Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Freak. The word echoed in Drew's mind like a mantra.

The sky was an ombre—orange bleeding into purple—with rays of sunlight entering the halls of RoseMeadow High School through the windows. Each step he took echoed within the empty halls, a silent reminder of what shouldn't have been.

Drew told himself that it was nothing. That the word meant nothing to him. To Jake.

The boy buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket just to pick on his skin without disruption—well, that was stupid. No one was around, who was there to judge?

But, god, no one knew better than Drew that those thoughts were bullshit.

So why did he call him that? Did he start considering Jake as one of those music freaks now, too?

He fucked up. Of course, he knew that—

Drew bumped into someone. The contact bristled his thoughts just slightly, but enough to bring him out of them.

He didn't look up—didn't bother to. "Sorry," he muttered, eyes downcast and unwilling to look anyone in the eye. He continued to walk—maybe to go up the rooftop, maybe to go home.

Actually, he didn't want to go home. Not yet. Not when his thoughts were all jumbled up, and anyone talking to him for more than just a second seemed to make him zone out.

Maybe he just kept on zoning out on his own. His senses were all messed up, his vision blurring like water over his glasses—no, like guilt on repeat—

A hand found its way around Drew's wrist. When did that happen? Just now? "Drew? Are you even listening?" Who—

Drew looked up—his magenta eyes too tired to look mad—and was met with a familiar shade of pink. Why was Milly here? Didn't he tell her not to talk to him in public?

She looked mad. At him, probably. Lately, everyone's had their rounds at shouting at him. The pink-haired devil sighed, "Look, I know you don't want people to know we're cousins, but just listen to me."

"Don't say it aloud," Drew wanted to say—yet such words didn't come to him. They were stuck in his throat, as though scolding her would hurt more than calling his friend a freak.

Milly tugged at his arm—watching him zone out, bags under his eyes darker than Sadie's hair. It was all too unnerving to her. With another sigh—she's been doing that a lot 'cause of him lately—she dragged him with her when she realized he was too out of it to listen to what she had to say.

"You look like shit," the girl sighed, worry seeping into her otherwise flippant tone despite her efforts to conceal it. "Anyone told you that yet?"

A shallow laugh—though Drew meant to scoff—escaped his lips. It seemed he finally snapped out of his thoughts. "Too many times," he muttered, the corners of his lips curving into a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Where to?" Drew asked.

Not asking why, but when—because it didn't matter. Drew trusted Milly enough not to be paranoid around her. It always ended in bickering, after all.

Milly, who was leading the way outside of school, looked back at him, "Wanna go home?"

Drew shook his head—it was small, a little action anyone wouldn't have caught, but Milly understood.

"Figures," she muttered.

Absentmindedly, the boy lifted his gaze from the floor to the girl who was pulling him by the wrist—her grip firm, unrelenting, but not cruel. Never.

He didn't deserve such kindness. Not when he bullied her in front of others.

Why did she tolerate his behavior, anyway? She always called him a stuck-up asshole in front of her friends. Does she really think of him like that?

Drew stopped in his tracks, arm twitching in her hold and feet suddenly stuck to the ground.

Realizing he had stopped walking, Milly glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing in something deeper than irritation. "Hey, why'd you stop—"

She couldn't continue. Seeing the look on his face, scrunched up and tears welling in his eyes—it was all too vulnerable. Her hand, once wrapped around his wrist, dropped to her sides.

"...Sorry," his own voice surprised him—it was weak. So much weaker than he allowed himself to be. Drew faced the ground and stared at his feet as if they had wronged him in his past life—looking at anything else except Milly.

The pink-haired girl didn't speak. Not immediately.

Don't—stop. Don't look at me like that. Don't look at me like I matter to you.

Silence engulfed the already empty halls, and all Drew was focusing on was the way their shadows grew longer with each passing minute.

"What for?" She drifted her gaze, unwilling to look him in the eye. It was too... unsettling. To see him so upset. He was only ever like this whenever his parents were around.

The tears in Drew's eyes just kept on welling—like water on a dam that was on the verge of breaking. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling the wetness of his tears on his hand...

It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Honestly, it felt like shit to cry in front of someone you've been an asshole to your whole life—but it was the only thing that kept him aware. The only thing that made sure he wasn't floating in his head.

"For everything. For—fuck," he caught his breath, stumbling on his own words and stuttering like it was too much effort to force the apology lodged in his throat.

Drew turned his head away, covering his trembling lips with his hand—as if that did anything to hide his weakness.

"For calling you a freak. For bullying your stupid—your friends and calling them talentless. You all are fucking good at music and I'm—sorry, okay? Just—just... stop looking at me like that," like I'm an alien, is what he left unsaid.

Truth be told, Drew never apologized to anyone. Not to his friends, not to Jake, not to Zoey, and especially not to the victims of his bullying.

And, god, the weight of his words—too cruel to be humane—was starting to hit him like a truck.

And Milly? Milly—she simply stared at him. Too astonished to speak, like it was rocket science to comprehend his words. Was he that much of an asshole that an apology from him was like a different language to others?

Why won't she speak? Did she finally realize how mad she should be at me? Why did she go quiet?

Milly sighed—an action that made Drew's skin crawl—as she leaned closer to him.

"You're stupid," the pink-haired girl spoke, voice breathless as if her lungs were betraying her.

Drew's eyes widened. In fear or shock, he didn't know.

"W-What?" He faced Milly, only to be faced with a shit-eating grin. It almost felt comical—how different their expressions looked in comparison. One smiling, one nearly crying.

Maybe he was stupid. If this was her way of taking her anger out on him, he didn't mind.

It stung, but not enough to make him cry. Never—because he didn't deserve to. Not when he's hurt too many people to count. He couldn't just ignore that part of his life. That part of him—

A flick to his forehead made him snap out of his thoughts.

Drew yelped, flinching back as his hands shot up to massage the stinging spot. His eyebrows furrowed as he glared at Milly, "What the hell was that for?"

"So, so stupid," she shook her head—and suddenly it felt as if all the kindness he thought she had dissipated, or at least he thought so. "You're stupid if you think I haven't already forgiven you."

"...What? Hey—"

Milly grabbed him by the wrist again, dragging him along as she talked, "It's good that your head's out of your ass now, enough for you to apologize."

"Excuse me?" Drew scoffed, the tears in his eyes now gone as a slight smile replaced his distressed expression.

He'd never admit it, but he found more comfort in their banter rather than talking about his feelings aloud. Something was soothing about hiding his feelings in insults, apparently.

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me. Save that for when you encounter the music club again—no, for when you meet Jake again." The mention of his name made Drew flinch—what the hell?

Milly glanced back at him, expression more relaxed than before, "Look, what I'm saying is that I get it. You don't gotta spill your guts out for me to understand, because we both know I'd hate to clean up the mess."

For once, Drew was grateful he didn't push her away. If it were anyone else, it would've ended in more than hurtful words and insults he didn't mean.

For once, Drew was glad someone stayed.

Chapter Text

The walk home—not to Drew's house, but to Milly's—was quiet. Not because the two felt awkward, but because it was necessary.

To let the words linger in the air.
To let the sadness marinate and turn into understanding
To let nothing mean something.

In Milly's village, the houses looked warm and lived in. Like people belonged there—a stark contrast to Drew's own—their windows aglow with the orange spill of twilight.

Here, Drew heard the laughter of children running along the sidewalk as they played. A dog that barked somewhere in the distance. An orphan that exclaimed in excitement at finding their forever home.

Here, it was quiet—not in the literal sense, but in the sense that all the noises would turn into nothing but background music in Drew's life. In the sense that Drew would find warmth in laughing with family as everything else went silent.

He imagined it. Their laughter, echoing off the walls of somewhere that felt like home.

That'd be much better than living in a modern house where the walls were hospital-white and the streets so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Yeah, it'd be better. So much better.

They finally reached Milly's doorstep. Drew looked down, only to read the words of a worn-out welcome mat: "The good kind of weird lives here." His eyebrows furrowed. It wasn't in disgust or confusion—just unfamiliarity. Like reading a joke in a language he never bothered to learn.

The pink-haired devil nudged his shoulder, and his eyes drifted back up to her own. The door was already open. Was the welcome mat distracting him more than it should've?

Milly's eyes flicked from him to the door, "Come on." A small smile curved her lips, cheeky and all too teasing.

His face twisted into a pinched scowl.

It wasn’t all too bad, though. Hanging around her.

Drew then found himself placing his shoes neatly on the shoe rack. His eyes remained glued to the floor, watching Milly kick off her sneakers, scattered on the carpet as she yelled, "I'm home!"

It sounded so... natural. He's never said that phrase before—at least, there wasn't a time he remembered doing so.

He hated how the word "home" felt like a question mark.

The smell of lavender wafted through the air. Of course, it was lavender. Of course, Milly, the pink-haired devil, lived in a house that smelled all too much like a café that never knew stress existed.

It engulfed Drew's senses and—for the first time in years—left him relaxed, like his spine forgot to brace for impact.

Maybe it was the lavender. Or maybe it was the warmth. Either way, his chest ached in that too-full kind of shit.

"Thanks for having me," Drew muttered to no one in particular—certainly not to Milly. Anyone but Milly.

A scoff—more like a laugh—escaped said girl's mouth as she glanced at him, "You've got manners? Shocking," Milly teased, and Drew had to resist the urge to shove her.

"Shut up," he said under his breath, voice low and almost hushed, as though he was afraid of anyone hearing him. Drew opened his mouth to speak—

"Oh, Mil! Back so late?" A deep yet comforting voice came from the stairs, making Drew flinch involuntarily— "Drew? What're you doing here?"

If he stepped just a bit closer behind Milly, no one dared to speak a word of it.

He didn't mean to hide behind her. His feet just... dragged him there. Reflex, maybe. But his hands curled into his sleeves like a child. Habit, definitely.

Milly's eyes lit up at the voice, waving excitedly, "Sean! And, sorry, I didn't mean to get home this late..." She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, "Oh, yeah—Drew's staying over for a while, too. Hope that's okay with you."

She glanced back at Drew, only to notice the fact he was hiding behind her. She snickered just silently enough that the man at the stairs didn't hear. Milly nudged him forward, and he nearly stumbled on his feet.

"Uh, thanks... Thanks for having me," he muttered, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie and picking at his skin. He averted his eyes. He didn’t want to look at Sean—not right now.

Afraid? No. Drew wasn't afraid of anything. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Sean merely laughed at his nervousness. "Ah, I'm not the owner of this house. It's fine, dude," he took off his headphones, placing them around his neck. "But it's appreciated. Make yourself at home, I guess." He said with a smile.

The girl's eyes sparkled like rubies as she spoke, her smile ear-to-ear, "Yeah, what Sean said!"

Drew looked away, only to notice a framed picture on the wall: a family portrait.

People who looked just like Milly, all smiling, and it was messy.

Not in a bad way, but in a way that screamed "home." If he squinted hard enough, he would see the way it hung on the wall. Crooked, but it didn't matter. At least, not to the Brooks family.

He stopped staring at it when Milly grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him along with her, saying, "Hurry up, emo boy. Unless you wanna wallow in your grief all day."

They walked up the stairs—well, Milly did. Drew just followed, a shadow stitched to her heel.

Every step creaked like a memory. Not his, though. Someone else’s. Someone who’d been allowed to run in this house.

How many times had Milly run up these stairs as her parents yelled at her to be careful?

Would it have felt fun to run up the stairs as a child?

The sound of a door being kicked open brought Drew out of his thoughts. Sure enough, he found himself in Milly's room—and Sean was already inside, lounging like it was the most natural thing.

She let go of his wrist, gave him a little shove toward the room, and collapsed onto one of the beanbags. It was as if the room was more beanbag than floor—does that even make sense?—and Drew nearly trips on the multitude of beanbags.

No, scratch that. Drew does trip on the multitude of beanbags, falling face-first into one of them.

Of course, he'd faceplant into the furniture. At least the furniture was kinder than his parents. Didn't leave a bruise.

Milly snickered before getting up on her feet, saying something along the lines of "I'll get us some fruit." Drew wasn't paying much attention and only noticed when the room felt quieter.

But it wasn't the quiet that made your thoughts feel louder. Not like static. Just… peaceful.

Sean merely chuckled, and—for another time today—Drew could feel warmth rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment. "You good?"

Drew sat up properly on the beanbag this time, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Not like there'd be much of a change if I wasn't," he spoke, the words like salt on his tongue—unpleasant, unlike the steak he usually enjoyed.

"Weird," Drew thought.
Not the tripping, not the warmth—
But the fact that this... didn't feel like punishment.

If this was “home,” then what the hell had he been living in?

Drew hated that his shoulders weren't as tense as they used to be. Hated that silence didn't buzz like pressure.

And when Sean spoke again—quiet and careful, like he knew how to talk to animals that might run—

“You look like someone who hasn’t had fruit in a while.”

Drew blinked. That wasn’t pity. Or concern. Just… a dumb sentence. Dumb enough to pull him out of his spiral.

“What?”

Sean scratched the back of his neck. “I eat fruit when I’m sad. Kinda stupid, but it helps. Makes me feel less like roadkill.”

Drew frowned. “So I look like roadkill now?”

“No,” Sean snorted. “You look tired. As hell.”

How the hell was Drew supposed to respond to that? Laugh? Get mad? Leave the room?

"Oh," is all he managed to respond. "I probably am," Drew sighed, playing with the strings of his hoodie absentmindedly. It felt—

Odd.

No one was yelling. No one was telling him to calm down, fix his face, act normal. Nothing. Just… silence. Kind silence. And that was scarier than being hated.

But it’d been so long since he’s been able to just breathe.

“Did Milly kidnap you?”

Drew blinked at him. “Kinda felt like it.”

Sean raised an eyebrow. “Huh. You looked like you were crying, earlier.”

That brought Drew’s eyes to the floor again.

His fingernails dug into his palm, crescent-shaped marks growing like thorns. “...I wasn’t.” He was speaking like it was difficult to get just two words out.

Noticing how square Drew’s shoulders look, Sean responded, his voice soft: "Didn’t say you were. I just said it looked like it."

"I didn’t cry." Drew hunched in on himself, taking his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms.

"Was it about Jake?" If it had been any other situation, Sean would’ve teased him. He was off the hook today, it seemed. Thank god.

He hesitated. "…Yeah."

"Oh,” Sean uttered as if he were genuinely surprised. Did people think he was that much of an asshole that he didn’t care about anyone at all?

"Yeah, ‘oh,’” the mockery was dry on his tongue, lips upturned into a shallow smile.

"He still talks about you, y’know." After all that Drew said?

"Really?"

It felt stupid—to hope for something so fickle like rekindling a friendship. It was a childlike dream.

"Yeah. You come up more than you think."

Drew looked at the beanbag like it said something rude. His eyebrows furrowed and magenta eyes narrowed in thought—he only seemed to bury himself deeper into his own folded arms.

"He called you his best friend last week."

At that, the boy drifted his eyes away from his lap and to Sean. He bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to feel something. Needing to feel anything.

"Yeah. He said it after telling Hailey he misses you. But maybe you’re just… done trying. Said she still listens, at least." Done trying?

A beat. Too quiet to mean something, yet too loud to ignore.

"Oh—wait, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to—well, I mean, I wasn’t trying to upset you or anything. Just—uh…” Sean averted his gaze, fiddling with his fingers, “Forget I said that, okay?”

Silence.

Silence—

But his heart was beating all too fast. Like knocking on a door you already know no one will open.

How could Drew ever forget that?