on the border with crook

...and now you're gone...

Hey guys! So this is my first writing, so feedback is really appreciated :) it’s based on I Don’t Even Know Your Name, hope you enjoy!



All I saw was one pair of deep brown eyes.

My heart beat fast as I got lost in those round dark orbs. Her eyes were glued to mine, just as mine were glued to hers. I could feel the sweat collecting as a gripped the neck of my acoustic guitar. Luckily the words of Life of the Party were engrained in my memory, because lyrics were the last thing on my mind. The words spilled out of my mouth out of habit as my gazed was locked on one thing… one girl.

Her hair fell in cascades down to her bare shoulders. Her soft pink dress brought out the rosiness of her cheeks. I could tell she was doing her best to hold her petit frame up on her tip-toes to see over the crowd. Her pink lips curled at the ends into a subtle and irresistible smile.

As the final words of the song found their way out of me, the wild movement and cheering of the crowd took my attention for a mere second. When I turned to dive back into those chocolatey spheres, they weren’t there. I felt my heart sunk deeper and deeper into my stomach as a realized she was gone.

The rest of the show was a blur. I can’t picture the rest of the crowd, or even the venue. As I sat on the bus, southbound from the Twin Cities, I could feel an ache in my heart. I felt her eyes locked on mine, and pictured her face. She was the closest thing I’d ever seen to perfection.

The rest of the tour dragged on. Time seemed to stand still as one thought, one person filled my mind. We played our last show in Toronto, and I finally exited to bus for good as I stood in my Pickering driveway.

I spent day after day with a pen in my hand and a guitar in my lap. I wrote and sang and for the first time, the words had meaning. There was no imaginary girl, no figment of my own creation, for whom these words were meant. She was real… she was out there… and I was going to find her.

A new album meant a new tour. The plans were set and dates announced, catering to my one request: a stop in Minneapolis.

August 6. I took another sip of coffee as I saw the bright red lights of the arena sign. My eyes had not seen sleep since we crossed the crooked border from Wisconsin to Minnesota.

“Here we are,” Andrew said with a sigh. “Happy yet, Shawn?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what this show meant to me. He didn’t know the pain that shot through my chest when I thought of the last time I was here. He didn’t know the meaning behind the worst I would belt on the stage that night. He didn’t know.

“Not yet,” was all I said.

As I stood on the side, ready to take the stage, I closed my eyes. I pictured exactly where I saw her. I pictured every detail of the girl who consumed my thoughts for over a year. I opened them and took the stage.

With each song I sang, my eyes scanned the crown. I looked for her familiar smirk, and those deep, dark eyes. But as each song ended, I was left with disappointment as she was no where to be seen.

Anxiety filled me as a realized I had one song left. I was disappointed that I hadn’t seen her face, and disappointed that she wouldn’t here the song I wrote for her.

“Ooo, you dressed up so nice, but all I could see was your eyes…

Another scan. No luck.

"And you’ll never know what you did to me, and now you’re gone…”

My heart sank as I sang the final line.

“I don’t even know your name…”

I sat alone in my dressing room with my head in my hands. She wasn’t there. She was gone. Lost forever, only to live in my memory.

Andrew knocked on my door, telling me it was time to head out. I rubbed my eyes on final time, hoping to get the sight of her out of my head. No luck. I grabbed my backpack and trudged my way to the back door towards the bus.

I dreaded stepping on the iron beast. It was filled with the words I had written for her, that I sang with her face on my mind and hope in my heart of seeing her again. That hope was gone. We had come back, but she did not return. She was gone.

I watched my boots hit the ground as I trudged towards the bus. Running my hand through my hair, I took one final look at the venue, and laid my hope of seeing her to rest right there in the parking lot.

I looked back down and took painstaking steps towards the bus. Just as I reached the door, I heard a small voice from behind stopped me in my tracks.

“Umm excuse me,” it said. It was so soft I almost didn’t believe it was real. I kept my eyes on the stairs of the bus, until I heard it one more time.

“Shawn?” it said. With the use of my name, I slowly turned around, only to be met with the deep brown eyes that had consumed my thoughts for what felt like centuries.

“Y/n,” those beautiful lips said. “It’s y/n.”

anonymous asked:

Hii~ Can i request a scenario with Namjoon based on this: “you’re super short and i’m sorry but it’s really really cute whenever you try to reach that book on the top shelf here lemme help you- oh no don’t be embarrassed, your face is all red and you’re even more adorable now i am going to die” please? Thanks ^^

i’m so sorry this is several months late and reads more like three separate vignettes than one whole story pls forgive also the mc at the end is me i’m currently studying for my physio final rip

the one with the tall man and the spider killer
reader x namjoon
word count: 1,229
rating: t for mild language


From a young age you made a clear distinction between being short and being “fun-sized”— and you, for sure, were the latter—but as you stretch to reach the book on the top shelf of the campus library, you’re not having much fun.

“Of course,” you mutter. Of course the one copy of the book you needed for your term paper had to be on the top shelf. You jump up with a grunt, mustering whatever athleticism remained in your body. To no avail. You jump again, trying to coax the book out. Another miss.

“Need a hand?”

You turn with a gasp, not expecting anyone to be joining you in the library at this hour. You’re met with a boy in glasses and a turtleneck sweater. His blonde hair is swept over his head with a tousle. And notably, he is tall. But perhaps more notably—he is painfully handsome. Words catch in your throat.

He lets out a nervous chuckle. “I mean, you looked really cute trying to reach the top shelf.” You balk, blood rushing to your face. “But I didn’t want to stand around as you destroy the library.” He sidesteps around your frozen figure, eyeing the books on the top shelf. “This one, right? Sirens of Titan?”

Mutely, you nod, then remember that you can talk. With words. “Y-yeah,” you force out. “Thanks.” He places the book in your hands with a smile that could stop time. And you realize it’s a crime to see a smile like that and not, at the very least, ask the boy for his name. So: “Hold on—what’s your name?”

He smiles wider, a crooked grin bordering on a smirk, and you cannot help the butterflies that bloom in your stomach. “Namjoon. And yours?”

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