serenade

003. ❛ sunset square ❜

real life

today's heavy, the kind of day where just existing feels like too much.

piper shows up at my apartment early, her familiar, soft knock pulling me out of the daze i've been in all morning. i'm still in bed, tangled in sheets that haven't been washed in longer than i want to admit.

"juniper?" she calls gently from the doorway, a bag of muffins in one hand, two coffees in the other. she's already doing her "gentle" voice, the one that's careful, like she's stepping around glass shards.

"come in," i mutter, pulling myself up into a sitting position. everything feels thick and slow, like i'm wading through honey.

she crosses the room, setting the muffins and coffees on my nightstand. "thought i'd bring breakfast," she says, giving me a small, cautious smile. "and maybe... get you out of here?"

i shake my head. "pip, i don't think i can today."

"just a short walk?" she tries, her tone hopeful but not pushy. she's been doing this every day, showing up with food, trying to coax me outside, and most days i refuse. but she always comes back, like she knows one day i'll say yes.

"where would we even go?" i ask, a small sigh escaping me as i run my fingers through my hair. i know i need to get up, need to live, but every part of me feels like it's stuck.

"sunset square," she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "and hey, i heard they're doing that little concert series thing again. remember how we used to go all the time? maybe we could check it out."

the thought makes something flicker inside me—a faint, nostalgic warmth that i didn't expect. we used to spend so many nights there, just getting lost in the music, letting it drown out everything else. liam used to come too, always teasing us about our "taste."

"a concert?" i say, feeling the skepticism in my own voice, but there's a part of me, buried under the grief, that wants to feel that again, even just for a little while.

piper nods, her eyes lighting up a bit. "yeah, it's low-key, just a few local bands. we don't even have to stay long if you don't feel like it. i just think... maybe it'd be good, you know?"

i stare at her for a second, feeling torn. it's a simple thing—just going to a concert, something i've done a hundred times before. but now, it feels like stepping onto shaky ground, like the world outside my apartment is too bright, too loud. still, piper's here, and she hasn't given up on me, even when i've barely given her anything in return.

"okay," i say finally, hearing the hesitation in my own voice. "but we don't stay the whole time, alright?"

she beams, like this is some huge victory, and hands me a coffee. "deal. i'll even buy you one of those overpriced concert sodas."

i roll my eyes, a small smile sneaking onto my face despite everything. she leans over, giving me a quick, tight hug, and it's like she's grounding me, reminding me that it's okay to feel, even if it's just a little bit.

we get ready in comfortable silence, and by the time we step out, the sun's beginning to dip, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink. piper's chatting about the lineup, telling me about this one band she heard of, her voice light and familiar. i let her words wash over me, trying to absorb the normalcy, the routine of it.

sunset square is buzzing when we arrive, people scattered around, a small stage set up with string lights hanging overhead. there's a warmth to the atmosphere, something simple and carefree. piper leads us through the crowd, finding a spot near the back where we can see the stage but not be swallowed by the noise.

the first band starts, their music soft, with a folksy vibe that blends into the background, and for the first time in weeks, i feel something other than grief. it's faint, fragile, but it's there—a small reminder of what it used to feel like to just be.

piper nudges me, holding up her phone to snap a picture of us. "for memories," she says, grinning.

"you're ridiculous," i mutter, but i let her take the photo. i feel myself relax, even just a little bit, as the music wraps around us, softening the edges of my sadness.