Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He met her at a music festival.

Till was on a high that day. His band has just finished performing in the biggest festival in Anakt City, the same festival his mother had taken him to countless of times as a kid. For a moment, it felt like a full circle. When he was younger, he used to marvel at the artists that performed there, swaying and screaming and clapping along with the crowd as his mother smiled at him fondly.

He had strayed from his band after being swarmed by a couple of fans, asking for pictures and autographs. It was like a dream.

It was an intoxicating high, and Till could've sworn he was drunk. He had wandered into one of the more isolated squares of the festival, though it hardly seemed like it now. He'd never seen it so crowded before, especially with a popular idol currently on stage.

It was an unexpected sight, so he found himself pushing forward, weaving through the crowd—curious what the commotion was all about.

That spring evening felt like a dream.

Then, amid the throng of people, Till saw her and understood.

There she was, at the center of the square—a flower crown resting on her long, pink hair. Her white dress twirled fluidly, almost like dandelions floating in the wind as she danced for everyone to see.

He had never been the type to enjoy dance performances, but he was simply captivated, unable to look away even if he tried.

She's pretty, twirling along the early evening glow that Till could've mistaken her for the moon—or the sun. Like the sun at night, she seemed otherworldly.

Till suddenly remembered something Isaac told him, about how the sun doesn't really disappear at night. Metaphors after metaphors flashed on his mind, pulling her performance into a blur before his eyes.

A pleasant voice filled his ears, and Till blinked, dragged abruptly back to the moment.

She was singing with the music as she danced.

Till couldn't believe she was real.

She swayed effortlessly with the melody, and Till couldn't look away. He found his eyes following every moment—from her swaying hands, continuous swirls, and even the sudden jumps. There was a trail of blue following her every moment, and he briefly registered that her pink hair ended in the bluest of hues.

Before he realized it, she was bowing to the crowd, her smile impossibly bright. He lingered for a moment, caught between the spell of her movement and the fading notes, before the sound of clapping drew him back.

Till joined the eruption of applause, rooted to his spot even as the crowd began to disperse.

It seemed like fate.

He didn't know where the confidence came from—it was almost like he was caught in some sort of spell. He couldn't even remember how he talked to her, or what he said to make her smile. It all felt a bit too fast and unreal.

Not for the first time that spring night, Till wondered to himself if he was dreaming. He pinched the skin on his thumb.

Without really understanding how he did it, he managed to ask for her number.

"Mizi," she said, carefully writing her number on his hand.

Neither of them had their phones on them, and he only had the pen he usually used for scribbling on napkins. Only as her fingers graze gently on his hand did Till realize he hadn't asked for her name yet.

I—I'm Till," he said awkwardly, warmth already creeping up to his neck.

Mizi laughed softly, still holding his hand as she stopped writing. "I know. I'm a fan."

Till didn't know it was possible for his heart to drop like that. "Really?"

"Oh yeah, a Rebel, right?" Mizi replied. Rebel was the unofficial fandom name for their fans. Their manager Jacob had been the one to come up with the idea. "I've been a fan of Off The Record since I was in high school. It's a bummer I couldn't see you guys perform today!"

"Y—yeah, it is," he said, then added quickly, "We've been practicing a lot for our tour, I can let you see a set when you're available, if you'd like?"

Mizi dropped is hand then, and for a split second, Till panicked that he'd come on too strong.

Then she beamed—bright and effortless, her smile showing perfectly even teeth—and Till couldn't help but avert his gaze.

"I would absolutely love that," she said.

She sang the way she talked—airy and light, like a feather floating lightly in the breeze. He remembered her performance then, how she twirled like dandelions in the wind. His mother had told him about flowers when he was younger, and he wondered if this was the universe telling him of an unspoken wish come true.

This was more than a dream. It was a dream come true.

"You should definitely tell me when you're free too—oh, I should finish writing my number so we can set up!" she said, twirling the pen between her fingers before taking his hand in hers again.

Till tried to keep his hand still to not add too much accidental pressure.

Mizi's hands were small, and her fingers were delicate—the soft warmth of her touch contrasting with the cold pen pressing into the back of his hand as she wrote. Till suddenly felt self-conscious about the callouses on his skin.

He hoped his palm wasn't sweating.

"Mizi!" someone called, and both of them turned toward the sound. "We better go now if you want to catch your flight."

"Okay! I'll be there in a sec!" Mizi shouted back, making Till jump. She met his eyes then. "I need to go now, but give me a call or text—I'm so excited to talk to you, Till! I'm so psyched about the OTR set, let me know what works for you." Sincere enthusiasm lit up her face, her chartreuse eyes sparkling as she held Till's gaze. It was so overwhelmingly bright that Till couldn't help but stagger. He could barely maintain eye contact, trying not to stammer as the hand, freshly inked with her number, touched the back of his neck.

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen, the music gone and Till vaguely remembered a line from a song he wrote a couple of years ago—an edelweiss of feelings, or whatever his mind concurred at his high school drunken state.

It was the last month of spring, but Till couldn't help but feel it was the start of it. He caught the whiff of blossoms in the air and felt his heart beat impossibly fast. The number in his hand tingled in warmth.

He couldn't wait to message her later.

"Okay, I—I will," he stammered. Then shyly, he added, "I really enjoyed your performance earlier."

"I'm glad." She said, beaming—and she really was like the sun. Here, under the early evening moonlight, she looked like a dream. "I really, really have to go," she said apologetically, glancing back over her shoulder. "Send me a text, okay?"

Before Till could say word, she bolted like the wind, glancing back for a quick wave before disappearing into the crowd.

Petals swirled around him as he stood there, and Till realized shortly as he glanced around that they were peach blossoms in bloom. It wasn't the beginning of spring—but he was in the heart of it, and he couldn't help the burst of giddiness inside his chest.

Till had been drowning in music all his life. He grew up on countless songs, most of them about the same thing: love. How could humans write without love anyway? All the greatest songs were about love—in whatever shape or form.

Even now as a musician, he had written endlessly about it—despite not fully understanding it himself.

He thinks he does now.

Yes, perhaps this is what it feels like to fall in love.

He fell in love at the heart of spring.

"Till," Dewey called out, pulling him back to the present. He felt him slinging an arm around his shoulder, that obnoxious cologne making his brows scrunch. He had never liked strong scents, it made him feel light-headed—not that he'd expect anything from Dewey out of all people. "Drinks on Hyunwoo's tonight, you coming or what?"

"No," he replied easily, shrugging him off. "I'm going home."

"I knew it—wait what?" Dewey asked, a frown crossing his face. "But it's karaoke stand offs tonight."

Till tuned out the blond's words and the rest of the festival, sinking deep into his thoughts. Mizi was long gone but there he was, still staring where she left off.

Mizi.

He suddenly remembered a song he had written a couple of years ago—Unknown. Fans knew it more as "Till the End," only the OGs remembering the original title. He didn't perform that song a lot. It was amateur and superficial—rough around the edges, a simple song about wanting to know someone better.

He didn't know what inspired it then, probably too much alcohol—but he had made it—beat, melody, and lyrics all by himself. He remembered running his hands on his hair in frustration as he tried to make the words rhyme. It was the song that really solidified his position as the frontman of Off The Record.

He hadn't sang Unknown for a long time now, but Till knew what every word meant when asked. Not that he's been asked a lot.

The song was almost like an abandoned catalog from their much more rock-leaning discography. It had been special that way, reserved especially for exclusive encores.

Mizi meant unknown.

There was something poetic about that, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought.

Hyunwoo had asked him before why he titled it that way. He answered him honestly in his drunken stupor, how he didn't know exactly what he was writing about. Hyunwoo laughed at that, and they never talked about it again.

Was this the feeling his younger self wrote about back then? Till still doesn't know, but he knows one thing for sure.

He found her: his dream girl.

True to his words, Till did not drink at all that night. Dewey made a fuss about it as he tried to convince him for the seventeenth time to join them at the All In Bar, but after he refused again and Isaac backed him up, Dewey finally gave up as Isaac dragged him to the bar. Isaac shot him a questioning look then, but in typical Isaac fashion, he didn't press further.

The urge to drink until he blacked out had long gone, if he was being honest. Not that he needed a drink—the anticipation of waiting for the perfect time to send a text to the pink-haired girl was enough to make him feel tipsy.

Till liked the feeling—the unsettling urge of not being able to control his heart. Maybe this is what the love songs he had written for years had been hinting at. He liked the thought of it—how maybe he was destined for this. Destined for Mizi.

Maybe he had been looking for Mizi all his life, unknowingly.

He closed his eyes, flashing to her sunshine beam and apple green eyes. Her voice echoed in his mind—light like a feather, almost like a dulcet lullaby.

He shook his head as he plopped down on his unmade twin-sized bed. He rolled over the tousled sheet and blanket as he fiddled with his phone, gray hair still wet from the cold shower.

He had run the scenario over his head while he was showering earlier—how he'd phrase the first text, what he'd send, and all the different ways Mizi could possibly react.

Before his nerves could talk him out of it, he typed and sent the words without a thought.

Till stared for a minute, then two. His phone didn't magically show a reply.

Maybe she was already asleep? That was probably inconsiderate of him, texting her so late into the night.

He debated whether to kick himself, strange himself with the blanket, or just crawl under it and disappear entirely, his mind replaying every way he could have ruined this. Till was half-considering the possibility of suffocating himself with the pillows when his phone pinged. Once.

Twice.

He fumbled with it before he could talk himself out of expecting it to be from Mizi. It could've been Dewey being annoying, or one of those stupid chain messages. Hyunwoo had always fell for them, sending every last one Till's way when he knew perfectly Till didn't have enough credits or contacts. Like Till wasn't already unlucky enough.

The phone almost dropped to the floor, his hands clammy as he tightened his grip on it.

He looked at the cracked screen, his eyes widening at the new messages.

Till couldn't help but smile. Of course, she uses kaomojis.

His phone vibrated again.

Till's thin brows furrowed at that. She sounded different—almost detached. More suspiciously, he could somehow tell she was amused.

Weird.

He pushed the thought aside. He still couldn't believe Mizi had replied to him in the first place. His mind flashed to blue tips and chartreuse eyes, and his fingers tapped a quick rhythm as he typed back.

He didn't want to make her wait too long, after all.

When three minutes passed without a reply, Till wondered if he had said too much. Had he managed to screw this up?

Isaac had told him once that he could come off as aggressive at times. Hyunwoo agreed with the notion, mentioning maybe it was why girls had been so scared to approach him. Till didn't need either of them to say it out loud.

The mess that was his school years was enough of a reminder.

Before he could spiral further and type out an apology, his phone vibrated against his hand again. His eyes easily went straight to the gray speech bubbles as they appeared one after another.

The question stung.

He stared at the cracked screen, the words taunting him.

He tried his best to brush off the dejection crawling into his body. He rolled over his bed, settling on the other side as he stared at the words. His thumbs hovered over the screen.

Mizi was very mesmerizing. She was pretty, nice, and a good dancer. He wouldn't be surprised if there were many others who approached her during the festival like he did.

If she didn't respond, he would've been a little disappointed but... he would have chalked it up as a good dream.

The words blur as he gets lost in his thoughts.

He was just glad that she replied.

That she had given him her number in the first place.

Till reread their previous messages and then banged his head on his pillow.

"Idiot," he told himself.

Of course, Mizi wouldn't know who he was. He hadn't introduced himself when he first sent a text message!

"Idiot, idiot, idiot," he repeated over and over as he continued to bang his head on the pillow.

He was so lucky Mizi was nice enough, replying to him despite forgetting something as basic as courtesy.

Then, hesitantly, he sent the last two messages before he could regret it.

He couldn't help but roll in his covers as he quickly reread what he just sent. God, could he sound any more desperate? He let seconds tick by, his eyes never leaving his screen.

Till didn't know it was possible to feel his heart stumble at a heart symbol on a text message, but there it was—falling into an abyss of butterflies.

Mizi didn't reply for a while, and Till thought that was the end of it.

He wasn't old by any means, but he wasn't young either. Mizi being a fan of Off The Record was already a shaky situation to begin with, but Till never really thought far ahead. Dewey had mentioned before that he surprisingly had an impulsive streak to him.

He stared at their exchange and couldn't help but laugh.

At twenty seven, he still can't help but dive head first.

Just his luck.

His phone suddenly lit up repeatedly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Till almost fell off his bed. With trembling fingers, he began typing.

He typed in earnest, gaze fixed on his screen.

His eyes lit up as Mizi's reply came within a minute, and he found himself typing again before he knew it. This was going all too smoothly, and Till couldn't help but think this was it.

It was surprisingly easy to talk to her—Mizi.

The conversation had shifted into something casual—Till asking about her day and Mizi returning the favor by asking his. She was very vague about the Peach Blossoms Festival, mentioning studying and heavy coursework instead, and Till didn't mind filling in the gaps by sharing his experience.

She was good at asking questions—and Till found that he liked satisfying her curiosity.

Till never really found small conversations entertaining before. He preferred tinkering with his guitar, writing songs, or sketching within the margins of his music sheets. He had never been a talker—and his friends had long given up getting his opinions on anything unless he offered them.

He was content like that—sitting quietly in the middle of the conversation, listening as his friends talked.

Still, he found himself smiling as he buried himself under his worn covers, typing ordinary things like his hobbies and favorite music, happy about every mundane question sent his way.

He dreamt of pink hair and chartreuse eyes that night, the scent of peach blossoms lingering in the air as moonlight entered his bedroom window—his phone lying in his hand as he sprawled on his tousled teal blanket.

⋆｡°✩ Hidden Line 📞

A groan.

A shadow rose on the lamp-lit wall as a figure pushed up from the seat, slow at first, limbs stretching in the open room. Fingers dragged through dark, messy hair. Outlines and textbooks lay scattered across the table—several texts tabbed and highlighted. Beside them, a vending machine coffee had gone cold, a pale ring marking its place on the surface.

Spring wasn't in the air. The room smelled of highlighter and papaers, a cold breeze slipping through the open window.

The phone lit up again.