☁️: the poems in this chapter are mine, as in i wrote them, as in don't be fucking mean <3
ps. not proofread
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Motel rooms 2A and 2B had been empty by the next night, their patrons gone with the chilling wind of September.
Shawn and Minnie had gotten back "home" days after the funeral. The two had agreed on staying at Shawn's house for the time being. That, and Minnie's mind was too preoccupied with someone else for her to really care about where she was sleeping every night. Her belongings were shipped with a few phone calls and that was that.
Upon entering his absolute mansion, Shawn had opted to take a long nap after being the designated driver for so long.
Minnie, on the other hand, had other plans. Her interaction with Olivia had a million and one thoughts encroaching on every square inch of her brain. Without anyone to tell, she was itching to write something... anything.
Shawn had been asleep when she fished through a box of her things, a smile on her face with the discovery of her old song journal. With an old, worn down composition book in hand, never had she felt more alive. She had to admit her adrenaline did dim in the slightest at the sight of the little doodles on the first page—some belonging to Minnie and some to Olivia.
Sweet, sweet inspiration.
For reference, the couple's arrival time home had been about 3 in the afternoon, and Shawn didn't wake up until about 8 pm. So you can understand his confusion when he found Minnie scribbling away in the most raggedy notebook he'd ever seen, sitting at the bench of his grand piano.
"Min?" He rubbed at his eyes with a yawn. "What are you doing?"
"I was writing uh... poems. And then, I don't know, I guess they started turning into songs."
It was true. For the past 5 hours or so, Minnie had written poems and poems, words that spoke the truth of her soul. She'd merely stumbled upon the piano when she took a stretch break and discovered a whole other side of the house. It sat in a room with the prettiest bay window her eyes ever laid on. There wasn't a need for any light when it so naturally draped the room through the window (at night, it offered the perfect view of the night sky). From there, those poems became melodic statements that only she could write.
"I- I didn't know you wrote."
"I usually don't. I was just... I don't know, I've been reeling."
"Well, that's great. I mean, it's not great that you've been reeling... but I'm glad the writing helps. Maybe you can play something for me... w-when you're ready that is!"
Oh, she is sick of this shit.
"You do know I'm not a wounded puppy, right?"
Olivia understood. Why couldn't he?
"Huh?" Utter confusion painted his face.
She finally looked up from her notebook. "You keep treating me like you're terrified of hurting me. I'm not hurt, Shawn. I'm fine, so start treating me like it."
Getting better but not quite there yet.
"A-Alright then."
Silence.
"Can I still kiss you?" He quipped.
"Shut up and get over here." She giggled.
}
The next few days were spent with both of them holed up in that room. Shawn watched Minnie as he wrote. Minnie watched the window as she wrote.
They ordered takeout for every meal, passed bottles of tequila when the sun crept back under the horizon with the lighting of multiple candles, exchanged words neither of them would remember, and... did the deed. Sigh.
