Nostalgia 𖹭 Joost Klein x Reader

𖹭 eight 𖹭

always in my mind.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

First Person POV:

It had been exactly three days since I sent Joost that message, telling him to let me know a place and a time, and I was still stuck on delivered. Every time I checked my phone—way more often than I'd like to admit—the little notification was still there, unchanged. Maybe I was right all along. Maybe this whole situation wasn't as big a deal for him as it was for me. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that I'd gotten carried away, that I'd read too much into those messages.

I was supposed to go home about two days ago, but my parents had pulled out all the stops, telling me a sob story about how much they missed me, even though I was usually here every weekend. They laid it on thick, with my mum giving me those big, sad eyes and my dad chiming in with the occasional nod, until I finally caved and agreed to stay a little longer. My job wasn't thrilled about it, but honestly, I didn't really care. They had plenty of other people who could make coffees for rich old white women, and the break felt nice—well, except for the constant checking of my phone.

This morning, like the last few, I headed down for breakfast, the familiar smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the house. It was one of those things I missed when I wasn't here—the way my mum always made a full breakfast, like we were still a family of five instead of just the three of us.

I stepped into the kitchen, where my dad was already at the table, engrossed in the newspaper like he was every morning. He didn't even look up as I walked in, just grunted a greeting as I slid into my usual spot.

My mum was at the stove, humming to herself as she flipped the last of the bacon. "Morning, sweetheart." she said brightly, turning to place the sizzling pan on the counter. "I was just thinking, you never have any friends over. You know, they could stay in the granny flat out back. It's all set up and everything. Plenty of room."

I froze, a piece of toast halfway to my mouth. "Mum..." I started, but she was already on a roll.

"It's just that it's such a nice little space, and I know how much you used to love it out there. Remember when you were younger, and you'd have sleepovers? You and your friends would stay up all night giggling, making up stories, and who knows what else. I just thought it might be nice, you know? You could bring someone along next time you come."

"Mum." I said again, this time with a little more force, setting the toast back on my plate. "First of all, you rent that place out on Airbnb all the time. And second, it's kind of embarrassing having friends sleep in a space that other people are always using."

She waved a hand dismissively, brushing off my excuses. "Oh, nonsense. We can block off the dates. And it's not embarrassing—it's practical. They'd have their own space, and you'd get to spend more time together."

I bit my lip, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation away from the fact that I didn't have a lot of friends to invite in the first place. It wasn't that I couldn't make friends—I'd had plenty of opportunities over the years—but I just preferred it this way. I liked my own company, liked the quiet, and the people I did let into my life were carefully chosen. Not that my parents would understand that.

"It's not really about that, Mum." I finally said, trying to keep my tone light. "I just... I like things the way they are. I don't need to have a bunch of people around all the time."

She gave me a look, one that was half concerned, half curious, as if she was trying to figure out what exactly had happened to the little girl who used to fill the house with chatter and laughter. "Well, alright." she said, her tone softer now. "But just remember, the offer's always there. It's nice to have people around sometimes."