The House of Albums | t.s.

unWanted

All the albums had already left the house, plans for breakfast, brunch, shopping, and the twins went to have their picnic.

1989 didn't have any plans after she cancelled her trip across town to go to a market. She didn't feel up to facing the world today.

Midnights had greeted her with a cup of coffee and a kiss on the head. She noticed the blonde with messy side swept bangs was down, but when she was met with an immediate smile and a shake of her head, she let it go.

She knew when to push and when to leave it for later.

1989 wandered around the house, deciding to do a few chores, half-heartedly, as a distraction, but she realised quickly that it wasn't enough.

1989 knew the others would most probably understand what she was feeling. The voices that seemed so incessant and loud... yet she could never get herself to talk to them about it, not even RED.

She knew one album would understand it for sure, but she didn't feel like explaining herself. It was never easy explaining the pain. It was easier hiding it.

"Rep is here, might as well wake her," she glanced at the clock, seeing it was already eleven. "She said her plans were around two..." 1989 sent the stairwell a contemplative look before deciding to make coffee. For herself and Reputation.

Once she made it, she took the cups upstairs, fighting to keep the voice out that kept telling her no one wanted to drink coffee with her.

A gentle knock against the door with her elbow, but she got no response. Taking a deep breath in, she fixed her face, glaring at the door with determination.

"Come on, 89." She used her elbow to open the door, and when she turned to look at her friend, she saw her turning to face her.

"Hey," 1989 gave her best smile, one she told herself fooled everyone. It did once work for Mother, but not for 1989, especially not with the people she shared her life with now.

Reputation watched the younger album with ever perceptive eyes. Taking the blonde in as she wavered in the doorway.

The first thing she noticed was that the sweatpants and hoodie she wore didn't match, and the shirt sticking out was her sleepshirt.

1989 always matched her clothes, always. And she never wore her sleepshirt during the day. She claimed it wasn't her style.

She then watched her walk into the room, her usual confidence replaced by timid steps as she neared the bed.

1989 always strutted wherever she was going. Her walk often reminded the darker pop album of a model on a runway, walking with purpose to show off. 

"I made you coffee," 1989 held the mug out, the same mug she got Reputation for her birthday. "I know you like the way Lover makes it, so I hope this is good enough."

The self-deprecating joke set Reputation off, she knew it was a main defence mechanism the younger pop album used.

With a yawn, Reputation pushed herself up, back against the headboard as she took the cup offered. Without another word, she patted the bed in silent invitation.

"I can sit?" 1989 cast a quick glance at the black and golden bedsheets.

"You brought two cups, I assumed..." Reputation trailed off with a pointed brow.

"Oh, yeah, sure, okay," 1989 moved to sit at the edge of the bed one leg proped on the bed, tucked under her as the other dangled off.

Reputation took a sip of coffee, and to her surprise, it was quite tasteful, still not as good as Lover's, though.