Sammy Lawrence x Reader OneShot (Fluff)

Old Faded Notes

You were 19 years old when you started working for Joey Drew Studios. After Joey messing with things he probably shouldn't have messed with caused you to stomp out the door. Not to mention of many times he never listened to your advice, despite half the staff usually agreeing with you.

It finally crossed the line when Joey REFUSED to let you leave the studios, leaving you with overflowing work and no way of contact to your family. Your younger siblings were playing by the abandoned farm near home, but got trapped due to the rusty barn's wood collapsing on the doors. They called you first, so when you knew the situation, you immediately dropped work and started your way to help them. Joey got in the way, saying you were back slacking and not doing your job. You told him that you needed to do family business, but he didn't believe. You also knew earlier that day that a bad storm was coming, so you demanded to leave. Joey refused, and when the storm came and gone, your younger siblings were still there, although drenched wet and cold from the unstable barn.

You figured out later when you were able to free yourself from Joey's grip that one your siblings hurt their leg badly from the collapsing woods. Your soul BURNED, not only were you not there for your siblings, but Joey HELD YOU BACK. You gave him one of the most longest lectures you've given to anyone, yet throughout the whole thing your soul still burned. You gave him a nice black eye, from threatening on losing your job and trapping you in the studio, and a nice broken and bloody nose from even DARING to THINK he had any control over you. You quit your job that day, packing your stuff and leaving, never looking back. You did contact the few employees you worked with to let them know your situation and bid your goodbyes.

You continued on, working with much more stable communities and fewer jerks. You still worked as creative director, though you didn't go to multiple departments at once like before. You got to meet a few great people as you went by, and work with some great organizations that became some huge successes. To say the least, you were glad being away from the hellish studio and Joey, but you did miss the people you worked with.

After 30 years, you decided to become a private teacher for creative students; creative students who wanted to go in arts, music, or advertising. You went here and there for teaching, but you also worked at a grocery store.

You sighed, coming back home after an exhausting day. As you took a break on your comfy rocking chair, you heard your home phone ring. You raise an eyebrow, wondering who exactly was up at this time. You pick up the home phone, and raise it to your ear. "Hello?"

You heard panting, as if someone was running. A screeching stop, wheezing gasps. "Y-Y/N! P-Please I need you right now!" Your eyes widen, recognizing the voice even after so long. "Henry?" More panting and gasps, as if he was running from something, or someone.

"Y/N, I need to go to the studio! You know where it is?!"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "I do. What's going on Henry?" "I-I can't explain! Just- PLEASE! HELP ME-" The call cut off with a beep. Your eyes widened. You've rarely heard Henry in a panicked state, he was always so calm and collected. You grabbed your keys and your bag, and headed out the door. You got in your car and drove to the direction of the studio.

30 years you've left the studios, now you're 49 years old, almost 50 and heading back there once more. The studio is set in the downtown of the city, in the abandoned streets. You got out of your car and into the forgotten streets. You looked over to the studio, old and abandoned. You knew it was going to happen like this, with how Joey was running with it. If you were honest, if the incident with your siblings didn't happen, you would've overrun Joey and take over the studio yourself. But that didn't happen, and here it was.

You shook your head, getting back to the matter at hand. Henry needs you. So with that, you grabbed your extra stuff with you: A first aid kit, rope, flashlight, and your favorite pocketknife. The pocketknife belonged to your grandpapa, who passed away many years ago after you left the studio. The pocketknife was from the military your grandpapa worked in. The pocketknife was very worn, but it still had its sharpness to it. You always made sure to sharpen it.

You went inside, having to take a doubletake as you saw a gigantic hole in front of the door inside. You crouched down, examining the hole in front of you. It seemed to have broken due to heavy weight. You also noted how there were ink stains EVERYWHERE. It seemed like it flooded and dropped down into the whole. You cringed, seeing the bottom of the second floor from the top. You grabbed the rope from your pocket, tying it to the doorknob. You double-checked if the rope was tight, and you descended down to the second floor. Down, down, and down to the music department floor.

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