type of yearning. Sighing, he raised his hands and used the pads of his fingers to fix his messy hair.

“Could go for a drink…” It didn’t sound too bad of an idea, and he was dying to explore the little town. He had spotted a bar across the street from bed and breakfast he was staying at, and he supposed it would do just fine.

--

Outside, a broad vista of a star-filled sky hung over the town. Milo skimmed down the front steps of the inn to the sidewalk, haloed with street lamps. As uncomfortable as he was with the small town, he had to admit it had an incredible aura. The air felt cleaner. The sky was a deep, navy blue, much unlike the city with its violet, electric nights. It wasn’t affected by much pollution either; he reckoned there was never a dense haze of chemicals hanging over the town. The only problem was the muggy, stale heat. For some reason, he assumed New England would be chillier than LA, but it was actually hotter. He was starting to rethink his clothing choice.

Perhaps his few months there would be fun if he could just find company. He hoped a change of scenery would revive the massive art block he was having. He really needed a muse. An artist friend of his recommended traveling to a small town in New England; originally, Milo was seriously considering Vermont, but he had decided against it. Something about staying in a cabin, in the middle of the woods, alone, scared the shit out of him.

Crossing the street, he approached the bar. Faint music from the inside reached his ears, and he smiled, charmed by the building’s personality. He pulled open the door, instantly hit with louder music and a gust of blasted AC. It was his first real taste of the Groveport people. He still wasn’t interested in chatting with anyone just yet, but bourbon would probably do the trick. He made his way to the bar and took a seat on one of the many stools crowded around the front bar.

“Bourbon on the rocks, please,” he ordered with a raised pointer finger as the bartender came around.

The painter shifted his weight onto his elbow, pointer finger resting on the length of his cheek while his thumb supported his chin. What was he expecting? He was questioning his own motives; a friend, maybe or perhaps an easy way to silently understand the townies?

outfit: here
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[erised]

HENLEY

location: performing at the bar | mood: well this sucks | outfit: xx | tags: pasta​

The sound of the waves crashing and seagulls screeching filled Henley's ears as he laid on the sand, arm thrown over his eyes, trying to think of a damn hook for the song he was currently writing.

It had been plaguing him this past week and there was nothing else he could think of. The rest of the song was finished, had been finished for a while. It was just the hook and the bridge he couldn't think of and it was driving him nuts. Most people would say to take a break and work on a new song or something else, but Henley didn't listen. He had to finish the song he was working on before moving to a new one.

Desperate times had called for desperate measures. Since his room, the usual place of songwriting, wasn't working, he'd decided to head to the beach for a change of scenery with the hopes that a new location would do the trick. Well, no such luck.

He'd been here for three hours already and had only managed to write four words. So clearly, the change of scenery hadn't worked. Fantastic. He checked his watch and saw he had about two hours until he needed to be at the bar for his gig, so with a sigh, Henley picked up his stuff and made the trek back to his apartment.

He napped for about an hour, ate whatever leftovers he had in the fridge and then took a shower. Since he couldn't care less about the people in this town and what they thought of him, he grabbed the very first thing he set eyes on in his closet and threw it on. Then it was time to go. Everything he needed for the performance, including the electric guitar he was playing, was already at the bar backstage. Perks of being a regular performer, he guessed. Wahoo.

Much sooner than he wanted, Henley arrived at the venue. However, instead of walking right in, he paused for a moment. Sighing deeply, he wiped off all evidence of the "I hate it here" expression that he wore at all hours of the day while he was stuck here and plastered on an "I love singing, I love performing, I love life" expression. It wasn't the easiest to pull off, but he managed.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and walked in, immediately heading backstage. There, he pulled out his electric guitar that he kept in a locker and tuned it. After everything was set up, Henley whiled away time on his phone until he got the call for showtime.

Well, here goes nothing, he thought as he walked out onto the stage to general applause. Henley took a seat on the stool that was set out for him and greeted the crowd, however, through the glare of the lights, he noticed that there were a lot more people here than usual. Well, that was flattering.

He started his set with a few originals and a few covers, praying as always that somehow there would be a bigwig from a record label that would give him their card and he would be signed as a songwriter almost immediately. But since that was a dream that was almost guaranteed to never happen, he plowed through his set.

"This next song is pretty new, just finished it last week, actually," Henley began. "This is the first song I've written that's mainly in Korean, but you'll recognize a handful of English words in the hook and chorus, I promise. It's also pretty sad, so get the tissues ready." he finished with a chuckle. "Alright, without further ado, this is My Story, My Song." And then he launched into the song.

After he finished playing, it was time for his twenty minute break. He usually spent it backstage but today decided to go to the bar. There, he signaled the bartender, one of the few friends he had in this town, and ordered a jack and coke. Perks of performing was that the drinks were on the house, because if they weren't, Henley certainly wouldn't be buying one. When he got his drink, he took a sip and looked around at the crowd.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

Milo had been staring deep into the glass of dark honey-colored alcohol for the past five minutes. Before he fell in a sort of trance, he made awkward eye contact with some woman across the bar. It was embarrassing, to begin with, but her face made things five times worse; her eyes hardened, and her lips curled into an irritated glower. Face redding into a deep shade of red while his skin clammed up, he looked away, and that’s when his dark eyes found the chilled cup.

“Korean.”

The painter finally looked up from his beverage and in the direction of the singer. For the beginning of the performer’s act, he had been listening but not fully paying attention; it was serene. However, the mention of the language captured his full attention. A performer singing in mostly Korean wasn't something you heared every day.

While he was Korean, he couldn’t speak it. God, no. He was awful at it. His mother was to blame for that; she couldn’t articulate the language past a conversational basis. It went back to her own parents caring little to teach her as they wanted to be more Americanized -- whatever that meant.

A few years back, in an attempt to reconnect with his heritage, he started taking classes. It was like being thrown back into some tiring high school language course where he couldn’t focus for shit. He was never practicing the language outside of the class. Unless it was with his mom, who wasn’t much of a help.

With a few years of classes under his belt, he learned to understand Korean when it was spoken to him. He still couldn’t fluently speak it though, it never sounded right when he tried.

Milo was completely enthralled within the song. There was a delicate tenderness to the lyrics, and the way it was sung was smooth and simply beautiful. He had always preferred a visual as an emotional stimulus, but the song was different. It didn’t move him to tears; however, it did move him enough to compliment the singer. Well, he wanted to compliment the singer, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it or what he would say. His face momentarily clouded with the effort of thinking, and once the fog cleared, he was still left with nothing.

He was awkward, and he knew it was why he was so opposed to speaking to the singer. As a child, he was that one chubby kid with no friends -- who also, mind you, was stupid. That milieu followed him into adult life as well. He usually rehearsed what he would say to new people religiously, but it always fell from his mouth slightly skewed.

He was at the bar.

This was his chance. It was best to just do it. Downing his drink with a clean, alcoholic burn, and paying the bartender all in thirty seconds left him slightly frazzled as he moved further down the front bar to approach the singer. “Uh -- excuse me,” he began. “The last song you did was -- um -- it was really amazing.” He nodded, more to himself than the singer. He was attempting to reassure himself that everything was going great. “It was so cool, you know, with it being in Korean and all.”

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[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: performing at the bar | mood: heckin' surprised | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

Henley spent a solid minute or two surveying the crowd, trying to see who his audience was. Most of them were drunk, or appeared to be. There was no way they'd remember this performance in the morning. Snorting to himself, he turned back to the bar, eyes now focusing on the drink in front of him.

Bored, he grabbed a cocktail stirrer from the holder next to him and began to stir his drink. It didn't really need to be stirred, but he had nothing else to do so why not. When it was mixed to his satisfaction, he took a large sip. Henley hadn't seen Milo approach him and therefore nearly choked when a voice spoke out of nowhere, speaking to him.

While recovering from the near-choking experience, he realized that he'd never heard this voice before. Sure, they get a bunch of tourists here in the summer, but they usually never spoke to him. No one really spoke to him. The locals had known him since he was a kid and didn't really have much to say to him, and the tourists were usually afraid to approach a guy who had just performed for them, for some reason. It didn't really bother him since he liked being left alone.

But it seemed as if this newcomer wasn't afraid to approach him and start a conversation. Speaking of newcomer, Henley figured he should actually, y'know, look at him, instead of just looking at the bar. He gripped the glass tightly, as if it were anchoring him somehow, and then turned to look at the man who "dared" to approach him. And wow, he was easy on the eyes. Henley stared for a little too long before he ripped his eyes away and focused once again on his drink.

"Oh....um...thanks," he began awkwardly, taking another sip, practically gulping it down before continuing, "I've never written a song that was mainly in Korean so I figured it was time." He had absolutely no idea why he was telling this to a stranger, but he'd already started and couldn't stop now. "When I was a kid, my dad only spoke to me in Korean, so that's how I learned it and became fluent in it. I haven't spoken it in forever, or written it, until now, that is."

Shut up, Henley, he thought to himself. You're revealing too much to someone you don't know. If asked why he hadn't spoken or written it until now, he wouldn't answer. That question was just a little too personal at the moment. Plus, he'd already said more than he wanted. "As for why I chose to perform it, well, I figured it would be good for people to hear something different, something they're not used to." he finished with a shrug.

Henley took another sip of his drink and realized it was almost empty. Damn, he drank that far quicker than he'd intended to. Oops. "So since you're clearly not from around here," he started, turning to look at his newfound acquaintance, "what brings you to our little town?". The "I hate it here" part wasn't actually spoken, but it probably could be deciphered through his tone.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

During conversations, he always found himself taking in the speaker’s features like they were some abstract painting, and he was trying to focus on the small details. He attempted to get lost in the brush strokes and colors of the man before him, but he couldn’t. Mainly because it left him feeling anxious and shy; not a state he enjoyed to be in when he was already an awkward person.

Embarrassing as it was, he knew the reasoning to be related to the singer’s attractiveness. If it was possible, he would’ve complimented the man on that alone, but he was unmoored and lacking aplomb.

Instead of focusing too much on the other’s appearance, he zoned in on his words. He wasn’t expecting such an info dump from someone he hardly knew, but it was okay. Eminently, he quite enjoyed listening. It was easier than laboring over what to say and thinking over the person’s words -- he never liked people who thought of what to say instead of listening; it’s bad-mannered.

By the time the other finished talking, he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Different replies muddled through his mind; each idea ended up cloistered in his consciousness because nothing felt right. He couldn’t relate to speaking Korean or the father thing, let alone performing on stage. But, he could appreciate exposing people to a culture or language they weren’t used to. Now, that was cool. The thought translated into words, and he spoke, “Oh, that’s cool.” The trifle comment flitted from his lips, quick and glib. He hated how it sounded; it was too flat.

Blinking through a screen of styled brown hair, he opened his mouth as the conversation switched to another channel: him. He wasn’t surprised he didn’t blend in with the townies, of course, that was a given with the size of Groveport. “Um.” His eyes briefly directed themselves to the ceiling as he thought before fastening themselves back on the singer.

“I guess you could call it an art-related trip. I’m a painter from Los Angeles. I decided to vacation here for a few months to regain some inspiration.” Pausing, he ran a hand through his hair, a self-comforting gesture before he leaned slightly against the bar front. “I literally just arrived here like an hour ago,” he added, voice velvety fluent. “But, I assume you’re from around here, right?”

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[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: performing at the bar | mood: oh gosh henley just be quiet already | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

Why couldn't he have just kept his damn mouth shut? It wasn't that hard to do, yet there Henley went, spilling all of his dark secrets to someone he met no less than a minute ago. As someone who never shared anything with anyone, this was absolutely fan-fucking-tastic.

Good going, idiot, he chastised himself, now everyone's going to know everything about you. But there was a small part of him that figured that wouldn't be true. For one, the locals all knew that he's Korean, or Korean-American, so the fact that he could speak Korean probably wasn't all that shocking. And two, this newcomer didn't seem like the type to just run his mouth every time he heard something juicy. So Henley figured his "secret" was safe for now.

"Oh, that's cool."

And yep, he was just hit with the "oh, that's cool", also known as the textbook response someone uses when they're only pretending to listen and not actually listening. Great. He snorted derisively, though thankfully it was drowned out by the general noise of the bar, and took another sip of his drink. Yeah, he was done talking about himself.

Henley's brows shot up to his hairline when he heard Los Angeles. "Los Angeles? And you chose to vacation here?" he sputtered. Out of all places, why here? "How come you chose here?" he asked, voicing his thoughts. They truly were the complete opposites of each other right now; Henley desperately wanted to get out of here and move to LA for songwriting, and this stranger left LA to come here for art inspiration.

"Painting's cool though," Not that he had any interest in the visual arts. "However, the last time I attempted to paint, I couldn't stay inside the lines and it kind of looked like a paint machine just sort of...vomited all over the canvas." That was the best explanation he could give for his abysmal painting attempt.

Oh, was he from around here. "Yep," Henley began, biting his lip before continuing, "I was born in Boston but moved here shortly after and have been here ever since." And I can't wait to get the fuck out. "Not the ideal location for someone trying to make a career out of songwriting, but not much I can do about it."

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

Milo could agree, a small town definitely wasn’t the best place for an aspiring songwriter. But, he felt it could be a wonderful place for a visual artist like himself. Small towns could have such a snug, homely feeling about them while being utterly haunting at the same time; it was complete inspiration fuel. Perhaps it was his own theory, and he was talking out of his ass; he had little experience with small towns, and the most he knew of them were from authors like Stephen King. Small towns definitely weren’t horror novels.

“Ah, you’re right,” he voiced with a curt nod. “Really nice town though -- at least from a visitor’s perspective. It’s nice how it smells like the sea rather than gas.” For a moment, he fell silent, eyes casting onto the floor as he thought. “Should switch places,” he joked as he raised his gaze, absentmindedly tugging at his ear.

California had become villainous in his mind the past months, and he had blamed his art slump on the bustling city. It wasn’t nearly the root of his problem; it was really the passing of his mother and lack of family that caused the block. But, LA had manifested in his head as all his problems as if it was complete pollution. He assumed once the serene, tranquil town revived his glowing passion, he would be able to return home happy. Of course, he was lying to himself, and deep down, he knew that.

“LA is really the place for a songwriter, but you could always try and make it big on the internet.” He paused, taking a second to shrug. “Although, I understand it’s not entirely traditional. Once you’re big on there, it’s hard to detach yourself from the online persona, or so I’ve heard.” He took a pragmatic approach to social media and its influencers; they weren’t taken seriously on a global scale. Hell, even the most prominent influencer was still just an online star even after amassing over hundred-million followers.

Milo felt better, more talkative compared to minutes prior when he only wanted to compliment the man, but he knew he was still far from confident. Perhaps it was because he knew how to add to things about big cities and fame rather than family-centered conversations. Or, maybe, his sudden burst of conversation was because he didn't want to return to the mothball, old woman room across the street. It was probably a fusion of both.

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[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: at the bar | mood: time to move | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

It took Henley everything he had in him not to snort at the "really nice town" comment. Having lived here all of his life, it definitely wasn't a really nice town. Well, not to him anyways. He had too many toxic memories associated with this town to ever be able to view it as nice.

The only plus side, as his newfound acquaintance pointed out, was the ocean. The ocean was really the only place that calmed him, the place he went to ease his thoughts and clear out his head. If they didn't have the ocean, Groveport would be pretty much unbearable. "Yeah," Henley agreed, "we really should switch places."

He'd do absolutely anything, give absolutely anything, to be able to move to and live in LA. Los Angeles was the songwriting capital of the US, maybe even the world. New York was fine, but LA was the place to be. If you wanted to make it as a songwriter, get signed to a publishing deal, make it into rooms and rounds with big time artists and songwriters, you had to move to LA.

"It's the songwriting capital of the world," he said, voicing what he'd just previously thought about. And while it might not be true, about being the songwriting capital of the world, it was pretty influential. "I pretty much have to be there to get signed and into rooms with the bigwigs."

And now Henley couldn't help the small snort that escaped him. "Trust me, I've taken full advantage of the internet," He really had. "I've put covers and my original songs on Spotify, Apple Music and Soundcloud and have uploaded the videos of them onto YouTube. Some have gotten nearly a million streams and views, but it's still not enough to get me noticed or get me a deal." Was he bitter about that? Absolutely.

Then he shrugged. "Being from here, streaming sites and YouTube are the only platforms I can use to somewhat get my name out there. Since I've spent years doing it, it's all I know. Maybe I do have the online persona, I don't know." He didn't think he did though. There's only one way to find out though.

"But then again, releasing music videos and songs on YouTube is different than say, an Instagram influencer releasing a makeup tutorial on YouTube," he explained. "It's just music." And that made no sense. "I guess the only way for me to find out whether or not I have the online persona is for me to move to LA, get signed and in a room and see what the other writers are like."

Given his track record, that probably wouldn't be happening. "But what about you? Made it big in the art world?" He knew absolutely nothing about art. The only things he knew were the names of famous painters like Picasso, Monet, Warhol, etc. So if this guy had made it big in the art world, chances were good that Henley had never seen any of his work. There was the fact that they didn't even know each others names, but chances were still good that he'd never seen any of the work.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

Such a cozy night it was turning into, the sparkle of glasses, the golden hue of the lights, the chatter of the bar’s patrons that was sweet and deep. Milo figured if he was irritated, all these things would be blinding, harrowing, and fuel to the fire. He was proud of himself for keeping the conversation smooth and not allowing it to segway into an awkward, jaded silence -- which he often did, especially in interviews.

“I mean, if it’s just music, I suppose there wouldn’t be an online persona,” he pointed out, hand raising to tug at the sleeve of his blazer. If he could just stop being so damn fidgety, maybe he’d be confident and charming, but he could settle being garrulous. ”But, you’re right, being with the big shots would be more telling.”

The conversation was back on him, however, it was on his favorite topic: painting. Milo’s art origin was a bit darker than he’d like to lead on to a stranger, so leaving things out and embroidering a little on the story was in his favor. “I guess like, most, it started when I was young.” He shrugged, shaking his head and casting a gaze on the bar’s crowd. “In high school, my pieces started being shown in small, community-based shows. Eventually -- somehow -- they got into those fancy museum events with the upper-class art critics and buyers,” he explained. “I guess that’s the simplest way to put it. Of course, my mom’s support really got me there. I wouldn’t be so lucky if it wasn’t for her.”

There, no mention of death, poverty, single parenting, just how he wanted it to be. It was a packaged version of the truth, modeled flawlessly for strangers. Not that he was ashamed of his origin, but he felt uncomfortable telling his life to someone who he barely knew. Although the brief story of his career always felt bereft and soulless coming from his mouth, it was easier to water it down and leave the entire story to broadcasted interviews and paintings. He didn’t want pity, just recognition for beautiful, personal pieces, which he widely got.

“I suppose my art is popular enough that I can live comfortably.” Under the buttery glow of the bar, a grin graced his features. He was quite fond of his skills and thought highly of himself intellectually -- everything else was questionable. “Such a stark contrast from my childhood,” he remarked, quietly, almost to himself. “But that’s beside the point, really,” he covered up with the shake of his head. Life was blooming now with opportunities, a lovely spring day with bushy, green foliage and colorful flowers; before it had been a lurid, cold winter with a horrible wind that blew the snow sideways into sharp, razor-like flakes. It really was a stark contrast.

outfit: here
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[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: performing again | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

Considering he barely spoke 10 words on the videos he uploaded to YouTube, and everything on the streaming sites was just songs, Henley still really doubted that he had an online persona. He finished off his drink and set it down on the bar, checking his watch and realizing he only had a few minutes left before he needed to go back onstage.

As soon as the word "young" was mentioned, he could sense where this was going. Many people discovered their passions and dreams when they were young, himself included. Whether or not the passions grew and flourished as the person got older was completely up to them. He'd seen many people give up on their dreams or passions and was determined to not let it happen to himself.

He raised an impressed brow when shows and museums were mentioned, all during high school. In high school, Henley was teaching himself guitar and had just barely started songwriting. "Damn," he started, "I spent my time in high school teaching myself guitar and learning how to song write, and here you are in high school getting your work into galleries and museums." That was pretty impressive.

And then the topic changed to parents. A shadow crossed Henley's face when his newfound acquaintance brought up his mother's support, though it probably wasn't visible in the dim lighting of the bar. "Yeah." Was all he had to say in response. Henley had absolutely none of that. He had his dad's support during his childhood, but lost him at the start of elementary school. And since his own mother had showed little to no interest in him and barely came home, he had to be his own support system all these years. He had no support and no luck from her. Hell, he hadn't seen her in nearly four years. What a great parent.

But, obviously, there was no way he was mentioning that to someone he just met, so he just offered a tight-lipped smile as the subject changed again. Thank the lord. Somehow, it switched to living situations and at the words "living comfortably", Henley was bitter again. "Must be nice." he blurted before he could stop himself. And wow that was rude. He was just bitter and jealous about it all. Sure his own apartment was decent, but he had to work 2 jobs plus streaming royalties to afford it, and it was nowhere near enough to afford rent in LA or NYC.

Instead of apologizing, he just continued on, hoping to gloss over the whole thing. "Sounds like we both had not-so-great childhoods," he commented, pushing his stool back slightly and standing up. "I have to go back up now," He nodded over towards the stage, "but the rest of my set should only about forty minutes or so. If you feel like sticking around and waiting, I can show you around when I finish."

Wait... did he, Henley Jang, the king of introverts, really just offer to show a complete stranger around town? And it seems like he really did, so before he could dwell on it and revoke his offer, he walked off to the stage, grabbed his guitar and sat down, getting ready to begin the second half.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

"Oh?”

The must be nice comment always stung a bit. He heard it a lot, especially from people less fortunate with their careers. The venomous undertone could never be well-hidden, and it stuck out like a sore thumb. Ouch. Face adorned with a fleeting grimace, he uneasily remained silent, eyes cutting to the floor.

But, the comment was soon swept under the rug like it was nothing, which Milo preferred. He’d rather not focus on it since the conversation was originally going on so well, and it looked like it would continue that way. With the conversation veering away from the topic of him, the rude remark sailed from his head into nothing.

Unfortunately, the conversation would end with the change, but it was proposed they hang out afterward. It was completely unexpected. Milo’s brows knitted together briefly before a delicate smile graced his features. He didn’t mind waiting, especially if it was a pretty face offering to show him around. A small part of him loathed himself for thinking that way about a stranger; romantic as he was, he still had trouble putting himself in a real romance or a measly hookup before it happened. But he supposed that irritating thought never stopped him from landing a date.

Not that being shone around was a date or anything.

Regardless, he was excited about the event. “Alright, sounds great, actually. I’ll, uh, be here when you’re done,” he responded, surprise blisteringly clear in his voice. “Looking forward to the performance.”

He had gotten lucky; his first night in the New England town, and he had already met someone willing to show him it, and he didn’t even have to ask. The painter was expecting to spend the majority of the vacation lonely, stuck twisting and turning in a hot, stale room while trying to take a depression nap. Although it was possible and likely that would still happen, the chances had lowered, or maybe was it just wishful thinking. His negative mindset couldn’t let him have anything.

He fit right in the pained artist troupe, didn't he?

One question lingered, what was he supposed to do for forty minutes? He could drink, he guessed, or he could mingle with the bar’s patrons, but that was an unlikely option. Of course, he could pay attention to the performance, that was ideal; he could learn to properly enjoy music like he did physical art and stop being so stuck up about his preference for visuals. He figured it seemed fun to just drink and listen.

A new drink in hand, eyes on the stage, he watched with curiosity.

outfit: here
erised

 

[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: performing again | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

Henley wanted nothing more than to smash his guitar onto his head multiple times. Because, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get that one phrase out of his head.

"Must be nice."

Who the fuck says that? Or well, who the fuck says it aloud? Him apparently, and he hated himself for it. He should've just quickly apologized and moved on but instead he said nothing and used having to perform as an excuse. A legitimate excuse, but still an excuse nevertheless. Now that he was onstage, it wouldn't stop replaying.

Let it go and focus.

Releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding, he shook his head slightly and began. For the rest of the performance, he performed mainly original songs and only a handful of covers, and for someone who was dreading finishing it, time passed pretty quickly. Before he knew it, the gig had ended and it was time to pack up.

As Henley was coiling the guitar cables around his arm, he wondered if the painter actually did stay. Sure, he said he would, but Henley was too used to empty promises to 100% trust someone when they said they'd do something. The stage lights shining directly into his face didn't really help matters much since they prevented him from seeing anyone in the crowd. So there was no way to know if anyone was waiting for him. He lugged all of his gear offstage and put it into his locker, double checking the lock before exiting the stage.

Henley walked back out into the bar area, gaze automatically darting around. He let out a relieved sigh before walking over, though this time was behind the bar. Since he performed here and bartended here occasionally, he had free rein of the bar whenever he wanted. Well, he wanted it now. "So," he began as he walked over to Milo, "decided to wait for me, huh?" Though he couldn't stop the tiny flutter of his heart at that thought.

He pulled together the things he'd need to make a Long Island and began pouring everything into the shaker. "I'm just kidding. I'm glad you did." Was he flirting? He didn't know, and didn't really want to find out. After he finished shaking the contents, he poured it out into a plastic cup to be taken outside.

"First things first; tell me what you want to drink and I'll make it for you and put it in one of these cups," He gestured to his own plastic cup, convenient for carrying around. "Second, I don't think we ever found out each others names and I think it might be a good idea to know them before we set out on a tour of town. I'm Henley," If they actually had exchanged names and he just forgot, that would be mortifying. "Lastly, any place you want to see first?"

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

Enchanting performance, really, and it flew by with acceptable speed. Towards the end, his mind began to wander, and admittedly, Milo missed the last ten minutes of the performance. He plunged into a trance concentrated on their plans. Eventually, the painter's fragile train of thought was crashed into by the singer's approach, and he was ripped from his headspace. If it was possible, he would’ve laughed chidingly in his own face at his frayed nerves.

Milo opened his mouth, figuring he could give some excuse for why he stayed, but stopped himself, and an amiable smile rested on his features as the singer spoke. Of course, he waited. It was nice to have someone to prattle with, especially so soon into his trip.

Flirting. That was a surprising advancement. For a moment, he remained silent, weighing the other’s words and trying to convince himself it was fine for him to do the same. He had been so cautious earlier not to say anything with romantic intent because he presumed any man he spoke to was straight. So, had he been proven wrong? “Mhmm, you really should be glad. I don’t do this for just anyone.”

The painter hadn’t done anything like this in ages, especially with alcohol involved. His gaze flashed over the styrofoam cup before raising to the singer's eyes. Alcohol veiled and hidden by a styrofoam cup usually meant for some child’s apple juice -- hilarious. He let out a short breath in amusement.

Henley, it was a rare name, pretty too, fitting for the man before him. “That looks ridiculous, Henley,” he commented, gesturing the cup. “And I’m Milo.” Should he have another drink? He pondered for a few moments, he didn’t really care for one. He was already feeling a slight buzz from the few before, and he didn’t have an inkling of an idea how another hard liquor drink would react to his system. “Yeah, just give me a beer.”

“And…” He hardly knew anything of the town beside the few allurements on the brochures, or the sites that popped up on google. A lot of them were ocean and beach related, from seafood restaurants to ports, but one stood out in particular. “I guess the lighthouse? Saw a few pictures of it, and it looked pretty.” He shrugged as he eased off the barstool and straightened himself out. “Show me some of your favorite spots. I have faith the local knows all the best places in town.”

Light fingertips tugged at his blazer, attempting to iron out the creases, but he halted, he would probably end up shouldering this off wouldn’t he? While it was well ventilated and air-conditioned in the bar, it was the opposite outside. If they were going to be bouncing from one location to another, figuring most of them were outside, he wouldn’t last. “Overdressed, idiot,” he thought to himself as he pulled his arms from his sleeves and folded the fabric over itself neatly.
outfit: here
erised

 

[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: performing again | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

Was he overstepping his boundaries? That thought bounced around in Henley's head for quite a bit, causing him to kind of start regretting flirting or whatever it could be called. He never initiated flirting and as someone who used insults as a type of "flirting", was not the greatest at it in general. So this was completely new territory for him. He was probably failing.

But maybe he wasn't.

“Mhmm, you really should be glad. I don’t do this for just anyone.”

Because apparently it was now a two-sided flirt, he was flirting and being flirted with. And Henley gave himself a mental pat on the back there. Good job. One point for him. He raised a brow at the statement and then smirked. "Is that so?" he wondered. "Guess I'm just special then." It wasn't phrased as a question for a reason and that was he didn't really want an answer.

He pouted slightly when his cup was called ridiculous. "We have open-container laws, not like I can just walk around with a bottle in my hand," Another solution was to not bring alcohol with him, but after that performance, he needed it. No one was going to tell him otherwise. "This cup is my only solution. Looks like a coffee cup but actually holds a Long Island Iced Tea. Perfect disguise."

Henley fought hard not to comment at the request for beer. "Coming right up, Milo." he said before turning and opening the beer fridge. He lingered there for a moment, deciding what to pour, before grabbing a Goose Island IPA and shutting the fridge. He grabbed another cup, popped the tab of the beer and began to pour, angling the cup to control the amount of foam and to give it a nice sized head.

"Here." he said, setting the poured beer in front of Milo and turning to toss the empty can into the recycling. He wasn't really expecting the lighthouse to be at the top of the list and to be honest, had kind of forgotten that they had a lighthouse--it's been so long since it was lit. "Yeah we can go there," he nodded. "It's closed at night though, but we can see it from the outside."

And oh boy. His favorite places? Considering he disliked this entire town, he doubted he even had a favorite place. Maybe the beach? That could be fun even in the dark. He'd just bullshit the rest and make up some of his favorite spots. "Alright, follow me." With that, Henley walked out from behind the bar and over to the door.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

The humor of the cup still hadn’t sunk in yet, and as he took the cup, he let out a snort. Though it was absolutely ridiculous, he found immature joy out of the bit. It felt like the type of stuff he pulled in high school; teenage days where he stayed out late, shitfaced, only to be scolded by his mom when after showing up back at home at 3am (seven hours later than he was supposed to) because it was the only time his high school boyfriend felt safe enough to mess around. Sweet nostalgia.

“Yeah, I just want to see it.” Perhaps a small part of him was a little discouraged that the place wasn’t open, but he had to remind himself that it was late at night. He reckoned, seeing the jade green waves crash against the boulders from the parking lot was enough. Plus, the painter could always return another time when it opened; he had the entire summer there to explore the place.

“Okay...” he said inaudibly, as he followed Henley out of the bar, absurd cup in hand.

The bar’s chatter had become a mere silent hum as he stepped outside. He was greeted by cicadas vocalizing loudly, the air hung hot, and the ocean strewed its odors. By the end of his trip, he could imagine he’d be sick of that rich beach scent, longing to be in the heart of a fast-moving city once again, but for now, it was fresh and relaxed. He could picture himself coming out to a park in the town to paint under an aged sycamore tree. Of what? Zero clues. Of course, he would only go about that if he recaptured his artistry.

“Oh, you should show me some of the parks around here afterward -- if that’s alright,” he introduced the idea with a simple shrug as he mindlessly followed the singer. “Kind of want to find some places to paint or sketch in solitude for whenever I get over this creative block,” he explained. “In the meantime, I can just people-watch there occasionally.”

They could always stop by the beach, but was there anything particularly special about that? He didn’t need to be toured around a bank and get all itchy from invasive sand. But beaches could be so whimsical at night, could they not? The hazy moon did have a charming way of reflecting off the tide, glittering white against the broad vista of blue.

“There’s the beach too,” he finally said after considering it. “I’m sure it looks great a night.”

outfit: here
erised

 

[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: en route to lighthouse | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

Having lived here all of his life, Henley didn't really see the appeal of the lighthouse. It really honestly was just a lighthouse. But he could see the attraction of it to out-of-towners and tourists, so understood where the painter was coming from.

He took off his blue bomber jacket as he stepped out of the bar and slung it over his shoulders, now standing there in a white shirt. When Milo emerged, he turned right and began to lead the way to the lighthouse. "So we obviously can't go inside," And they both knew that so why bother saying it? "But there's a little grassy area at the base with a few benches to sit on that overlook the ocean."

The only reason he knew that was because his dad took him all the time before he died. Henley hadn't been there since. And shit, why did he agree to show the lighthouse? This was a bad idea. But he couldn't just back out now, not after he agreed. Fuck. What if it brought up memories and he started crying? At least it would be dark to hide the tears.

Henley was broken out of his thought train when the conversation moved to parks. Did they even have parks? He vaguely remembered reading about one on the other side of town from his apartment, hence why he never set foot in it. "Yeah, it's fine," he shrugged. "I think the lighthouse base counts as one. There's another on the other side of the town but I've actually never been to it. I can point you in that direction though later on." They wouldn't be making that walk tonight.

"I'm sure the park has trees and stuff you could draw." Wow. That sounded dumb as shit. Henley fought the urge to facepalm after saying that. "The beach is my favorite place here," he began. "Even though I'm on it practically everyday for my job, I never tire of it. It's where I come when I have writers block or need inspiration for a song. It works almost every time." He didn't really know why.

Okay, yes he did. "There's something about the crashing of the waves that gets the creativity flowing. It's soothing and gets me in the right headspace to write. I'd say give the beach a try. Maybe it'll work for you too." There was no guarantee of it working, but there was always a chance. Not knowing what else to say, Henley shoved his hands into his pockets as they neared the lighthouse.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

Milo tried the beach various times in California. It didn’t work, and he figured the problem was that he had no sentimental attachment to the water. His mother never took him to the seashore; they regularly stuck to art museums, parks, and zoos. He loved galleries, especially the ones surrounding art and its fascinating history, but even those were no use to the wall sheltering his creativity.

Awful, wasn’t it? To be lacking the one skill that made you so incomparable? He felt worn by it. There were so many days where he stood in front of an empty canvas and just became exhausted from it. At points, it angered him because he felt worthless. He even snapped a few canvases; his eyes would watch as the starch fabric fell loose with the burst of the oak. Maybe the beaches were different here and would give him an inspired force, but he doubted it. He did want to collect some shells as tokens, though.

He trailed behind briefly before making an effort to properly walk beside Henley. “Yeah, I bet it will,” he acknowledged, feigning hope. “By the way you describe it, you make it sound beautiful.” He’d have to take advantage of the enchanting scenery somehow. Really, he was looking forward to nearly silent nights with the lull of crickets and the high tide being the only noticeable sounds. More recently, he hadn’t been resting too well; a mixture of unhappiness and a new aversion to loud noises made slumbering very challenging. Such a finicky sleeper.

Backtracking, he recalled Henley mentioning he was at the shore everyday for his job. So, he did something other than singing? Not that there was anything wrong with it, but it did pique his interest a bit.

The painter took a sip from the styrofoam cup while his mind tried to put together a coherent question. “What type of…” No, that was not right. Trailing off, he dragged a hand through his hair and heaved a faint sigh. He didn’t know how to properly word his inquiry. “What else do you do? Job-wise, I mean, since you mentioned working at the beach.” It sounded cumbersome and goofy while spilling passed his lips and not at all what he wanted.

“Working at the beach though sounds really enjoyable,” he added as a cushion in case the poorly worded question came off negatively. “Although, I can imagine the heat being harsh on some days.”


outfit: here
erised

 

[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: en route to lighthouse | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

Instead of responding verbally, Henley just nodded. It certainly was beautiful. Or well, at least he thought it was. It had been a very long time since he'd last been there and for all he knew, it could have changed completely.

He really hoped it hadn't changed, for both of their sakes. It would save him the embarrassment of having described what he thought was a beautiful place only to get there and discover that it was now a barren wasteland. And Milo seemed genuinely curious about it. So yeah, he prayed it still looked the same.

He was broken out of his train of thought when Milo asked him a question. It took a few moments to process what was asked and even longer to formulate a response. "Lifeguard," he answered. "Spend my days on the beach staring at the water and saving lives." The way he described it made it sound awful and like he hated it, but he really didn't. He actually kind of liked it.

Henley hummed when he heard the comment about the beach being enjoyable. It really was. "It's not too bad on the hot days," he started, "I'm sitting high up in a chair, so I get a nice breeze from the ocean. Plus, I don't have to wear a shirt if I don't want to. Cools me off and I get to work on my tan." He'd been "working on it" for years so was already pretty tan.

"I also bartend," he continued, "Three times a week usually, at pretty much every bar." There weren't that many to begin with, so it wasn't hard to do at all. They both already knew he was a singer-songwriter, so he didn't need to explain that.

Though it was dark, Henley could see the benches scattered around the base of the lighthouse and let out a sigh of relief. It was still the same as he remembered. Good. "There's the lighthouse." he said dumbly, as if they both couldn't see it.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

“Saving lives,” he quoted, finding slight humor in the comment. A lifeguard position seemed fitting for Henley, basing it on looks alone; most lifeguards in movies were always attractive, bronze people. It sounded impressive, even though Henley managed to make it seem dull and wretched. “Mmmm, maybe it isn’t too bad then. The breeze from the ocean is pretty strong,” he acknowledged. “And yeah, the nice view.”

Three jobs? He had a lot on his plate, didn’t he? Milo could admire that; his mother was the same way, juggling multiple part-time jobs on the regular. It had to be tough to sustain all those occupations. Seeing it happen firsthand, he knew it could strain and wear a person out. His mother always had a glazed over look of fatigue even though she worked hard to conceal it; it never worked. He queried if Henley was the same way; he didn’t know the other enough to make a judgment at all, though.

“Bartending? So you know mixology?” The painter asked, briefly glancing over at the shorter. He had always wanted to learn the craft; there was constantly something enchanting about the way trained mixologists worked their sport. “I find that so awesome.” God, did that sound juvenile; he could’ve found a better stroke, but he spoke too hastily and sounded foolish in the process.

There it was: the lighthouse standing tall and robust against the black, star-encrusted sky. Milo was more interested in the cliffside surrounding the peninsula than the actual structure. Deep waves crashed against black, slimy rocks, roaring with each collision. Everything glittered under the hazy moonlight with a bittersweet gloom, and the sea smell was thick and humid. He had picked the location on a whim after remembering its picture from a travel website, and he was pleased he did. “Such a beautiful view,” he commented. “Wonder what it’s like in the daytime.” He figured the stillness and deserted likeness of the structure in the twilight was far better than itself in the daytime.

“Do people live there?” He asked, referring to the house attached to the base of the lighthouse. Was that a feeble-minded question? “Or is it one of those things where it’s the town’s property?”

outfit: here
erised

 

[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: lighthouse | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

"I do," Henley nodded, "and back at the bar, I was all ready to make you the best cocktail you've ever had but no," he paused, dragging out the 'o' for dramatic effect. "You only wanted a beer."

Was he annoyed? No. Was he actually upset about it? Also no. Was he being dramatic and trying to flirt via teasing? Maybe. Yes. Was it working? Probably not.

“I find that so awesome.”

A small smile made its way onto Henley's face at those words. It was rare for him to be complimented on anything but his singing, so for someone to think that him bartending is cool was refreshing. "Yeah, it is pretty awesome," he agreed. He loved making drinks and experimenting with making new cocktails. Then there were the tips. Sometimes he'd make hundreds in tips, more than enough for the months rent and bills, a lot left over for fun and savings.

"I can teach you if you want." he heard himself speak, the words just tumbling out without his permission. And, well, too late to take them back now. "About mixology, I mean." As if that wasn't already clear. It wouldn't be a one and done type of thing, considering the hundreds of cocktails in existence, plus how to properly shake, measure, pour, etc. No. This type of thing would take several weeks, maybe even months. It had taken Henley a year to learn everything, and he doubted even he knew it all.

When they arrived at the lighthouse, Henley stayed back to give Milo some space to look around. He agreed that it was a beautiful but since they both already knew that, he didn't say anything. However, he had to say something in regards to the next comment. "Y'know, the grass is green, the lighthouse is black and white striped, the benches are a faded brown, the rocks are gray and rocky, the ocean a murky blue-green." Yep, he could be a cheeky little shit at times and now was one of those times.

Henley looked around when he heard the question before his eyes settled on the house. "At one point, yes," he nodded, remembering what he learned in a middle school history class. "The lighthouse caretaker and groundskeeper lived there with their families back in the 17 or 1800s. They'd take care of the grounds and general upkeep of the lighthouse and made sure the lantern/light at the top was always lit, especially at night."

How he remembered all of this, he had no idea. "When electricity and modern technology came around, there was no need for a caretaker so the house was handed over to the town. It's now a museum for the lighthouse and I guess the town in general." Having never set foot in it, he didn't really know, but rightfully assumed it was a town museum.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

Milo laughed lightly at the singer’s depiction of the lighthouse in the day. “In the daylight? Murky blue-green?” He replied. “And that’s what makes it beautiful.” His afterthought was spoken with a toothy grin. “It has that vintage, run-down charm. I bet it’s like one of those Bob Ross copycats you see in thrift stores. Soothing and easy to look at, but there’s nothing particularly, uh -- I don’t know -- breathtaking about it,” he quipped, mindlessly leaning against the chain-link fence and tugging at his own fingers for relieving knuckle cracks.

It was a lot chillier now that they were closer to the ocean, causing a slight shiver to dance along the painter’s spine. Perhaps the blazer wasn’t too bad of a clothing option in the long run. Smart -- no just lucky. Setting down his cup of alcohol, he unfolded the piece of clothing originally draped on his forearm and pulled on the blazer. He swooped down to retrieve his beverage.

Squinting as a salty wind pushed past them, he watched the still, vacant lighthouse. At one point. He still felt a little disappointed even though he predicted the answer correctly. It would be far more interesting if a small family resided in the base of the lighthouse, but of course, it was unlikely. At the mention of the inside being a museum, his gaze moved to Henley, and his lips turned upwards into a soft smile. It briefly brought him back to the countless times he visited museums as an adolescent. He would have to visit the display for the sentimentality factor sometime during that season.

“I guess that’s a given,” he said, commenting on the lighthouse being turned over to the town. “But, a museum? Seems like a nice, little quirk for the town. I feel like they’ll either lock something like this up, keeping it away from the public or -- yeah -- turn it into a town exhibit.” Shrugging, he glanced towards the black, slimy boulders. “Obviously, it’s way cooler as an exhibit,” he tacked on.

Milo took a sip of his drink, the bitter smack of the beer met his tongue, and he relished in it for a few moments. “Have you ever been inside?” He asked as he tapped his slender fingers delicately against the foam cup in a rhythmic way.

outfit: here
erised

 

[erised]

HENLEY JANG

location: lighthouse | outfit: xx | tags: pasta ​

Henley just hummed in response to the question. It was true that the water was a murky blue green, unfortunately not the crystal clear blue waters of the Caribbean. At the 'what makes it beautiful' comment, he bit his lip (hard) to stop himself from breaking out into song. If he were alone, he absolutely would've started singing One Direction's "What Makes You Beautiful". But he wasn't alone, so he refrained for now.

He didn't really know what to say in regards to the lighthouse and it's so called vintage charm, so didn't. Bob Ross had probably used it as inspiration for a class, but since Henley couldn't paint for shit, stayed far away from anything paint related. "It's been printed on thousands of postcards," he began. "The lighthouse, that is." Well, duh. "And I know that a handful of famous photographers have photographed it and won awards for it."

He watched Milo set down the plastic cup and then remembered that he too had a drink in his hand. He'd been so preoccupied with talking and all that he'd completely forgotten about the Long Island he was holding. Well, not any longer. He took a few sips before saying fuck it and chugging the rest.

"Yep," he began, tongue darting out to get the droplets of alcohol that failed to make it past his lips. Well, serves him right for chugging. "I mean, they probably could've put it on the housing market, but I guess they figured that no one would want to live there since they'd have to deal with tourists and locals walking all over their lawn, hoping for a better view of the lighthouse." None of that had been explicitly said, but he assumed that was the reason they didn't bother. "So it became a museum."

Henley raised a brow when Milo asked if he'd ever been inside the museum, giving the other a look that plainly said 'do I look like the museum type'? Then he shook his head. "Nope, never been," He ran a hand through his hair, looking out at the ocean. "I purposely skipped school the day my third grade class took a trip and have never gone on my own. Been busy." Which was true, but also a lie. He definitely could've gone if he wanted, but he didn't.

"You should go though," he quickly said. "I mean, if you like museums, that is. I've heard it's nice. Small, but nice." He'd heard from tourists and locals alike that the museum was quite charming, so if Milo enjoyed museums, he should definitely go.

code by erised​

 

[pasta]

MILO KIM
The Starving Artist

Never? He found it hard to believe a local of such a quaint town had never toured its sweet little tourist attraction. But of course, he was thinking from the perspective of a museum-fanatic. “Been busy,” he repeated with an understanding nod. “Though, I find it hard to understand how busy a third-grader would be on a school day,” he challenged, playfulness evident in the way he lit his words. “Kidding, I’m sure there are plenty of things. Unlucky, unlucky.”

He hummed in response, eyes steady on the crashing waves as they strewed their salty odors and ebbed away from the shoreline. “I will, but--” He paused. It was dancing on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill out tentatively: maybe you could go with me. The simple offer wouldn’t come out; it stayed stagnant in his brain and clutched tightly onto whatever common sense he had. He didn’t know Henley well enough to propose any type of date, right? Date? It was all sounding incredibly juvenile and ludicrous the more he thought of. He had to test the waters first.

He didn’t even know if the dude liked dudes.

Milo was a romantic person once a relationship actually began, but anything before that, and he was an awkward, clumsy mess. He figured if he made that proposal, that would make itself painfully apparent. “I will, but I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to as of yet,” he finished, saving himself before he surged into an awkward silence. “You should probably check it out sometime too. You might as well, and if it’s so small, it’ll be a quick trip.”

He broke away from the chain-link fence as an idyllic ocean breeze blew past him calmly. Hands reached up to delicately fix his messy curtain bangs before fishing through his pocket for his phone. His profile glowed as the screen lit up, the few texts and the time caught most of the attention. Nimble thumbs speedily replied back to the messages before he turned his attention back to Henley.

“It’s getting late,” he brought up. “I mean, not that I want to end the… uh, the night,” he added. The night? What did that even mean? He glanced awkwardly to the black asphalt of the parking lot. “But, I wouldn’t want to keep you, unless there are any other places you recommend visiting.”

outfit: here
dreamglow

 

[dreamglow]

henley jang

YOU KNOW I KEEP THAT CANDY, YEAH
I'M TRYNA FIX THAT DAMAGE, YEAH

outfit: here

tags: pasta

Oh God, here we go, Henley thought. He should have never shared the fact that he hadn't been to a museum before, because now he was probably going to get an earful about it. Before he could start trying to defend his pride, Milo began to speak, cutting off any sort of defensive rant.

And fair enough. Even though the other wore an understanding expression after hearing the excuse, it was quite obvious he saw right through it. The 'been busy' excuse that Henley offered was one of the oldest in the books, and a pretty shitty one at that.

Speaking of shitty excuses, he was about to offer another one. There was no way in hell he was about to tell a complete stranger that his mother didn't give a single shit about what he did or didn't do, or even where he was for that matter. He didn't come home? Oh well. That was fine.

She also didn't give a damn if he went to school or not. In fact, the only reason he went to school was because he kind of sort of liked it and liked learning. Since field trips were technically a school thing, they were included on the not giving a damn list. Knowing that, eight year old Henley jumped on the opportunity to skip a boring field trip.

He looked away, jaw clenched subconsciously as the thoughts and memories now raced through his mind. He knew he couldn't just ignore the comment and pretty much had to answer. It was the polite thing to do. So, bracing himself slightly, he looked back at Milo, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he did so.

"Yeah, something like that." he answered. And my, my, wasn't he just the king of shitty excuses and responses tonight. Not knowing what else to say or do, he began to put cracks in the rim of the cup he was holding and then pull the cracks down into strips. Childish but fun. He paused in his efforts, eyes snapping up when he heard the "but".

But what? Henley raised a brow, waiting for Milo to continue. 'But I don't like museums'? 'But I probably won't be here long enough to visit'? But I'm only stopping by'? The various possibilities raced through his mind as he tried to figure out what "but" meant in this context. And then it was answered.

Ah. Well, that makes sense. "That's valid. Give yourself some time to settle in and adjust before you go to museums or do other things." He always hated rushing into things or doing things before he was ready to do them.

They both probably knew there was no chance in hell he was going to a museum, but he nodded anyways. "Maybe,", he paused and then continued. "But I don't really enjoy looking at old objects and some signs that explain what they are." Not really his version of excitement.

Neither was standing at the bottom of a lighthouse in the dark. Time to go. He walked back to the gap in the fence, leaning against it as he waited for Milo to finish up on his phone. When the other caught up, he pushed off and began to walk back towards the town.

Henley bit his lip to keep himself from grinning when he heard the comment about not wanting the night to end. What? It was cute. "Well," he started, humming as he began to think. "Most of the shops and restaurants are closed, but a lot of bars are open if you wanted to go to one of them? The beach never closes, so if going to the beach in the dark is your thing, go for it. It just might be hard to see anything, and is far prettier during the day."

coded by weldherwings.