Hello, nice seeing all of you again. I know I haven't really been on here for awhile, but that's mainly because I've been at school. Dying of paperwork and projects. :( Anyways, I don't know what to do with Ashtray Hearts; being honest, I haven't really thought up an interesting end to it yet. This, on the other hand, has been sitting on my desktop for a little over a year now...So I finally decided to post it up. It was originally an original, full of new characters, but I thought it would be okay for a JONAS fic. Originally, it was a Jacy, and I honestly liked it :)). But I felt bad for Stella, so Nacy it is. It's a little '500 Days of Summer'-esque (that's where the idea came from, actually), and there is a timeline.
Title comes from the Kooks song. Give it a listen. Really, really cool.
Pretend that Nick and the guys, plus Stella, haven't met Macy yet. She's a complete stranger here.
Well, yup. Enjoy. It's multi-chapter.
DAY 730
"Are you going to be alright?" she asks me, as her right hand encloses around my left. I couldn't help but glance at her other hand, sitting neatly on her lap. A simple gold band gleams from the ring finger, and I find it surreal. This is the same girl who told me she didn't believe in real love just a few years ago. Now, she's sitting beside me, a married woman.
"Yeah, I think I will be," I reply, even if I know it's a lie. I feel her delicate fingers interlace with mine, and she squeezes my hand slightly.
"You sure about that?" She asks, tilting her head slightly to get a better view of my face.
I smile for her sake, and I answer, "don't worry, I'll be fine."
She squeezes again, but a little more tightly this time, and then she slips her hand away from mine. I could tell that she was reluctant to do so. She gives me a small smile, and says, "I need to get going."
"I guess I'll see you around," I reply, rather quietly, but I return the smile. She doesn't look convinced, but she gets up from the bench, and leans down to plant a light kiss on my forehead. I haven't gotten one of those in a long time. She smiles again, before walking out on the brick paved pathway. I watch her as she goes along, with a sense of nostalgia. I wonder when she'll be coming back.
DAY ONE
"Nick."
I look up from the blank piece of paper on my desk, and I see my brother, Kevin, looking a bit more on the edge than usual, leaning on the doorframe of my office, or rather, my apartment bedroom.
"Yeah?" I reply, twirling the pen in my hand mindlessly.
"Are you ready with your songs?," He asked, a little agitated and looking worried.
"Umm," I begin to say, as I look back down on the empty paper. "Well, uhhh, I think that CSI episode really got to me yesterday. I sorta lost it after I found out it was the kid who set off the gun."
"Huh, I thought it would have been the drug dealer," He says, curious as he had fallen asleep before he had finished it.
"The kid looked funny from the beginning anyway," I answer, cracking a tiny smile. It disappears after he gives me a little glare, and the tension is thick enough to cut through.
"You sure? It's been awhile..."
"Don't worry about it. The last thing you should worry about is me."
He looks at me apprehensively, and scratches his head with his forefinger as he leans against the frame of the door. "You took Nicole pretty hard-"
"It's her fault for running off with that Eminem wannabe," I reply, poking at the paper, making a large, gaping hole.
"She pretty mush dragged him to come with her-"
"Doesn't make him any less of a douche," I cut in, muttering quietly.
"Don't take his style against him, Nicholas," he says, holding up his palm, but I can tell that he's laughing, because his voice just went an octave higher.
"You're on my side, right?," I ask him, but I avoid any eye contact.
"Has there ever been a time when I wasn't?"
I look up at him, trying to keep any emotion from showing up on my face, but he's just smiling faintly, and reaches over to pat my head.
I hate it when he does that.
"Look, just have those ready soon, Nick. Don't let us think you've lost your talent," he says dismally, then he leaves. I'm not worried, though, because it's me we're talking about here. Nick Lucas. Even though the deadline is in 2 weeks, and I have to come up with fifteen songs minimum, but no worries.
Because, I am, after all, Nick Lucas. Nick freaking Lucas.
Maybe I am losing it a bit.
I haven't exactly found anything worth writing about, it's just not as easy anymore like when I was fifteen or something. College kids sort of have nothing to do with their lives anymore, at least, when they're sort of like rock stars, like me.
At least, I think I'm still a rock star. We are, after all, still selling three million copies per album. Well, that's what dad tells me.
I walk out of my bedroom, out of the hallway of my rather large apartment unit (bought the whole level, so I'm the only tenant in the 21st floor), and just when I am about to reach the door to the elevators, I hear a loud crash and a scream punch through the air.
"Joseph-"
"Tank dropped it, I swear," he says as I walk back into the spacious living room, where my older brother points accusingly at the youngest Lucas, who was holding up his hands, looking very guilty as he stared down at the ground, where a mass of what used to be my favourite porcelain sculpture from Italy, now sits.
"Why would you play with an Elvis Costello sculpture is beyond me," I say, biting back my tongue from the many insults I have ready at the back of my mind.
"That was Elvis Costello?," Joe asks incredulously, glancing back at the white rubble.
"I thought that was a dog," Frankie muttered, adjusting his shirt collar.
"Whatever, it was custom-made," I say, waving my hand to dismiss their comments, looking down sadly at the broken material. "How come every time you come over, you manage to break something expensive instead of the cheap crap you give me for Christmas-"
"Hey! I thought you said you loved it-"
"Not now, Frank," I say, waving my hand again, then going on to say, "can't you ever just not break anything?"
"No," my eldest brother says from the couch, reading the entertainment section of the newspaper, and his new wife, Dani, peeks out her head from the kitchen door nearby to nod her head in agreement. "Do you know how much I miss my Audi?"
"I offered to pay you back, but you didn't want my money," Joe says, looking over pointedly to him and sticking out his tongue.
"Grow up-"
"Oh, just because you're married now-"
"Grow up, Joe-"
"Oh, what would you know, Nick-"
"Who in God's name would paint their apartment walls neon green?," I ask him, narrowing my eyes.
"A rock star would," he replies, rather proudly, and, for some reason, even showing off the 'guns' that he claims he has.
"Then why do you have to stay here?"
"Why wouldn't I stay here?," he says, laughing as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "you live a few blocks away, and you own the entire floor. Why would I pay for a hotel room when I can bum around here?"
"Exactly, bum around," I say, cocking an eyebrow at him, "can't you at least help around with cleaning the place?"
"I started a fire the last time I tried to help with chores," he whips up quickly, even raising a finger to raise a point.
"Fine," I say, giving up on him. "It's a wonder how Stella can put up with you."
"How is she gonna react when she sees the neon green?," Kevin asks, glancing up from the article he was reading.
"Neon will be in by next season anyway," he says, chuckling little.
"You're a hopeless case," I tell him, before turning my attention to Frankie and asking him, "Why couldn't mom and dad have gone to Hawaii another time?"
"It was your idea, genius," he says, giving me a weird look, "and you paid for it-"
"I didn't think they were gonna leave you with me," I say tiredly, before looking away and going back to the door.
"Aren't you gonna blame Kevin for something?," Joe butts in before I completely make it out of the door.
"Don't feel like it."
"How is that fair?," Frankie said in a loud tone, "He's been here for three weeks, and maybe another month because his house is taking such a freaking long time-"
"Nothing wrong with wanting it to be perfect," Kevin says dejectedly.
"Whatever," he goes on to say, ignoring him, "we've been here for two days, and you're already yelling at us for breaking something again-"
"Exactly," I say, bringing my head out to look back at them, "he's been here for three weeks, and hasn't broken anything, and now that I think about it, he's never broken anything-"
"And face it," Kevin interrupts, putting down the newspaper, "he just likes me better-"
"Don't make me hit you, Percy," Joe says, holding up a guitar he grabbed from the side.
"Don't you dare touch Nikki," I say, taking hold of the instrument and putting it back in its pedestal, "she's the newest one-"
"You still name your guitars?," he asks, looking sceptical, "and after your exes too-"
"Dani, can you watch over them please?," I call out, and she pokes out again and yells back, "sure, save you some waffles?"
"Would love it," I reply, before going back to the door and saying to my siblings, "I'm late for my meeting as it is, so can you just not touch anything- Frank, put her down."
"I didn't even do anything-"
"Don't lay a hand on anything," I say, before turning my back on them and walking out the door. I glance down at my watch, and see that I'm already half an hour late for a small conference.
God help me.
Once I get out of the elevator, I sprint my way out to the lobby, but before I can even go very far, someone calls out to me," Mr. Lucas, I'm sorry, but the management has a few complaints about the noise level coming from your unit-"
"Can you just leave it on the board outside the door, like the usual, Rex," I tell the concierge without looking back, though he doesn't sound like the way he usually does, but I dismiss it immediately.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Lucas-"
"Look, Rex, my man, I'm already late for a really important meeting, so can we just arrange something?," I say turning to look at the him, but, much to my astonishment, I see a twenty-something looking girl sitting behind the desk where the old man usually sits, and I can't help but notice that she is, admittedly, kinda pretty. Her dark brown hair had a few subtle blonde highlights, the only make-up she wore was a light lip-gloss (trying very hard not to linger there), and her bright, hazel hued eyes that sparkle like anything.
What the hell?
"You're not Rex," I exclaim lamely.
"I'm not a man either," she says, giving me a sweet smile, and tilting her head to the side.
"Obviously," I say sheepishly, and, as if I were just attracted to it suddenly, I gravitate to the counter, and lay my forearm on the surface, less than a foot away from where she sat coolly. "Where is he?"
"He got married," she answered simply, tucking a wave of her hair behind her ear.
"Isn't he like seventy?"
"Sixty-eight," she replies, shrugging slightly. "He's coming back after his honeymoon; I'm only here for the summer anyway."
"And you are...?"
"Macy Misa at your service," she says, giving me another small smile, reaching out her hand towards me. I can't help but notice how small it is, and how her nails are manicured perfectly and painted a bright, sunshine yellow, much unlike of the boring blacks and beiges of the other employees, and when I finally take it nimbly, I, involuntarily, mind you, take note of how soft it is.
"Misa?," I say, feeling rather disappointed as she pulls her hand back away from me, "do you, I dunno, happen to own this building?"
"My uncle does," she said, glancing back down at the clipboard in front of her, "didn't have anything to do anyway for the next three months anyway."
It must be my lucky day.
"You look kinda young," I say, before realizing how out of the blue that must've sounded.
She looks up at me curiously, then giggles quietly, telling me, "thank you, I guess-"
"No, I didn't mean for it to sound that way," I mumble out, "it's just that, you know, all the other staff members aren't exactly in their twenties anymore- you're in your twenties, right?"
"Turning twenty-one in a few months," she answers me, tapping the pencil in her hand against her head playfully.
"Perfect."
"Why is that?"
"Because I'm twenty-one."
"How does that fit into anything?"
"It just does," I reply, tapping the countertop in reply, but I honestly have no idea why I just said that. Maybe it's the whiff of vanilla in the air. "I don't think I've introduced myself yet."
"No, you have not," she says, sweeping away my hand from the shiny surface.
I reach out my hand again, and tell her, "I'm Nick-"
"-Lucas," she says, laughing again, "everyone knows who you are."
"Does this have anything to do with my apartment?"
"In part," she says, tilting her head to the side, "and, I'm your former number one fan."
"Former?," I ask her, "what with the former?"
"My niece sort of took the position away from me," she answers, taking down a quick note down in the paper in front of her before giving me a grin. "I still manage your site, though-"
"Site?"
"It's been running for around six years now," she said, "you know, Effyeahjonas?""
"Oh, that one," I say, letting out a quiet laugh, "that's Joe's favourite out of all of them, says it makes him look like an action star. Thanks for making my life sound so much more interesting than it really is."
"My pleasure," she says cheerfully, before attending to the guest beside me, who most probably has heard most of our conversation. He gives me a death glare for a second, before going on to complain about the internet connection.
"So, about the noise level," I say, ignoring the next glare the guy shoots at me once he leaves, "how bad is it, exactly?"
"Well, we receive complaints from the twelfth floor up," she said, lifting the top page from her pad to read the paper beneath it.
"Twelfth floor? How's that even possible?," I say, scratching my head in confusion.
"Well, it just is," she says, lifting the paper again to read the one under it; how many pages long is that thing? "You must have a lot of parties around here, Mr. Lucas-"
"No, my brothers are living with me for now," I answer, watching her flip another page.
"Oh, I guess that explains it," she says, putting down the sheets and giving me a small smile. "Mr. Luas, don't you have a meeting?"
"Huh?," I say, "since when did I say that?"
"When you called me Rex," she replies indifferently, "and when you told me you were late-"
"What?," I say, feeling panicky again, and I look down at the watch on my left wrist. "Holy crap, sorry, I really need to go-"
"Understood," she says, flipping back the hair on her shoulder, "what will I do with these reports?"
"There's a corkboard just beside my door," I call out, as I already am a few feet away from the door, causing many people in the
posh lobby to stare at me, "just pin it up there, I guess it shouldn't be hard to find, I'm the only one in the whole level."
"Will do," she said, scribbling quickly on a piece of paper in front of her, "enjoy your meeting, Mr. Lucas-"
"We'll just see about that," I tell her, then next thing I know, I'm running outside in the busy streets of New York, not thinking about the stupid meeting at all as I'm running, instead, I'm contemplating the fact that she's just different from everyone else, but I'm not completely sure that it's a bad thing.
Holy mother of God.
I know, I know...
Continue? Should I? Review please.