twice imagines [ON GOING]

earphones; c.ty

Female Reader
TW: death, drunk-driving (not sure this is a trigger warning but i'll put it anyway ^^)

My grandpa was a romantic.

He always told me stories about his late wife, my grandmother.

The stories were really cute, they seemed so happy together, and so in love.

The thing is, I don't believe in love.

Ever since my father left my mother, I always saw relationships as a chance for enemies to hold you close and crush your heart.

Alone, Mother resorted to drinking heavily. She would come home late at night, bawling her eyes out and muttering incoherent things under her breath. She would upturn tables, smash plates and scream, while my grandfather brought me to his room and told me stories to calm me down, but her actions scared me.

One night she came home late and got into an accident because of drunk-driving.

She never made it out alive.

So, I was put into the care of my grandpa. I was not very sad. I was only 7 after all, and I was just glad the screaming were over. Although I unhappy because I lost someone I was related to by blood, she was never like a mother to me. It was always grandpa who watched over me.

When she was gone, grandpa was quiet for months. He stopped telling me stories, almost as if his only purpose was to keep me alive. Even at a young age I understood he was grieving, so I let him be and distracted myself with books and music, purchasing vinyl records and playing it on grandpa's record player.

My family is fairly wealthy, so even with no one in the household working, we had enough to live.

Grandpa became somewhat cheerful again after 3 years. 3 years it took him to get used to the pain of losing his only daughter, but I was happy to have someone to talk to. I was never the talkative type at school, so I was known as 'the weird girl with a crazy mother'. I didn't mind, as long as they left me alone, which they did.

Anyway, grandpa told me stories again, but this time he always ended it with a, "You'll find your love someday too, Y/N." which greatly annoyed me. What if I didn't want to fall in love?

My favorite days were Saturdays, because he would come out of his room and dance with me. Because of him, I came to prefer slow and old-style music, which led me to discover Stephen Sanchez. Outside I was a serious student, but behind closed doors I was just a child, laughing at the littlest things.

Unfortunately, Grandfather was no longer young, and his health decreased. He tired easily, and his voice grew hoarse. One day when I delivered him porridge to eat, he laid a fragile hand on my shoulder and said, "I want to see you happy with someone, Y/N. When are you going to look for a lover?"

I calmly fixed his bedsheets before replying, "I'm not interested in love, grandpa."

"You can't live alone!"

"I have you."

"I won't be here forever."

Perhaps I had a fear of being alone, because those words triggered me.

"You still have long to live, grandpa!"

"Old age is making things difficult-"

"No! Please stay with me, I can't lose you-"

"That's why you need to find someone, Y/N! It will make it easier to cope when I'm gone-"

"Stop saying things as if you're gonna die!" I yelled, storming out of his room and grabbing my things. I headed towards the basketball court, hoping for some peace and quiet.