Chapter 9

I found myself standing in Jake's house, drenched from the rain. This was not part of the plan. How did I even end up here? Why did Jake bring me to his house?

Jake closed the front door behind him, shaking the rain from his hair like a dog. I stood frozen, staring ahead, my mind racing. The house was exactly what I imagined: spacious, warm, and somehow even more inviting inside.

"Oh dear, you're soaked!" A warm voice broke through my daze.

Before I could respond, a woman—Jake's mother—hurried over with a towel, gently patting my hair. The suddenness of her kindness startled me.

"Mom, you're going to scare her." came a voice from the corner.

I turned and saw a girl about twelve or thirteen, sitting cross-legged on a chair. She looked strikingly like Jake—same sharp features, same dark eyes. If Jake were a thirteen-year-old girl, this would be her.

"Come on, let's get you into some warm clothes."

Jake's mom wrapped an arm around my shoulder. Her touch was light but comforting, and I realized I was trembling from the cold.

Jake said nothing, brushing past us to grab his guitar leaning against the wall. Its polished wood gleamed under the lights. I hadn't even noticed it before.

"And where do you think you're going?" his mother asked, turning to him with her hands on her hips.

Jake sighed, already halfway up the stairs. "To practice." he muttered, his voice short and clipped.

Before anyone could respond, the girl—Jake's sister—sprang up from her chair. "He's practicing for the talent show!"

Jake's head snapped around, his eyes narrowing at her. "How do you know that, you little rat!"

His sister stuck out her tongue. "I heard you talking about it on the phone with Chris!"

Chris. That guy. I'd met him—by chance, in detention and in art class. He and Jake seemed like opposites, but there was something about their friendship that made sense.

Jake's mom gasped, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "A talent show? Oh my goodness! We'll definitely be there!"

Jake groaned, running a hand down his face. "I didn't want you guys to come..." he mumbled, barely loud enough for me to hear.

His mother and sister didn't seem to notice, but I caught the quiet frustration in his tone. Was he nervous? Did he think he'd mess up in front of them? Jake was an enigma—a storm of confidence one moment and quiet self-doubt the next.

"I'll be on the balcony." He said abruptly before disappearing up the stairs, guitar in hand.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, his mom turned her attention back to me. "You're so thin..." she said, her voice full of concern. "Eslie's clothes should fit you perfectly!"

Eslie. That must be the name of Jake's sister. I glanced at her and blinked. She was staring at me, grinning mischievously. This woman wants me to wear a thirteen-year-old's clothes? The thought seemed absurd.

Eslie grabbed my arm enthusiastically, her energy pulling me forward. "Come on! I'll show you my closet. It's not as childish as you think!"

My eyes widened at her last words. She said exactly what I was thinking. Can she read minds?

"I'll get a bath ready for you!" Jake's mom called from behind, her voice cheerful and resolute.

A bath? My cheeks flushed. Why was she being so nice? We'd only just met. Did I look that pitiful? All I wanted was a place to dry off, but somehow, I'd stumbled into this whirlwind of warmth and chaos.

"You're sleeping in my room tonight!" Eslie declares, closing her bedroom door softly behind us.

I blink, taken aback. "Sleeping?"

She nods, her face lighting up with excitement. "I'll take the guest room. My bed's more comfortable anyway!"

I feel like everything is moving way too fast. My mind is spinning, desperate for a moment to breathe, to process this whirlwind of kindness.

"That's... I don't need to sleep here..." I manage to say, my voice shaky. The overwhelming hospitality makes me feel uneasy. I'm not used to this.

Eslie tilts her head, a pout forming on her lips. "You want to sleep outside?"

I step back, raising an eyebrow. "Where did that come from?"

Ignoring my question, she skips over to her closet, rummaging around. "My mom saw you running through the rain." she says, her tone softer now.

She places a neatly folded stack of clothes on the bed and turns to face me, her expression surprisingly serious. "She sensed something was wrong."

My chest tightens, and my breathing becomes shallow. I'd tried so hard to hide my situation. I was certain it wasn't obvious that I was basically homeless, so how—

"And my mom's an expert at these things." Eslie finishes, as though reading my mind once again.

A warmth spreads through me. So, that's why Jake came to find me. His mother truly is a kind-hearted woman. It was pure chance that I'd run into someone like her in my moment of need.

I sit on the edge of the bed, exhaling shakily. "Your mom has such a kind heart..." I murmur.

Eslie beams and plops down beside me. "She really does. She volunteers at a nearby orphanage, you know." She informs me. "She can tell what someone's feeling just by looking into their eyes!"

My eyes widen slightly. That's... impressive, if not a little unsettling. No wonder she saw through me so easily. Despite my best efforts to hide my thoughts with a smile, she knew.

And I'm grateful for it.

I'm glad to meet someone as kind as her in the past. I was feeling a bit homesick, being around people I'm not used to. Even my mom isn't the same as the future her.

I glance at the clothes Eslie set down on the bed. "Oh, these are..." I pick up the shirt, feeling the fabric between my fingers. It's ridiculously soft but...

"Don't worry! I've never worn those before!" She assures me, and I nearly choke when my eyes catch the price tag still attached.

"Four thousand?!" I shriek, holding the tag up like it's a piece of forbidden treasure. "For a shirt?!"

Eslie looks at me like I've just grown a second head. "It's just a shirt..." She says nonchalantly.

Just a shirt? I study it again. The details are intricate, way too luxurious for something meant to be worn to bed.

I sigh and lift the pants next.

"Those are only eight hundred." She chirps, then adds, "but I can find you something higher quality if you'd like!"

This time, I actually choke—on my own breath. I cough violently, tapping my chest to calm myself down. "Only eight hundred?" I wheeze.

Eslie giggles, entirely unfazed. Clearly, this is how wealthy people think. Her casual attitude toward money leaves me stunned, and I feel more out of place than ever. The sleek, high-tech vibe of this house already feels like it belongs to another world.

I hesitate, staring at the clothes. Part of me considers just sleeping in my damp school uniform to avoid wearing something so expensive. These clothes are meant for lounging in luxury, not for a drenched runaway like me.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

"Dear?" Mrs. Lee's warm voice calls from the other side before she steps into the room. "The bath is ready." She smiles, radiating kindness.

I look at her, unsure what to say. How can I keep refusing their hospitality without seeming rude?

Instead, I nod and force a small smile. "Okay. Thank you."

Her expression softens even more, and for a brief moment, I feel safe. Maybe this isn't so bad.

.

.

.

I ended up taking a bath in their enormous bathroom—twice the size of my room in the future. Now I'm sitting on Eslie's plush bed, wrapped in her expensive, unworn sleepwear. It's so soft, yet it feels... wrong. Like I'm borrowing something sacred. Shame gnaws at me as I try to make myself comfortable under her luxurious blanket.

The bed is impossibly cozy, but sleep won't come. My thoughts are a jumbled mess. Everything in this room—from the intricate furniture to the gleaming decor—screams wealth, the kind I'd only imagined celebrities living in.

I sigh, adjusting the blanket, trying to ease my restless mind.

Then, faintly, I hear it—the delicate sound of guitar strings. My ears perk up. The melody is gentle but confident, a rhythm that feels practiced yet emotional. It's coming from somewhere close.

I can only think of Jake.

At this hour? It's already 11 p.m.—shouldn't he be sleeping? Curiosity pulls me from the bed. I tiptoe to the door and slowly open it. The music grows louder. His room must be right next to Eslie's.

The door to his room is slightly ajar, a warm light spilling out into the hall. The melody grows clearer, and I can hear the precision in every note. I step closer, peeking inside.

There he is.

Jake sits on a chair by his bed, guitar in hand, still wearing his school uniform. He strums effortlessly, pausing occasionally to jot down notes on a piece of paper perched on a stand in front of him. His face is focused, his brow furrowed in thought. He's completely absorbed in his work.

Does he always play until this late? Practice until this late? Is it because of the talent show? The one he's so stressed about?

I push the door open just a little more, but it betrays me with a loud screech. I freeze, holding my breath, eyes locked on him.

He doesn't react nor stop playing as he continues to jot notes down.

I exhale quietly, relieved. Maybe he didn't notice? Time to retreat before he catches me. I step back—

Creaaak!

The floor groans loudly beneath my foot, the sound echoing in the hallway.

I freeze again.

Seriously? All this wealth but the floor sound like cows mooing?

When I glance back at him, he's already looking straight at me. His sharp eyes lock onto mine, and my heart drops.

Crap.

His expression darkens as he sets his guitar down. My stomach twists. He probably thinks I'm some creepy stalker now. He must have been thinking that and I don't even blame him. Why was I so curious when I heard him playing? He'll definitely be annoyed with me now. He might even scold me. I wish I could teleport back to Eslie's room right about now. Why couldn't I have stayed in her room? Why did I—

"The bed not comfortable?" he asks suddenly, his tone catching me off guard.

I blink. His voice is unexpectedly gentle. Soft, even. What...is this? Is this what they call night time vulnerability?

"Oh... uh..." I stammer, searching for an excuse.

Jake's eyes trail to my outfit. His lips twitch, barely hiding a smirk. "I see my little sister's clothes fit you."

My cheeks burn. Is he mocking me? His deadpan expression makes it worse.

I grit my teeth. "I have the body of a 13-year-old so what!" I snap, trying to sound confident. "Ha ha. Very funny."

He leans back slightly, surprised by my outburst, but that damn smirk creeps back onto his face.

"What? What's so amusing?" I demand, crossing my arms.

He studies me for a moment, his gaze steady and assessing over my outfit. Then he speaks, his gloomy eyes not breaking mine while his voice is as calm as ever. "My sister's 10."

My jaw drops. My eyes widen in horror, one even twitching as the realization hits me. A 10-year-old's clothes? And they fit me perfectly? That's even worse!

"I—what—I thought—" I sputter, trying to recover.

Jake chuckles, taking a swig from the water bottle on his nightstand. The sound only fuels my embarrassment.

"Yeah, well," I grumble, crossing my arms tighter. "So maybe I don't have... womanly assets or whatever, but..." I trail off, my mind blanking.

He plops down on the bed, holding the water to his thigh and stares at me. His eyes have light dark circles. It's crazy but he appears even more attractive with them.

He arches an eyebrow, amusement glinting in his eyes. "But what?" he presses, leaning back with that same smug look.

He speaks so calmly like he's trying to get under my skin. I roll my eyes, glaring at him. "Never mind." It's not like I had anything to finish that sentence with anyway.

"Figured." His tone is low, almost teasing, but I pretend not to hear or I'll just get angrier.

But in a way...this feels nice. Though he's clearly making fun of me, he's not randomly being overly rude and shutting me out completely.

My gaze drifts to the sheet of music on his stand. "Is that for the talent show?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

His expression hardens immediately. "It's supposed to be, yeah." He mutters.

Without warning, he gets up and grabs the sheet of paper, tearing it apart to shreds.

"Hey! What are you doing?" I gasp.

His expression makes me flinch just a little. He seemed to get so irritated even at the mention of the talent show. That's expected but to just tear up anything you write? I don't get it.

"It was garbage anyway." He snaps, his voice sharp as he tosses the pieces into an already overflowing trash can with the same pieces of paper.

I frown. "But you didn't even finish it..."

"Why bother?" He scoffs, the bitterness in his tone cutting deep. "Why? I'll throw it away anyway."

I glance at the trash can filled with crumpled papers. My heart aches. Why does he hate his work so much? His guitar playing earlier sounded incredible. What is he not satisfied with? Does he not have confidence in himself at all?

He starts packing up his guitar in his case to put away. "Why?" I ask, stepping into his room now. "I want to know."

He lifts his head up, confused but clearly still irritated. "Know what?"

I won't have him just brush it off as nothing again. I dont care if I have to slap it out of him. He's already such a difficult person.

"What's holding you back?" I say confidently, not breaking eye contact as I step even closer. "It's clearly something if you're not letting yourself move forward!"

Jake freezes. His dark eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something raw flicker across his face. That's Vulnerability. He's completely taken aback by the truth in my words. He's knows it's true but he may not be brave enough to admit it. His ego may be too high to even own to it.

He sighs and sits down on the floor, leaning his back against his bed. I continue to stare down at him, hoping for a solid answer. Why can't he just admit he's talented? Why is he so afraid of a little talent show?

He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing around before his eyes meet mine. "You really want to know?" he asks, his voice quiet. "Most people prefer the mystery."

I almost forget to breath, not expecting him to give in so easily. I had thought he'd at least attempt to kick me out of his room first. I was certain his mood towards me will change so rapidly like it always does.

I step just a little closer almost towering over him, not knowing if I should while I look down at him on the floor. This is it. Will he really tell me?

I nod firmly. "I'd rather know."

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the floor. He runs a hand through his hair. "Most of the time..." he begins, pausing as though the words are physically hard to say.

He then, looks directly up at me, licking his lips nervously. He surely wasn't expecting me to be so bold tonight.

He wants to look away but something won't let him. It's like he almost forgets to blink, gazing into my eyes.

"People only care about the way I look. Not the music I want to make."

His confession stuns me. My chest tightens, and I feel a pang of sadness for him. My heart races at his reveal. My heart nearly aches as I can sense the saddness in his voice. Its like he's been holding all his emotions back.

"What's the damn point of some stupid talent show..." he continues bitterly, "if they're not even there for the music?"

I had no idea he's been thinking that this entire time...

I really didn't expect this to be the reason of his hesitance. I'm truly shocked but more saddened than anything.

I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong, but I hesitate. Is he right? Are his fangirls only here for his looks?

"But... but you've got so many people rooting for your music..." I say weakly. "For your voice—"

"They say that." He interrupts with a bitter laugh. "But how many actually care? How many try to understand it?"

The pain in his voice cuts through me like a knife. Tears well up in my eyes before I can stop them.

"People say they love my voice but it's not often someone actually tries to understand it." He finally says, his voice cold and resentful.

My heart clenches at his words. His tone, his vulnerability, it's all so sad. It's clear that this boy has been through so much...and he will have nothing to show for it in the future.

"That's..." I try to speak but my voice only gets caught in my throat. He notices my sorrow expression. His irritating only growing further.

Why does it make me so sad? He thinks making music and performing it, is not worth it...because no one cares about the music but rather his looks only. I can't let him keep thinking this way. I just can't.

"I don't need your fucking pity." He mutters, looking away as if pouting slightly.

I don't think—I just act. Without another word, I kneel before him and lean forward, wrapping my arms around him in a hug.

He's obviously taken aback, jumping in his spot. "Hey! What are you—"

I ignore him. He feel he needs this. He clearly won't believe anything I say especially considering I haven't really heard his music. His voice when he sings...all I can really offer him is a kind long awaited hug for him.

I know he dies in the future but to see his vulnerability like this really hurts.

He protests weakly, as I continue to ignore his plea to push me away but after a moment, I feel his hand rest gently on my back. He stops resisting, his body relaxing slightly in my embrace.

And for the first time, I see a piece of him that he hides from the world.

This, I think to myself, is what they call night-time vulnerability.

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