ғʀᴏᴍ ᴘᴏʀᴛʟᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟ.ᴀ. » ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ sᴇᴀᴠᴇʏ

Chapter Eighteen

Sunday, July 22, 2018

I roll over, letting the side of my face rest on a wonderfully cool, untouched space on the pillow. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with air that almost feels sweet.

I finally raise my body to a lazy sitting position, running my hands absentmindedly over the comforter the boys bought for me. My face pulls into a soft smile when I remember yesterday's events.

I will never forget the moment when I ran ahead of the boys, outside the doors of the airport in L.A., straight into the sunshine. I have never seen or felt anything so beautiful and pure. Warmth lit up my skin unlike sun in Portland ever had before.

I turned around, wide-eyed and elated, to grin at the group who was just making their way out the doors.

"It's definitely not Portland," Daniel said, laughing at my reaction.

Everything was bright and vivid and gorgeous and vibrant.

One of the boys' managers picked us up at the curb. He was kind and welcoming, allowing us to roll down all of the windows and turn the radio up until it was booming through the speakers and vibrating our seats.

No words can describe the feeling I had when I stuck my arm out the window as we rushed down a back road to the Why Don't We house, feeling nothing but hot, moving air against my skin and the bass of the music.

When I saw the boys' house for the first time, I felt like fainting would be an appropriate way to react.

They took me on a tour, showing me all of the rooms and laughing about all of the stupid things they've done in each of them. I was present, but also not entirely there because I was absolutely amazed that this is where they live. This is where I live.

On the main level, the front door opens up to the living room, where the boys usually hang out. Yesterday, they led me into the small room that branches off from the top right corner of the large area- my room.

Late last night, just as I was getting into bed, Daniel came in, obviously with something to say. The conversation we had was full of one-sided worry on his part.

"You shouldn't have to sleep in here," he kept saying, running his hand over the back of his head and down his neck over and over again.

He felt bad because he and the boys are sleeping upstairs in their bedrooms while I'm down here on a mattress. I almost pointed out that Zach sleeps on a mattress every night, but refrained from doing so, knowing he would shoot that down by saying he's still in an actual bedroom.

After what seemed like an eternity, I assured and convinced him that I already feel I'm intruding and honestly have never been more grateful in my entire life.

I pull myself out of the comfort of my bed and stand, putting my hair in a loose ponytail and readjusting my sweatshirt and joggers that became ruffled from last night's rest.

I head to the bathroom, staying only long enough to use the restroom and brush my teeth, wanting to see the sun rise in L.A. for the first time.

Minutes later, I'm watching a sky that I feel I've never seen before.

With my head tilted upwards, all I can think about is that I did absolutely nothing to deserve this. I'm here because God provides. I'm here because of the kind hearts of five boys I didn't know more than a month ago.

***

About an hour later, I re-enter the house, walking into the living room.

Daniel is sitting on the couch against the wall, his guitar resting in his lap. He looks up as I come in, clearly surprised to see me.

"Good morning. I didn't know you were up already," he says, using a quieter voice than he usually does.

"Good morning to you too. I went outside at first light," I say. He nods. "I'm guessing the other boys aren't up yet?"

"No," Daniel chuckles. "I'm always the first one awake." He glances at me with a grin. "Well, I used to be." I laugh.

How does he look this good at seven in the morning?

"This is probably the time that you like to be alone so I'll let you—"

"You're too nice for your own good, Kai. Come here," Daniel says, motioning to the empty space on the couch next to him.

I take a seat as he says, "I don't want you to leave."

The blush forming on my face shouldn't be existent, but it is. 

"What do you want to sing, shorty?" Daniel says, moving his instrument in his lap.

He flinches away from me slightly, laughing, when I raise my hand as if I'm going to hit him because of the nickname.

"Free," I say, once we've composed ourselves.

He immediately positions his left hand over the correct frets and pulls his right hand across the strings, creating the beginning chord.

I get lost in the music so easily.

When I come in, I am nothing but a soft voice in the background, but as I watch Daniel's eyes shut with emotion and hear the noise resounding from the guitar as the song goes on, I feel more and more encouraged. Soon, I'm singing with him, the harmony to his melody.

Somehow, when we reach the last line of the music, he meets my eyes. And then it's silent, the last sound from the last strum echoing into nothingness. No matter how much I don't want it to, the small world between us slips away.

When it does, I notice four boys standing on the glass staircase, all watching me with varying amounts of shock. For a moment, I'm confused about why they're staring at me, but then, it dawns on me.

That was the first time they've heard me sing.