Happiness ↣ Jon Mess

3. the first week

wrens guest room was just big enough for a bed, a cabinet, a desk and a small leather chair. as soon as she showed jon it, he practically slept through the full next day. he figured it would make himself a little less of an inconvenience. she mentioned something about long school hours, gave him her number, and told him she trusted him not to rob her. jon had no clue how she had that much trust for someone she just met. he thought about what she said about her dad and he thought about his mental break. it genuinely scared him to think about that moment on the intersection, where he barely even remembered who he was or what was happening.

he thought of his isolation. his depression. he thought of how weak it made him that a mental little rough patch threw him so far. he could usually scratch it away easier. just get over it.

wren legrande (1)

hey, you wanna get takeout tonight? i don't cook worth shit. i'll be home soon

with how antisocial jon is he could barely process he's really staying here three weeks. and he has to eat eventually.

and he really didn't wanna overstep— if he was being honest with himself he didn't want to be alone either. he was scared of himself and what else mental illness could do to him. he looked at his clock. 6:39pm. jesus he really did sleep the whole day.

he opened his texts with tilian. he had some words.

so you dumped me on a stranger

hella caring til

he shut his phone, and to his surprise he got a quick response.

would you rather we admit you?

jon. i politely asked her if she could let you crash for a couple weeks. she said yes but after three you have to go. she got me and wills name and numbers, told her you wouldn't hurt a fly, everything. she seemed chill with it.

jon rolled his eyes.

couldn't have even bothered to cancel the tour?

he didn't get a text back after that.

- 

wren smacked a menu in front of him, hopping on her counter to look over another. "i'm assuming you're a normal person and like chinese food."

"have it at least three times a week on tour," he nods. "my buddy tim is a snob about it though."

she puts the number into her phone. "whatcha want?" he gives her his small order, and she tells the guy on the line what they want. "so what band do you tour with anyway?"

"uh, we're called dance gavin dance." he says. "i'm a vocalist. so's tilian actually."

"show me something then." she sits across from him at the table.

"someone's friendly." jon scrunched his eyebrows, snorting. "showing other people my music is weird."

"well if you won't show me i'll go to your spotify and hit shuffle. first song. no choice." she gets a devious smile, typing the band name into the phone.

"okay how about you don't do that—" jon reaches over the table but wren yanks her phone away.

"dance gavin dance..." she walks towards her kitchen. "we own the night?"

"wren!" he laugh yells, running after her, trying to grab the phone out of her hands but she holds it in the air, presses play and sticks her phone in her bra. jon puts his head in his hands. "that's so fuckingembarassing!!" he yells.

"shhh!" she shouts, plopping onto her couch.

she almost jumps when the song goes from guitar and vocals to screaming. "god, which one is you?!" he looks away and raises his eyebrows, scratching the back of his neck. "oh my god, the screaming is you?"

she quickly looks up the lyrics because no way in hell could she comprehend it alone. "uh, yeaaahhh." jon says. seeing people who don't know the genre give his music a first listen is the cringiest thing on this whole earth. 

"it's like slam poetry." she pats the seat next to her. "makes like, 5% of sense if you put it together right."

he sits down next to her, making a healthy distance. she closes her eyes for a lot of it, and it seems like she's actually taking in the music. or trying to. "i gotta say i don't listen to this genre, but it's really good." the room is quiet as the song ends. the room is dimly illuminated by one lamp, and she looks up to him.

his eyes look less exhausted. they're big and hazel, not that she was looking, and his high cheekbones were set by the dim light.

they jump as the doorbell rings. wren shoots up, grabbing her card out of her purse. "stay there. you're my roommate these next three weeks, i might as well get to know the guy hiding out in my guess room."

"har har." he laughs, as she pays for their food. she brings it over to the couch, sitting next to him criss cross on the couch.

"so you're a student. what are you wanting to do?"

"nursing." she nods. "dads a doctor, moms an artist. at the end of the day it was either one or the other. what about you huh? has it always just been a band?"

"i paint." he says noncommittally. "i'm in two bands. same thing in both. i worked at a record store for a year but my band really took off and will convinced me it'd be worth it. i guess it was."

"you guess?" she cocks her head, slurping up some noodles. jon observes how graceful she is with chopsticks, like it's a talent. "you're touring, it's obviously being good to you."

"yeah it's being good to me, but like.." he looks off. "one day i'll do a show, and the crowd will be great, and a kid tells me my music saved their life. and i feel on top of the world. and then other days it's like if anyone looks at me i want to hide. interviewers talk to me like i'm a product. fans put me on a pedestal, critique every single change of tone, voice, performance. it freaks me out and makes me think..." he pauses. "i'm accepting a gift and i love the gift but the gift curses me. that's stupid right. but i can't say that in a song."

she nods. "you think that's what made you lose it a little? the stress of being perceived?"

"yeah and..." he sighed. she had finished her noodles. okay, damn this chick can eat. "i'm a lonely dude wren. i have a cat at home, and an art studio. and i can talk to my parents for like fifteen minutes over the phone. but i'm alone more often than not. with my thoughts, everything. and then tour comes and i don't have to be in my head so much.. but tour came and i was still in my head." he starts digging into his sweet and sour chicken.

"my dad, i told you." she says. "they found his keys and phone in his car at work. nowhere to be found. then we all split up and me and my uncle found him. he didn't recognize us." she shrugs. "he never really got back to normal. the next few months were kind of leading up to his suicide." jon held his breath, as she continued. i'm sorry, look that's too dark for now."

"it's fine." jon reassured her. "wren, i'm stuck here for the next three weeks and then we probably won't see each other again. who needs a barrier?"

she smiled at him. "who needs a barrier?"