lucy 🎨🌷

𝙲𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍

⁀➴ 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚋𝚏!𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚡 𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚊!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

⁀➴ 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

⁀➴𝚌𝚠: 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚙, 𝚖𝚍𝚗𝚒

Chris knew he was getting older. He knew his joints ached more when the weather turned cold, that he needed reading glasses to make out menus and the morning paper, and that gray had begun to crowd his hair. But that didn’t mean he felt old. He’d always waited for the day he’d magically wake up and feel the switch from teenager to adult, but it never came. Maybe he’d grown more mature, but deep down he still felt like the bright-eyed kid he’d always been, and he figured he always would—even when he was eighty.

The one thing that had changed, though, was hangovers.

In his early twenties, he could stay out until five in the morning, have a beer when he woke up to level himself out, and do it all over again that night. Not anymore. Now they felt like a death sentence—shaky hands, a pounding head, leaning over the porcelain bathroom sink while promising himself he’d never drink again.

This morning was no different.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dark circles beneath his eyes, one hand gripping the edge of the sink.

But it wasn’t the whiskey that kept replaying in his head.

It was your lips.

The way you’d looked at him when he kissed you back.

And the way you’d looked at him when he pulled away.

He wasn’t drunk when he kissed you. Maybe tipsy, but not drunk. There wasn’t an excuse waiting for him at the bottom of his beer bottle. But he knew he wasn’t in the right headspace when it happened. He was kissing his best friend’s daughter while a ghost from his past haunted the wedding venue a few feet away from him. 

He didn’t see you for the rest of the night, and he made sure of it.

He slipped back inside while he was sure you were still outside with your parents, watching the fireworks burst across the Virginia sky. Chris made a beeline for the bar and ordered three shots.

One.

Two.

Three.

None of them went down smoothly. They slid down his throat and settled heavily in his stomach, burning against the lining of his stomach. He figured he deserved that.

Chris wandered toward the stream behind the venue. He figured the newlyweds had probably taken pictures there after saying their vows. It was a good spot, he thought.

He wondered if he’d ever have a spot.

His eyes closed for only a second before he heard it over the water slipping across the rocks.

 It sounded like a dream. 

Like a nightmare. 

“You’re drunk.”

Chris kept his eyes on the stream, focusing on keeping the whiskey where it belonged.

“How could you tell?”

She stepped closer.

“You always sway a little. And you purse your lips like that.”

He let out a humorless laugh.

“Shit, Marissa. It’s almost like you’ve known me for ten years or something.”

She laughed. 

The sound hadn’t changed a bit. 

It took everything in him to turn his head and look at her again after all these years.

She looked the same.

Older, of course, but the same.

The same freckles scattered across her nose. The same red hair, only shorter now, framing her face in a way that made her look more mature. And the same eyes.

The eyes that had always told him what she was thinking, even when her mouth refused to.

“You look good.”

“I should’ve told you I’d be here.”

“You don’t owe me that anymore.”

The words came out easier than he expected.

Easier than they felt. 

“You look good, too.” 

It was quiet then.

Familiar.

Uncomfortable.

It wasn’t like that with you.

“How long ya in town for?”

“Just until Monday. Gonna visit my parents.” She glanced over at him. “You still in the same place?”

Still in the same place?

As if she hadn’t helped him pick out the hardwood floors.

“Yup.” He nodded. “Place is holdin’ up. How ‘bout you? New York treatin’ ya nice?”

“It is.” She smiled. “You would’ve hated New York. Too many people. Too much walking. Too much everything.”

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

“Fuckin’ absolutely.”

“So… how’re you getting home? No way you can drive like that.”

“I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“Chris.”

He sighed.

“Probably just catch a ride.”

“I’ll take you.”

He looked over at her.

“Pretty sure I still know where you live.”

“Hm.” A small smile found him despite himself. “Still funny.”

“Got it from you.”

The cold water against his face snapped him out of it.

He needed to wake up.

Face this.

Marissa had brought him home. Her car still knew the way to his house without a GPS. She’d pulled into the driveway, waited until he got to the front door, and left.

She didn’t come inside.

She didn’t linger on the porch.

She didn’t kiss him goodnight.

Neither of them wanted that anymore.

He wanted you to bring him home.

He wanted you to linger at his front door. 

Instead, he had to call you and ask you to meet him at the diner he’d first taken you to. The one where you made fun of him for ordering a patty melt.

God, how he wished he could go back.

Maybe he would’ve stayed away.

Maybe he wouldn’t have.

You sounded…different on the phone.

You didn’t tease him for calling instead of texting.

You didn’t ask if he was buying.

You just agreed to meet him.

The diner didn’t feel like the warm, welcoming place it usually did.

Chris didn’t bother asking Mary how she was or how her grandkids were. He ordered a black coffee and toast.

Too hungover for anything that wasn’t bland.

Too distraught to eat much else.

He could do this.

He could tell you this wasn’t appropriate.

That the kiss was a mistake.

A fleeting moment that had to end.

He wasn’t going to be a coward.

Coward.

A word he’d called himself more times than he could count.

A word that had slipped from Marissa’s lips a few weeks before she left him.

He was a coward for refusing to start somewhere new.

A coward for burying himself in familiarity.

She apologized a few hours later. Said she didn’t really mean it.

But the word had stuck.

Maybe she hadn’t meant it.

Maybe she’d only said it because she was hurt.

Maybe it was still true.

Maybe he was a coward.

Maybe he still is.

The bell above the door rings, and he has to grip the edge of the booth so he doesn’t float away.

He watches as you glance around the diner, searching for him.

He should call your name.

Wave you over.

Instead, he finds himself hoping you won’t see him.

That you’d give up.

Turn around.

Walk back out the door.

He wouldn’t have to face this today.

Or maybe…

Ever.

Coward.

Your eyes finally land on him.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Chris swears even Mary freezes behind the hostess stand.

You offer him a small smile.

It doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

He holds his breath as you cross the diner with slow, measured steps before sliding into the booth across from him.

“Hey.”

All the air leaves his lungs.

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat. “Uh… thanks for comin’ on such short notice.”

You nod.

“’Course. Not a big deal.”

Another silence settles between the two of you.

“You hungry?” he asks. “We can order somethin’. I know it’s early, but I’m sure Mary’ll make you a milkshake, and ya probably oughta eat.”

“I’m okay.”

He waits for it.

A smart-ass comment about how he’s weird for drinking his coffee black.

Or that he looks like hell.

But it doesn’t come.

Chris’s fingers drum against the table.

“Guess we should probably talk.”

You nod again.

“Look…” He exhales. “We can’t do this.”

You don’t say anything.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.” He swallows. “I can’t do this to your old man. I should’ve known better.”

His eyes fall to the table.

“I’m older.”

“I’m an adult, Chris.”

“I…” He shakes his head. “I know.”

Another pause.

“We just can’t.”

“Okay.”

Chris opens his mouth, ready to explain himself further.

But you said okay.

Okay.

“I get it.” You smile at him and give a small nod.

Chris wipes his damp palms against his jeans.

He should feel relieved.

He should be thanking whatever God that might exist that you agreed.

That you understood.

But…

He doesn’t understand.

A part of him hoped you’d fight him.

He hated himself for that. 

“I–”

“I’ll see you around, Chris.”

He watches you slide out of the booth.

He should stop you.

He should ask what you meant by okay.

He should ask if you regretted kissing him.

If you’d been drunk enough to mistake him for something he wasn’t.

If you’d meant any of it.

But he doesn’t.

He watches your car disappear from the diner’s parking lot.

Coward.

The steering wheel feels too hot beneath your hands.

You keep lifting them, holding them in front of the air vents.

You keep cranking the A/C lower, but it doesn’t matter how cold the air is.

You still feel like you’re going to pass out.

You knew what he was going to say the second your phone lit up with his name.

You knew it so completely that you almost drove to the diner the night before just to sleep in the parking lot.

You imagined waking to Chris knocking softly on your window.

Telling you the kiss was a mistake.

That he didn’t want you.

You spent all of last night trying to convince yourself you were wrong.

Maybe you were drunker than you remembered.

Maybe the alcohol had left holes in your memory, and your mind was just trying to fill them.

But you knew it wasn’t.

You knew it the second you got home.

Your mom looked over at your dad, still slipping off her heels.

“I can’t believe he went home with her.”

It was like you could still smell the smoke from the fireworks.

So much so that, for a second, you convinced yourself you were having a stroke.

You knew you weren’t.

It was just a hangover.

And a man telling you kissing you was a mistake.

The combination had turned your brain to mush.

You took a slow breath and tightened your grip on the steering wheel.

It didn’t help.

The memory came anyway.

Everyone cheered as the fireworks burst across the sky.

But your eyes weren’t on them.

They searched the crowd for him.

Your lips still felt heavy with his kiss.

You figured you’d give him a little space.

It was a lot to take in.

But you knew what you’d felt.

He’d been so warm.

So inviting.

His lips had been impossibly soft, and somehow, despite everything, you’d felt safe.

You’d always noticed how big his hands were.

They’d felt even bigger cradling your face.

It felt right.

It felt good.

It felt dangerous.

Then you spotted him.

He was making his way toward the stream.

You would’ve recognized that walk anywhere.

You took a step forward.

But then…

…you saw red.

Bright red.

Hair.

Your stomach dropped.

You watched the woman disappear toward the stream after him.

 The drive home from the wedding was spent trying to convince yourself it could’ve been anyone.

Chris knew everyone.

It could’ve been a cousin.

A family friend.

Anyone else.

But at home, your dad replied,

“Marissa?”

And your mom said,

“Yeah.”

And your dad followed it up with,

“I just hope he’s thinking straight.”

You had told them you were tired after that.

That you were going to bed.

Your mom asked if you wanted to take any medication because you looked like you were going to be sick.

She always knew.

Your feet felt like sandbags carrying you up the stairs to your bedroom. You peeled off your dress, slipped your heels off, and set your earrings down on your vanity. You were hoping that it’d make you feel lighter.

It didn’t.

You stood in your bathroom staring at the makeup that had taken you an hour to do.

Now your lipstick was just a little smudged where he’d kissed you.

You closed your eyes and begged for the feeling back.

The way he held your head in his hand.

The way his thumb brushed against your cheek.

His lips had tasted like beer.

You’d wanted to kiss him again.

His face when you kissed him, and he pulled back.

And his face when he leaned down to kiss you again.

You caught yourself smiling.

It disappeared the second you saw the red again.

Marissa.

You couldn’t be mad at her.

You couldn’t even be mad at him.

But you could be mad at yourself. 

You scrubbed at your lipstick until your mouth hurt.

As if you could wash him away, too.

You had watched him get into her car without looking for you even once.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

This…

Whatever this was…

Was over.

The sun was bright when you woke up, almost as if it were punishing you.

You watched as Chris’s name lit up on your phone. 

That time you hadn’t wondered if he’d be asking you to go fishing.

Or the flea market.

Or to the store. 

Or just a ride in his truck.

This time, you had wondered if maybe this would be the last you would hear from him.

And now, leaving this diner…

You guess it is.

THAT IS WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ATEEZ....EACH COMEBACK I BELIEVE THEY PREPARE THE ALBUM THINKING OH WE HOPE ATINY LOVES THIS ALBUM,WE HOPE WE ARE ABLE TO GIVE THEM SOMETHING SPECIAL THIS ALBUM AS WELL....and then when they do give us FEW ATINY BLOW UP AND BE LIKE WHY CAN'T THE BE LIKE THEIR OLD SELVES...WHY CAN'T WE HAVE SONGS LIKE THIS LIKE THAT....THIS SOUNDS SO BAD(pun intended)...do y'all not understand this hurts Ateez out of everyone the most???

If Ateez is experimenting with music...trying out new genres I think y'all should be fucking proud bcz they're constantly trying to be different and better...and doing something out of the box...cz if they stick to one kind of music...they're gonna be labelled as the "NOISE POLLUTION GROUP" and still be hated.