Title: The Notebook Ch.2
Character: Lin X Reader
Prompt: When the reader runs into Lin in the airport, (literally “runs” into him), an accidental notebook swap occurs in the confusion, and they go home with each other’s work.
Word Count: 2,625
A/N: You guys asked for it, so here it is! I just can’t fathom how much you guys actually like this????? Like what??? ALSO if y'all wanna know about the musical the reader is writing, ask me! It’s an actual play that I’m writing, except it’s a play not a musical…
Also I shit-wrote this in a matter of two hours so please have mercy on me
“Ma'am, are you okay?” A distant voice asks you worriedly, a gentle tap on the shoulder shocking you out of your disassociated state. You jump slightly at the touch, but try to collect yourself enough to plaster a fake smile onto your lips and nod feebly to the flight attendant. It’s clear that she can see right through your crummy facade, but she just nods and continues down the isle, knowing well enough not to prod.
Your attention immediately snaps back to the worn black notebook in your hand, except it’s not yours. It looks exactly like yours- it’s even got the same scratch on the cover from the price sticker- but it’s not yours. The handwriting is too clean to be yours, there isn’t nearly as many ink smudges or eraser marks spread across the pages as there should be, and nothing scrawled across the yellowing paper aligns with what you’ve been working on for the past few years.
You were becoming hysterical, to say the least.
In any other given situation where this had somehow miraculously happened, you would’ve been on the phone with Kylie faster than lightening. But you were on a plane, at least an hour from landing and giving you access to others again, so that option was on hold. Obviously you couldn’t talk to anybody else about it on the plane, they’d just label you as crazy, which to your defense you can be, but they’d just zone out after about a minute. So here you were, forced to panic and get worked up over this notebook of yours all on your own. Great. Just great.
Oh god, what if that, that Lin guy was reading through your notebook right now?! What if he had already stolen all of your ideas and morphed them into his own?! No, no. Calm down, Y/N. You’re obviously overreacting, Lin wouldn’t do that. Sure, you only met him for a solid thirty seconds, but that’s enough time to get a decent judgement on somebody cute, right? He helped you up, he tried to make conversation, he seemed like a pretty good guy, a gentleman even.
Calm down, Y/N, you’re just getting yourself riled up for no good reason. You’ll be able to figure this whole situation out once you get both feet back onto solid ground again, and you’ll be able to start writing again in no time. You’ll get your notebook back, and Lin will get his. Simple fix, minus the whole “he’s in New York and you’re in rural Missouri” thing, but something can get worked out.
Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and try to calm yourself, even slightly. Everything will turn out fine in an hour, so just wait it out. Just an hour, that’s all. Yup, juuuuusssttttt an hour.
Oh who are you kidding? This is going to be the longest hour of your life.
Your eyes snap back open and you feel a sense of jitteriness pulse through you, only making everything seem worse. What were you going to do within this agonizingly long hour? Usually you would’ve brought a book or something to read for the flight, just in case writer’s block hit you, but what were yo-oh. That’s right, you do have something to read.
Your gaze slowly shifts downward to your slightly calloused hands, mainly from your late writing nights, and settle back upon your imposter notebook. Turning it over and over in your hands, the sleek black leather only makes you more and more curious as to what else it holds inside, besides characterization and such.
A little peek wouldn’t hurt, right?
Shifting in your already stiff seat, you pull your legs up into a criss-cross position and re-open the journal, ready to try and figure out what everything was in here. You focus on a random page near the center, and quickly become absorbed in deciphering everything out of it. Are these… song lyrics? Alexander Hamilton? Hold on, that name rings a bell… Hamilton, Hamil-wait, that’s the guy on the 10$ bill! He wasn’t a president, right?
Sifting through more pages, you attempt to gather more and more information, but all you come up with is more “Hamilton this” and “Hamilton that”, and some more lyrics for different situations. Although, with the way these songs are aligned, you can totally see a character arc for a musical here and-oh God.
This notebook is a developing musical for a founding father.
That’s a new one.
You stifle a laugh from the realization, trying not to draw anyone’s attention. A musical about a founding father? Who most likely wasn’t even a president? What kind of drug did this guy have to be on to come up with this off-the-wall idea? No wonder he came off as nice when he ran into you at the airport, all crack-jobs are nice when you first run into them.
Might as well humor yourself and read on, you’ve got a miserable hour to go.
But as you pick back up where you left off, you begin to see where this Lin guy was going with this Hamilton stuff. This founding father’s life story is the perfect. Love, angst, tragedy, hardships, lost of death, all wrapped up into song? Critics would eat this up with a spoon. Sure, there’s a lot of hitches and messy parts to some of these songs, but the idea is there.
A certain pair of characters stood out to you a bit more than Hamilton himself did; The sisters, Angelica and Eliza, Angelica specifically. You unintentionally began to flip through the pages, looking for any indication of the name Angelica, wanting to know more about her. Descriptions were scattered here and there as you continued to flip; strong, independent, intellectual equal, sacrificed love, all of these quick details scrawled about.
But then you fell upon a certain song. Well, you couldn’t really call it a song with the way it looked, more like a bunch of lyrics broken up and not really connecting to each other. A bunch of small scenes that didn’t quite have an order yet, if you will. At the top of the page a bunch of titles had been written and scratched right back out, with only one remaining, a think black circle around it with a bunch of question marks, reading “Can I say Something?”.
You begin to read through the setting of the song that was hastily written along the border of the page, getting a basic understanding of how Lin was imagining this scene to be. A whole rewind situation to see a love triangle from the third angle. Alright Mister Lin-Dude, this scene has you intrigued. You feel pretty connected to this Angelica girl, the same independence of hers coursing through your blood as well. Reading on, you try to grasp the concept of the fragmented lyrics, the plot line of it partially coming together. Okay okay, so she fell in love with Hamilton first, but because she loved her sister, Eliza, so much, she let her have him instead? Wow, that’s some serious sisterly love.
Although the idea and concept of the song was well presented, the actual lyrics itself felt like it was missing something; a single word or phrase. Something that left room for interpretation, yet had many levels of meaning to it. Also something that would get more and more tragic sounding as it was said more (because there’s totally a term for that). Convinced, Unannounced, Satisfied, Unspoken, Certain… something along those lines.
You reached for your pencil in the mesh pocket of your bag and brought it down to the paper, halting only centimeters above it. Hold on, Y/N. This isn’t your notebook. This isn’t yours. You can’t go writing at will in it, who knows what kind of trouble that could stir up.
But at the same time, you couldn’t let this criticism go to waste. Maybe this Lin guy needs some “creative help” with his works?
You continue to blankly stare at the page before you, your favorite mechanical pencil teetering against your fingers in anticipation of your decision.
It’s pencil. If he doesn’t want these ideas, he can erase them with ease.
But your little notes don’t seem to just stop there. You subconsciously scribble down little anecdotes and ideas on almost every page. A little note on a line about Hamilton’s son, and how he can be both his “son” and “sun”. A small adjustment to a roasting between Jefferson and Hamilton, making Jefferson claim to have written “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”, when Jock Locke had actually written them, giving him the effect of “underhanded”. Just simple notes and suggestions here and there, nothing major.
Well, if it hadn’t been an hour’s worth of suggestion writing, it may have been considered “small”. Yet, here you are, an hour later, being told by the overhead speaker to fasten your seatbelt for the landing in St. Louis.
You need to learn to control your writing needs, Y/N.
Setting your feet back on the floor you re-buckle, ready to get off of this airplane and back onto solid ground. Sure, you weren’t scared of heights or anything, but you really were just itching to figure out where your notebook was, and how you could get it back. Had Lin done the same thing to your notebook that you had done to his? Nah, there’s nothing good enough to deal with in it anyway. Three years of work on your musical and there’s not much to show for it, in all honesty.
The buckling of the wheels hitting the runway underneath of airplane jars you back into the present. The endless amount of more runways and nothingness outside of your window already gives you a nostalgic feeling of being back home, a smile growing on your face from the mere feeling of it. The captain’s voice rings out on the overhead speaker, announcing that all of you were now in St. Louis, and how you were able to exit to the airport now.
You waste no time in high-tailing it to the exit to gather yourself a bit before returning to your hometown. Your best friends from high school were supposed to be there to pick you up, but you had no idea where they were. In Heinz sight, you probably should’ve told them your exit instead of just “meet me at the airport”, but that couldn’t be helped now.
Fishing your phone from your pocket, you flip off airplane mode and allow for it to set in your hand for a minute, waiting for the few text messages and Snapchat’s to roll in. And they do.
But they don’t stop.
Confused, you watch the notifications bombard your lockscreen, each of them burying the other so quickly you can’t even read them. A solid minute rolls by before it finally ends, the most recent being a text from your hometown friends, Karsen and Colin.
TEXT FROM: 🚗🌞 Karsen
-“Y didn’t u tell me dat u were Twitter famous child!!!!!!”
TEXT FROM: 📞📥 Colin
-“You better check your Twitter before Kar has a heart attack.”
Utterly puzzled, you open your Twitter (after turning off the notifications, dear lord) and stare at the little blue bubble over your notifications button. You didn’t even know that number could be so high. Clicking the little bell icon, you furrow your eyebrows at everything cluttering your box. You knew none of these people, not a single one. Why were they-oh.
Every single tweet had your handle, and one other person’s.
A flood of both relief and worry wash over you as you click on the familiar name, taking in his entire profile page. Seems like it’s Lin. The profile picture looks like him, at least. Scrolling past his most recent tweets, you search for the earliest mention with your Twitter handle.
“Okay, I found her account everybody, it’s @(Y/H/N), please bombard her with love for her work, even though you don’t know what it is yet”
Wait, why is he talking about your works?
You scroll further into his history, seeing the progression of his tweets backwards.
“God I need to know who Y/N is. This is totally a romcom movie plot line, with the mystery and beauty of it”
“That was a true roller coaster of emotions. I need to see this I theaters now, Y/N.”
“Oh thank god Leila and Adam got back together I was hoping this would be a happy ending”
“Oh no. Now the best friends have got to do all the work to get the lovers that don’t think they like each other back together. Classic”
“Planning a fake fight always leads to bad things, Adam”
“LEILA YOU LOVE ADAM DONT TRY TO HIDE IT HROUGH YOUR WRITING LIKE ME”
“ADAM WHY ARE YOY CARRYING THAT WITH YOU”
“WHAT?! WHY DID YOU KILL THEM OFF?! You wound me Y/N, you really do”
“Ooo, Adam has such a sad backstory. Of course he gets the Sappy But Still Loved Character Award from me”
“I relate to Leila on an emotional level. An aspiring writer with a bit of a sad past and social issues? Sign me up”
“I’ve only read the basic plot she has written in the front and in already in love”
“Every single one of you are going to be subjected to me live-tweeting about this story she has-best part?-ITS A MUSICAL”
“Wow does she have some seriously good shit in this notebook. Way better than mine. Maybe I’ll just keep it for myself…”
“-and long story short I now have a mysteriously beautiful and talented woman’s notebook.”
“Apparently we have the same notebook though. Or, better yet, our notebooks are identical, and we somehow managed to swap them”
“And we both dropped out notebooks that we write in during the collision, so being nice people, picked them up and gave them back to each other”
“Not only was she pretty and super nice, I looked like a total jerk running into her. Literally ran over her.”
“FUNNY STORY: So you guys know how I’m super clumsy and I run into almost anything ever? Well I ran into a girl at the airport just now”
“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME OF YOUR BOYFRIEND?!” A familiar voice shouts from across the way, her voice just as loud as you remember it. Karsen’s blond hair bounces towards you and you’re wrapped up in a death-grip hug from her. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a boyfriend?! We made a promise to tell each other about that stuff!” She yells in your ear, squealing in both delight and frustration.
“Yeah, you’ve got some s'plainin’ to do, Y/N.” Colin laughs from behind Karsen, his usual smirk plastered on his lips like it always use to be. “Gee, thanks for the warm welcoming you two. No really, I appreciate it.” You remark, sarcasm dripping from your voice as you stuff your phone back into your pocket, not wanting to focus on anything back in New York right now.
“No but really, who’s the guy that’s making you soon-to-be-verified on Twitter?” Colin breathes, running a hand through his styled and swoopy hair. “Yeah! I wanna know all about your boyfriend!” Karsen quietly screams, her movements giddy with excitement. “Not my boyfriend, I can tell you that much.” You laugh, following them out of the airport.
How were you going to explain this situation, actually?
If you wanna ask me about the musical the reader is writing, feel free to!