Another Day In Paradise | Danny Johnson x Reader

Maybe Ashboro Isn't So Bad

People say Ashboro is the perfect town. They say it's small, non-touristy, good for the kids and good for small business. They say they never want to leave it, that it'll be their home until the day they die and that it'll be their kids' homes until they die too. They say it raised them, that it's a part of them, and then they get the hell out of here as quickly as they can because, come on, who wants to live their whole life in some shitty small town where nothing ever happens? In Ashboro there are about 25,000 people and next to no buildings over five floors so a kid who comes from New York like you is expected to be a little disappointed. You sit, head leaned heavily against the window of your dad's car, listening absently to the swaying notes of whatever classical music is singing from the radio and the near-inaudible thump of the heavy bass from your brother's headphones.

"Here we are, my lovelies!" Your dad's voice is sing-song, cheerful and bubbling with hope, the car coming to a grumbling halt and sputtering as the key is reversed in the ignition and the engine dies out. "Home sweet home. How's it look, (Y/N)? What's the verdict?" His elbow jabs into your ribs and you finally pull your head up from it's bent position, setting your uninterested gaze on him. He's grinning ear to ear, his brown hair swept from the open driver-side window and tinged with the same light gray that was shining through the stubble on his chin. His green eyes were bright and light freckles spattered his nose. "Why so bummed? Are you seriously not feeling the stellar vibes this place is giving off?" Your dad's voice goes chill, monotone and smooth like some surfer or hippie or something of the sort. His eyes squint, his shoulders set back, and then your lips are quirking up in the beginnings of a reluctant smile because your dad's positive mood is just too contagious. You manage a shrug, trying desperately to hold onto your frown more for comical purposes now.

"No, dad," You say, your voice heavy, loaded with disappointment, "It sucks. I think I might just perish instead of going in." With his still-toothy grin your father drops back into his normal self and nods his head.

"I knew you'd love it. Come on, let's get your stuff inside, I'm exhausted and there's gotta be some food to order in somewhere." So, yeah. Ashboro. You, your father, and your fourteen year old brother. Sounds like a dream, right? When a mother divorces a father and steals all his money a small town like this is the only option that's left, so you suck it up and choke it down more for your dad's sake then your own. On a warm evening like this you'd normally be curled up in your room with one of your dad's old records watching TV or scrolling aimlessly on your phone until your eyes go square, but now you find yourself heaving heavy boxes from the car down the driveway and into the place you're being forced to call home. If you were being entirely honest, the house was pretty cute. Your father had always had an eye for detail and aesthetic (being an artist, it was part of his job) but he really outdid himself here. The house had two bedrooms (one for you and one for your brother- your father slept in his studio, which was going to be in the basement) and a bathroom with a smaller kitchen and a bay window in the living room- there was just enough space for three people. The outside siding was a soft green, the roof at a heavy pointed slant and adorned with a pale grey shingling. The windows were white, cottage-style, and would look great with the emerald green curtains your father had brought in the moving trailer he'd rented. It looked a little like something out of a story book, latices climbing the walls and oak trees perched out front like guardians- yeah, sure, if the rest of the town was okay then maybe you'd survive here.

The night dragged on from 5:00 to 6:00 to 7:00, hauling boxes, scolding your brother for getting distracted, goofing and laughing and saying 'hey, maybe this isn't so bad, huh?' until the sun had long set and exhaustion tugged at every limb. Only once the car and rented trailer were empty did the three of you stop, settling on the single step up to the vestibule housing a coral-toned front door to order and soon devour two pizzas and some garlic bread. As you stole a second slice from the box on the tiled sidewalk at your feet, you sucked in a breath of the fresh, small-town air and let it out in a huff.