𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. | conan gray

𝟎𝟕. | pancakes

i wake up to the muted light filtering through the curtains, my mouth dry. it takes a moment to piece together where i am and what happened yesterday. blinking against the light, i rub my temples, trying to ease the light headache. slowly, the memories start to come back: the fans at the café, the awkward questions, the full-on panic mode that kicked in... and then conan's message.

my heart skips a beat as i remember. conan's message.

i sit up abruptly, the room spinning slightly from the sudden movement. groaning, i reach for my phone on the nightstand, my fingers clumsy from sleep.

i open instagram, staring at his message. each word feels like a puzzle piece, and i'm trying to figure out what he's really saying. is he genuinely sorry, or is there something more behind his words? i analyze every sentence, searching for hidden meanings that may or may not be there. i still have no idea how to respond. is he thinking about this too, or has he already moved on?

shaking my head, i force myself to put the phone down. overthinking won't solve anything.

glancing to the side, i notice el is missing. i realize that she is probably already at work. i could really use her comforting presence right now. forcing myself to get up, i head to the kitchen.

i see el at the stove, flipping pancakes. the smell fills the air, making my stomach growl.

"shouldn't you be at work?" i ask, my voice still rough with sleep.

she turns, a smirk playing on her lips. "i called in and told my boss i had a headache. figured you might not want to be alone right now. besides, you look like you could use some pampering."

i can't help but smile. "you're too good to me."

"damn right i am," she replies, plating the pancakes and handing one to me. we sit at the small kitchen table, the pancakes steaming between us.

"so, charlie told you everything?" i ask, cutting into my pancake.

"yeah, he filled me in," she says, her tone gentle. "but i'm more interested in how you're feeling about it."

i pause, chewing thoughtfully as i try to put my swirling emotions into words. "i don't know. confused, mostly. angry."

"it's okay to feel that, amy. it's a lot to process. i can't imagine what it must be like having your past suddenly thrown in your face like that."

i nod, taking a bite of my pancake. "i just don't understand his motives. why send that message after months of silence?"

el squeezes my hand. "maybe... he's realizing what he lost. maybe he's trying to make amends, in his own messed-up way."

i scoff. "or maybe he just feels guilty because the paparazzi caught me in the middle of all this. like, he thinks a simple 'sorry' can fix everything."

"well, it's obvious he's still thinking about you. you don't just send a message like that if you don't care."

she got a point.

i sigh. "but it's so... frustrating. he's avoiding the real issue. he didn't even mention what happened between us. i mean, classic conan, avoiding his feelings, deflecting with something else," i mutter. "but it's not fair. i deserve answers, not just apologies for paparazzi crap."

"you're right. you do deserve answers. but maybe he's scared, too. people can be weird about their feelings."

i think about her words, that conan might be scared, and how charlie said the same thing yesterday.

"i don't even know what i'd say to him if i did reply," i admit, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me. "part of me wants to yell at him, and part of me just... misses him."