Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“How does it feel to be a semi-successful pianist, Mr. Felton?”

The next words that come out of Schroeder’s mouth must be perfectly curated. He cannot say the wrong thing. He’s going to be on television, for heaven’s sake! He can’t be his normal self. What is he trying to come off as? Posh? Humbled? Nonchalant? Sexy?

This interview had been added to his calendar as a last-minute event just before he was scheduled to fly back to his hometown. It has been nearly four years since he last went for a visit, but avoiding a visit home proved far more challenging than one could have imagined. He shouldn’t have agreed to this interview, but it postponed the trip.

Nothing from his past recitals could’ve prepared him for this. He was alright with playing music for others, but having to talk? Despite aging, he still worried that he had the same raspy teenage voice.

The woman stared at him with her wide eyes, covered in blue glitter, and blinked. Her smile is too fake, and her bouffant hair too big. The combined mixture of both heavy perfume and hairspray filled his nostrils with a strong stench, giving him a headache.

“Successful? All I did was perform at a recital,” he shrugged. The interviewer smiled widely and politely laughed. He could sense the judgment staring down at him from the camera crew. From his old classmates from university. From the upperclassmen and other famous pianists. Look at this pathetic loser. First interview. What a baby! 

“It must have been one hell of a concert because critics are saying that they still think about that recital!” the reporter smiled. “So what are you doing to celebrate? Is there a lucky girl?”

“Lucky girl…what…?” Schroeder thought about her. A constant reminder. “No.”

“Aw, come on, pretty boy like you? You must have somebody back home.”

Schroeder gave a soft grin as he tried to avoid the question. He was hoping they wouldn’t ask anything of that sort. He just wanted to talk about his music, and that’s it. “Please, uh, go–go to the next question.”

The woman immediately got the message and asked the next question on her list. 

“When are you planning your next performance?”

“Well, my flight leaves tomorrow to take a visit back home to visit my mother, but as soon as the summer is over, I’ll be back to play some more.”

“Home? Where are you from?”

“Born and raised in Peanuts, Minnesota,” Schroeder said in his natural American accent. After moving, he quickly learned to speak in a faux British accent when traveling around the country, as Brits aren’t very fond of Americans. The reporter wasn’t amused. Instead, she stared at him like he had declared himself insane. Schroeder felt his face turn red. 

“I’m American. My hometown is a small town near the outskirts of Minneapolis,” he explained, trying to recover from the absolute embarrassment he got himself into. The reporter nodded like she understood.

“With a name like yours, I didn’t think you were American.”

“My mother’s German, and my father, believe it or not, was born and raised in London.”

“Was he a pianist like you?”

“An extraordinary player. Or so I heard. My love for music originated from the stories of how my father could make anybody stop in the streets to listen to his music. I just knew that I had to become a pianist.”

“Is that why you’re here? To follow in your father’s footsteps?” 

“Well, yes, I would say. Though, my father never went to university. He served in the war,” Schroeder added.

“I reckon he’s proud of you,” she smiled. Her oddly bright white teeth practically had the light reflecting off of it. 

“He’s dead.” 

The woman’s face turned bright pink and she awkwardly laughed, trying to fill the void between the two. She immediately wrapped up the interview.

It had dragged on long enough. He didn’t care for the personal questions, and he only wanted to talk about his career.

Schroeder groaned as he stretched from his sleep. Having the same bed since he was twelve years old wasn’t the best idea ever. Despite being comfortable, he wakes up with sore limbs that ache and ache. Having to deal with this for two months wasn’t what he was hoping for. It was only his sixth day back and he already felt like shit.

“What time is it?” he muttered to himself as he faced a clock. He hated sleeping in, but being back home has made him extremely nervous, causing him to spend most of his time in his bed.

To be completely transparent, Schroeder was dreading his trip back home. He hadn’t seen his mother in nearly four years, and he wasn’t the young man she last saw. Each morning he woke up was a daily reminder that he was getting old. But his worries faded away the moment he opened his front door to the home he grew up in. Just the smell of the neighborhood alone made him feel nostalgic. 

The house looked the same since he last came to visit back in 1972. He used to make frequent visits back to America, but he’s been far too busy. This time, his mother bought his plane tickets and had him come back. She had missed her son terribly. 

Schroeder rubbed his eyes and sat up. The bright sunlight peeked through the blinds and fogged up his brain.

“ Come on, Schroeder,” he thought to himself. “ You have to get out of bed, you can’t just rot there for the rest of eternity!”

Talking to an old friend isn’t the worst thing that can happen. It’s not like it’s going to kill him. He left his room and dragged himself to the washroom.

Along the halls, there were photographs of him and his childhood friends. There’s a specific photo of him and one of his best friends when he was younger, Charlie Brown, standing next to each other after a baseball game. In his years of playing, their team has never once won a game. But in the photo, Charlie has his arm wrapped around Schroeder’s neck, and they’re both smiling widely as if they won. Even though they did lose, Charlie’s dad took them out for ice cream. That used to be one of Schroeder’s favorite memories.

He hadn’t called Charlie in a while. For the first few months he was gone, they called, but one missed call turned into two, and eventually they lost touch.

Right by his bedroom door, there was a photo he wasn’t very fond of. He was about nine years old in the picture, and he was beside Lucy Van Pelt. His mother had asked if she could take a photo of them beside her psychiatry stand, and Lucy had used that as an excuse to kiss him on the cheek. His mother had teased him about the photo for years. 

He took the frame off the wall and shoved it on his desk, which had been in the exact place for exactly nineteen years. His room was bare, just like he liked it. Just his bed, a bookshelf, a desk, and his old piano. No photos in sight. No Lucy Van Pelt.

He hadn’t spoken to any of them in ages and he knows damn well that he might run into them during a walk into town. He knew he had to do it at some point. He needed to leave that house. As much as he loves his mom, he can’t spend another day with her watching television or sleeping.

Before giving it a second thought, he rushed out the front door and slammed it shut, just so he wouldn’t chicken out.

As his eyes got used to the bright summer day, he looked around the neighborhood he had lived in for the majority of his life, and then around at the houses. Each of the brightly colored houses has someone Schroeder has known his entire life. This neighborhood is one of the older neighborhoods in Peanuts. 

Schroeder’s parents moved in a few years before he was born. A brick house, placed in the dead center of his street. Down the street, he spotted the van Pelt's house. Maybe she’s in that house. Maybe they moved away. Something in him wished for them to move far away to another state, or maybe a different country.

Before his mind trailed off, he got into his car and drove into town.

—

It was a pretty shop, that’s all he could say. A pretty little bakery on the corner. It must have been a newer shop, established in the past year or so, because the sign was perfectly intact and he hadn’t seen it on his last visit.

“ God, it smells so sweet in here, ” Schroeder thought as he stepped inside the bakery. The bright lights and sweet aroma of the shop sickened him, and he felt his head begin to ache. He could’ve left, but something in him told him to stop by the bakery.

“Good morning!” a woman greeted him. Schroeder smiled and nodded at her, but tended to his own business. He had forgotten about the small-town kindness that large cities tend not to have.

There was no point in him walking inside, but he decided a sweet treat for his mother wouldn’t be so awful. Schroeder walked towards the back of the store, where single-serving giant cookies and pastries are being sold. A radio plays overhead, and the song changes to another song—a more upbeat and romantic song.

And then while I’m away, I’ll write home every day

And I’ll send all my loving to you~

That song drove him insane. That last time he heard that song was when he and Lucy were…

No. He can’t think of that.

Just thinking of her makes him nauseous.

He never did that for her. Not once. He can’t even bring himself to think of her. He didn’t like to. She was the sweet fruit that he craved his entire life—even if he believed her to be poisonous at first—but once he tasted it, he could never have it back. Even though it had been years, every single thing reminded him of Lucy. It was hard to forget her. 

A voice caught him off guard. A soft, childish voice. He peeked behind him and saw a young girl, no older than six or seven years old, skip down beside him and start to stare at the selection of sweet treats. Her hair was pulled back in a dark bun, with edelweiss decorating the curls framing her face, and she wore a white ballet uniform. 

A voice called out to her, and she called back, saying that she needed five more seconds. From the way she held her stance to the slight puff in her cheeks as she furrowed her brows, it was all too familiar. Eventually, she picked out a plain sugar cookie with a pink bow made of frosting. The cookie was as simple as it sounds. As she turned around, that girl couldn’t stop reminding Schroeder of someone. Just as she left the shop, he glanced at her blue eyes with the same expression he had seen years prior.

No.

Oh no.

It can’t be.

His heart dropped as he realized who he had just seen.

He gave one more glance at Lucy van Pelt’s daughter as the door shut behind her. It closed with a soft thud and a ring. 

There is no mistaking those eyes. 

If that was Lucy’s daughter, then that must’ve been her husband. And if he’s right about the girl’s age, Lucy must’ve had her soon after he left. Did she move on that fast? 

He didn’t want to break up with her, but he knew that it would happen anyway. The tremendous guilt that ate him alive hadn’t left and has just grown bigger and bigger over the years. 

In the end, he fled the country. He wasn’t extremely proud of doing so, but he panicked. He wouldn’t have to worry about his past mistakes again. His friends in London were different. They didn’t care about other girls’ feelings like that. Sometimes, they would drag Schroeder along with them to local pubs and get him drunk, but each time, he could hardly kiss another woman. Only once did he try to get with another woman, but it didn’t end well. It just wasn’t the same.

They were nothing like Lucy. 

The air thickened around Schroeder, and he could feel his migraine getting worse. With everything he was thinking of, the bright lights, and the overwhelming scent, it threw him off guard, and now he was suffering to consequences. His throat throbbed as he felt a funny feeling in his throat. He quickly rushed out of the bakery, accidentally bumping into someone. He murmured an apology as quickly as he possibly could before pushing the glass door open.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” Somebody called out after him, but he ignored them completely. He ran to his car and shook the handles, struggling to enter, only to realize his keys were somewhere in his pockets. He heard the same person calling after him again, but he tried to ignore them. He searched around his pocket for his keys and fished them out. He opened his car door, but just as he did, someone shut it. Someone with perfectly manicured hands. Schroeder looks up at the girl and sees Violet Gray staring straight at him.

“Violet?” Schroeder asked. He squinted at her since the bright sun messed with his eyesight. Violet moved her hand from the car and stood normally, giving Schroeder a warm smile.

“Hey, Mr. London, you never told me you were back in town,” Violet smirked as she pulled him into a huge hug. “What’s up with you ignoring me?”

“...What?”

Violet perked her head and raised an eyebrow. “You’re acting…odd.”

Unexpectedly, Violet grabbed Schroeder’s face and pulled it closer to her as she checked his eyes. “Are you fucking high? At nine o’clock in the morning?” 

The heavy smell of her perfume reminded him of that interview. Schroeder pushed her away again, rubbing his eyes.  “What? No!”

“Then what’s up with you? Why were you running to your car like that?” Violet was now even more confused by his shenanigans. Even Schroeder himself wasn’t sure why he felt so funky, but it was just something in that store. It made him feel nauseous. He can still feel his head ache, but it was just in that moment where it felt like his whole body was burning in eternal flames.

“Horrible, horrible migraine,” Schroeder ran his hand through his hair. He let himself get looser and relaxed. “ It’s only Violet, you know her. She was practically your best friend!” 

“You get all cuck-coo over a migraine ?” Violet asked. Just as Schroeder was about to respond, he felt the odd feeling in his throat again. He turned around and bent over, puking his nonexistent breakfast along the side of a nearby bench. The decaying color disgusted Schroeder more than anything. Though he felt much better than he did five minutes prior.

“Oh, that’s foul,” Violet gagged as she turned away, coughing as she covered her nose. All dramatic. Typical Violet. 

“Just— ugh— please ignore it,” Schroeder covered his face with his hands and softly groaned. “I’ve had a horrid morning.”

He peeked through his fingers, hoping Violet was gone, only to see her staring back. They both stared at each other intently until Violet gave up and burst into laughter. Schroeder soon followed.

“I haven’t seen you puke up your guts in years,” Violet joked, slightly pushing him towards his vomit pile. 

“If I can recall,” Schroeder began, “that happened once. Most times, it was you.”

“I was about to go get some breakfast, you want to come with? We can catch up on some stuff, since, y’know, I haven’t seen you in a while,” Violet offered. 

“We can go in my car,” Schroeder said as he opened the passenger door, allowing Violet to get inside. The inside of his car wasn’t exactly new, but Schroeder made sure to keep it updated over the years. 

“Have you never gotten a new car?”

“Yup,” Schroeder responded, popping the p. “Same one since high school. It’s worked perfectly fine, and it’s been sitting in my garage collecting dust for the past few years.”

“Why not take it to England?” Violet asked. “Don’t you need a car there?”
“It’s just expensive, that’s all. Besides, London is one of those places where I just take a bus everywhere. Walking isn’t even that bad over there.”

Schroeder began to drive down the streets of Peanuts, looking for a restaurant that Violet suggested. She wanted to go to this cafe just outside of town. Normally, Schroeder wouldn’t like driving that far, but he had nothing to do all day.

“What do you even do out there in London? It always seemed like such a drag, the entire United Kingdom,” Violet rambled. 

“I work as a pianist and sometimes an accompanist for others,” Schroeder said. “My life is pretty boring, so tell me about yours.”

“Well, I just recently got this perm because I broke up with my boyfriend,”  Violet said, fixing her hair a bit. Schroeder took a glance at Violet. He hadn’t noticed the perm.

Now that he paid attention to her looks, he felt stupid for not noticing it. Her dark hair was all curled and teased to a ginormous pile of hair, and she wore a purple jumpsuit. An odd thing to be wearing early in the morning, but he couldn’t judge. He’s been wearing the same pair of jeans for the past week.

“Boyfriend? I thought you–”

“Yeah, I still am. He was just my cover-up,” Violet explained. “My mom started noticing that I was single for too long. It’s hard to find somebody out here. Everybody just wants to keep it casual, and I can’t stand it!”

“It hasn’t been the same since Patty,” Violet added, her voice barely above a whisper. The subject of Patty was something Violet used to avoid when they were younger, but then again, that was how they became friends.

“Have you heard anything about Patty recently?”

Schroeder could feel Violet tense up in her seat. She mumbled a few words before pulling the window down and pulling out a cigarette. Schroeder watched out of the corner of his eyes as she lit up the cigarette. The smell of it reminded him of high school. He had quit smoking after he left; it brought back too many memories.

Violet blew out a puff a smoke after what seemed like forever. Her lips barely opened as she answered his question. “Yeah. We’re good friends.”

Violet scoffed as she sat back in her seat. “She’s engaged to Shermy, that’s all I know. I got invited to her wedding as her maid of honor. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Just make up an excuse. I’ve done that countless times to get out of parties and whatnot,” Schroeder suggested. 

“I know, ” Violet rolled her eyes. “But it would break Patty’s heart, and I don’t want anything to be weirder between us. I’m just scared because one day, I’m going to have to babysit the only girl I think I ever loved, kids.”

Her saying that reminded Schroeder of the bakery. He may not babysit her, but that will haunt him for the rest of his life. His biggest regret.

They drove in silence for a bit. Schroeder preferred silence because it allowed him to think, but Violet turned on the radio.

“Nothing’s more tacky than the radio,” Schroeder said, shutting it off. Modern-day music is something he doesn’t think he would ever make himself enjoy. The upbeat music and a generally off-key singer give him earaches.

“Well, Mr. Party Pooper,” Violet leaned over to turn on the radio again and changed the station, “ I like music and I can’t stand this unbearable silence. Just pretend you're listening to Beethoven or whatever.”

Schroeder slouched into his seat and frowned. He stared out at the horizon of the flat lands. There was nothing out for miles and miles. 

“Where is this place you wanted to go to?” Schroeder asked, squinting his eyes out. His eyesight was starting to get horrible, but he didn’t want to get glasses. He couldn’t stand them. Violet childishly yelped over him, claiming he was ruining the song. 

“Ask after this song finishes. I like it,” Violet quipped as Schroeder rolled his eyes. He peered over at Lucy and debated whether to stop the car and leave her on the side of the road, but he felt far too nice to do something as awful as that. 

“What even is this song?” he asked. The optimistic melody of the music was unfortunately catchy, but the main chorus threw him off.

“Have you ever heard of ABBA?” Violet asked. Schroeder shook his head.

“You’re so uncultured,” she groaned. “They’re some cool Swedish band. Lucy introduced me to them. This song is called Dancing Queen. ”

His throat tensed up at the mention of Lucy. “Lucy?”

“Yeah, she’s like my best friend still. She was like the biggest ABBA fan a few years ago and played a few of them for me,” she went on. “Funny thing is that David hates ABBA and once Lucy told me that his only rule was that she couldn’t play ABBA around him.”

“ David ?” 

Violet turned to him before realization hit her. She set the cigarette down and sat up in her seat. “Oh my god, you’re clueless about everybody’s lives now.”

Embarrassment flooded his face. “I never really called or wrote to anybody.”

“Good thing I’m here because I know everything about everybody,” Violet beamed. “I guess I’ll start with Lucy since you knew her the most.”

“Good grief,” Schroeder muttered as she started to ramble.

“She got with some new guy during college, whose name is David, and then she got pregnant! Crazy, right? Anyway, she dropped out of college, and during that summer, I didn’t have a job, so I just spent the entire summer with her. David’s all right, he’s nothing special or anything.”

“She’s not the only one with a kid, though. Charlie finally married Heather about a year ago, and they’re expecting soon. I think in two, three months? Anyway, I’m not sure. I haven’t had an actual conversation with Heather in nearly two weeks. I’m going to see them tonight since Charlie is throwing a barbecue to mark the start of summer. Franklin is visiting from New York, and he’s pretty excited about that.”

“That’s…” Schroeder searched for the words, “...crazy.”

It felt like his head was getting crushed, knowing that everybody’s lives were so much different than his. Especially because he never “got over” Lucy, at least not in the traditional sense. 

“I know, right?” Violet suddenly gasped and practically jumped from her seat. “Schroeder, please come to that barbecue. It’ll be a surprise for everybody, and I think they would love to see you again.”

The thought of that worried Schroeder. “Violet....I don’t know if I…”

“Don’t worry about not being invited, you’ll just be my plus one,” Violet added. At that point, Schroeder knew that there was nothing he could do to stop her. Plus, he needed to get out and face his fears. After he does this, maybe he can find an excuse to leave within the next few days. 

Finally, they pulled up to the diner. As they walked inside, Schroeder regretted agreeing to attend the barbecue later.

Chapter Text

Violet spent the entirety of their breakfast gossiping about the lives of their other friends, but the conversation never turned back to the subject of Lucy. He was partly paying attention to Violet, mainly because he didn’t like the subject of gossip, but also because he couldn’t stop thinking about Lucy being married. 

Then again, he felt like a creep just thinking of Lucy constantly. He never gave her much thought unless something reminded him of her, and he tried his best to avoid the subject of past girlfriends as much as he could.

He disgusted himself because he still thinks about Lucy, but she has had a great impact on his life. Lucy was the reason that he was able to do great things. Lucy was the one who helped him get out of his shell. It felt as if he owed her for all that, and he never got to show his gratitude to her for that.

He just wished that he could tell Lucy how grateful he was that she was in his life, but he never did. And he regretted it to that very day.

The moment he reached his house after dropping Violet off, he climbed under the covers, not even bothering to take off his clothes, and fell asleep. He knew the moment he woke up that he had to wash those sheets. He was filthy. He’d only been gone a mere two hours, but it felt like centuries since he felt the warmth of his covers. But his momentary peace was interrupted by his mother barging into his room, yanking the covers off of him. She muttered under her breath about how he was a lazy bum.

“Mom!” he yelped as he attempted to pull the blanket back, but his mother had already started to fold the cerulean blanket, the only sense of color in his room. He frowned as she opened the blinds, blinding Schroeder once more.

“You have got to get out of this room, Schroeder,” she fussed. “You’ve been sleeping for hours!”

Hours? Schroeder had just gotten home! He groaned as he forced himself out of his bed, helping his mother tidy his bed. He peered over at his nightstand to look at the time on the clock, but he must’ve accidentally knocked it over earlier.

“What time is it, anyway?” Schroeder asked. He peeled off the thin jacket he had worn earlier, which, by the way, was a horrible mistake to sleep in because his mother refuses to update the house with modern air conditioning. 

As his junior high years approached their end, many of his friends’ families were equipping their homes with top-of-the-line air conditioning, and although Schroeder had begged his mother all summer long, she claimed that if she grew up without electricity, he could survive the summers without faux air. 

It was damp with sweat after being underneath all the covers. Schroeder subtly shuddered as he attempted to chuck it into a laundry basket outside his door, but he missed and it sank to the exterior of the bin.

“A quarter until four,” Ms. Felton picked up the laundry basket and threw Schroeder’s jacket into the bin. Schroeder stopped in his tracks before rushing into his closet.  He grabbed the first (and only) clean pair of pants he could find, plus a shirt he could toss on. Ms. Felton eyed him suspiciously. “Where are you going?”

“Violet is picking me up at four. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Schroeder pushed past his mother, coughing an apology, and locked himself away in the restroom to hopefully rinse off before Violet comes. Ms. Felton sighed and muttered to herself.

“Pushing thirty and I’m still doing his laundry,” she clicked her tongue as she faintly closed his bedroom door, closing it with a soft thud. 

Not even a full two minutes since the water turned on, Schroeder shut off the shower. He didn’t bother reaching for a towel from the linen closet; he shook his hair like a wet dog and slipped on the simple button-up shirt and pants he randomly selected. Schroeder stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, steam fogging up the majority of the reflective glass, and briskly studied himself. 

He wasn’t the best at taking care of himself. He found his work to be more important than a mere meal throughout the day, and that had taken a toll on him. He was never the athletic kind, but he did enjoy playing baseball and other various sports growing up, and he even participated in a few rugby matches with his friends in London. But never enough to keep him anything other than fit. His once pretty eyes had grown dull and gray over the years, and deeply sunk into his face, giving him a hollowed-out look that musicians tend to have. In his eyes, he looked sickly.

Besides his hours of sleeping, he did play his preferred instrument during his free time. Only issue was, Schroeder was unmotivated. Sure, he could play all the sonatas and symphonies he wanted to, but that didn’t mean anything. No Bach, no Mozart, no Chopin, no Beethoven. He needed to write his own musical compositions, but his mind came blank every time he picked up a pen. 

There wasn’t much use to playing the piano if he couldn’t create.

—

“This is it,” Violet announced as she pulled up on the curb of Charlie Brown’s house. Schroeder wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it was, in fact, a house. It was smaller than Charlie Brown’s childhood home, but still a decent size. He lived on the opposite side of town near the outskirts. Schroeder eyed the cars parked in the parkway.

“What if Charlie gets mad that I’m here,” Schroeder adjusted his collar. Violet drove a convertible and the fresh air gave Schroeder some sort of breeze, but the temperature was a whopping 90 degrees and he picked the worst clothes to wear.

“You’ll be alright.” 

“But you don’t know—“

“I said,” Violet interrupted, “you’ll be alright.”

Schroeder rolled his eyes and slouched in the passenger seat; his eyes glued to the front door of the house.

“I think we’re the last to come,” Violet leaned over and grabbed her purse. Schroeder opened the car door and stood outside, waiting for Violet.

“Why are you standing around? Just go,” she bitterly spat out as she applied a new layer of burgundy lipstick. She didn’t look as if she were ready to enter, so Schroeder just left her.

Schroeder awkwardly skipped across the front lawn, hands in his pockets, and stood at his front door.

“Just press the damn doorbell,” Schroeder huffed underneath his breath. Realistically, everybody would be glad to see him, but somewhere in the back of his head, something told him that they would be angry at him for abandoning them.

“Schroeder!” he turned his head towards the origin of the familiar sound and saw exactly who he suspected. 

Good ol’ Charlie Brown jogged up to him with the biggest grin on his face. Despite the pain in his stomach, he didn’t hesitate to hug him back when Charlie engulfed him in a huge hug. 

“Oh my God!” he nearly shrieked. Violet passed by the two and gave Schroeder a wink. I told you, it said. She slipped through the side gate of the house where Charlie had come from. “I can’t believe you’re back—it’s been so long!” 

Schroeder turned his gaze back to Charlie and plastered a smile on his face. 

“I can’t believe I’m back either,” Schroeder gave a half-hearted chuckle. “But I sure am glad to see you.” 

“How have you been? Violet told me the news,” Schroeder couldn’t stop the smile that was plastered on his face, conspicuous to all. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a father.” 

“Thanks,” Charlie scratched the back of his head. “I’m nervous about all that, and even more nervous about Heather.” 

“I bet she’ll be alright,” Schroeder reassured. He can’t recall many conversations he had with Heather, Charlie’s wife, but he does remember she was a kind soul. 

Charlie opened the front door. “Please, come inside. I want to catch up with you before everyone else takes over you.” 

Schroeder walked through his doorway, and Charlie followed, gently shutting the door behind him. It immediately led them to a rather large living room, and with the number of boxes in the corners, Schroeder could tell that they must have moved in recently. 

“Say,” Schroeder began, “how do you even get this far?” 

“Haha,” Charlie joked. “Somehow, I got lucky and won the lottery.” 

He led him to the kitchen and opened the pale yellow fridge, pulling out two beers. He offered one to Schroeder, who reluctantly accepted. 

They both leaned against the kitchen counter, awkward tension rising between the two, and opened their beers. 

“So,” Charlie began, “I hear you’re famous.”

Schroeder silently chuckled as he brought the rim of his bottle to his lips, quickly taking a sip. “So you heard. I’m not exactly famous, just known.” 

“Are you loaded?” Charlie’s brown eyes gleamed in coyness. 

“Not per se,” Schroeder said, “but I do have some promising concerts coming up. I get paid a lot to perform and write music.” 

Charlie clicked his tongue. “Man, I can’t believe it. Little Schroeder’s all grown! Eight years have changed you far too much.”

“Me? What about you, Mr. I can’t fly no damn kites? You’re going to be a father, Charlie, a father! You've got a wife, a house, and your future is filled with kids!” 

Charlie’s face reddened at the last sentence, and Schroeder took that window and ran with it. “You sly dog,” he lowered his voice, impersonating a familiar girl. 

“Jeez, you sound just like her!” Charlie tossed his head back as Schroeder burst into laughter. Charlie just turned redder and redder as Schroeder gasped for air in between each fit of laughter. Soon, Charlie joined in on the laughter. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed this, Schroeder. I’m so glad you’re back.”

Schroeder smiled. His words were cut off by the back door being slammed open. He could hear the blasting music and laughter of old friends as someone walked into the house. 

“Charlie, get your ass out here! Burgers are about to bu-“

Franklin stopped dead in his tracks, spatula in one hand, and a beer in the other. 

“Holy shit.” 

Schroeder gave a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

“Holy. Shit.” 

Before he knew it, Schroeder was being tackled and pinned to the wall. He nearly dropped his beer, but thankfully, Franklin was playing around. “Why the fuck didn’t you call! Gosh, Schroeder, do you not know how much we missed you? You could’ve at least stopped by.” 

Schroeder playfully shoved him off, giving him a mischievous smile. “Well, y’know, life caught up and it’s expensive to make a call overseas.” 

“Calm down, Schroeder’s got all day,” Charlie joked. “How about we get outside before dinner burns?” 

And before he knew it, Schroeder was pulled outside. After the reactions of both Charlie and Franklin, he wasn’t afraid anymore. He pitied the past self and divulged in his new and improved self. 

“Come on, everybody is going to flip when they see you!” Franklin ushered Schroeder through the back door, practically pushing him.

The dim lights of the house were far too low to compare with the contrasting bright summer day. The sound of buzzing and laughter filled his ears as his eyes adjusted to the blinding rays of the sun.

Everybody had the same idea to all come visit for the summer. Just by first sight, Schroeder could tell that Charlie Brown had the backyard that he assumed everybody hung out at during breaks.

 An oval-shaped pool was centered in the middle of the yard, surrounded by a cobblestone rim. A few trees were planted throughout the yard, but placed strategically to offer some shade in the hot sun. The edges of the yard were overtaken by a lush garden with all sorts of blooming flowers tangled in a lavish design, obviously maimed by Heather’s green thumb. Near the back door of the house was a hot tub, accompanied by a grill that was already lit and cooking food. 

He took note of the people he did see and the people he didn’t recognize. Perhaps they were new friends or neighbors. 

A few people were in the pool—perfect for the sweltering summer day—swimming and talking with others, but others sat in lounge chairs surrounding the pool. Before even registering who he recognized, Charlie yanked him closer to everybody.

“Guess who’s back!” Charlie excitedly shook Schroeder by the shoulders. Schroeder gave a flat smile while his old friends nearly screamed. They immediately ran up to him, excited to hear all about what he had been doing the past few years. 

Schroeder felt a wave of relief rush through him as Charlie sat him down in front of his old friends, ready to talk about the past years.

But he can’t help his eyes drifting off to the girl with ebony hair, pulled in a high ponytail. She sat on the opposite side of the pool, sandwiched between Violet and Patty, with their legs placed in the water. Her golden skin glowed as the sun beamed down on her, making her the only thing in his eyesight. 

But just as he looked at her, his gaze was immediately reciprocated by Lucy. She looked different than the last time Schroeder had seen it. Just like Violet, her naturally straight hair was now loosely curled in a wild mess, pulled back into a ponytail. The frizziness of her hair stuck out in millions of directions. She wore more makeup than she did as a teen—even if at a pool party—and a short sundress, the color of baby blue.

She squinted as if she was trying to make sure what she was seeing was true, but Schroeder broke eye contact with her to hug his friends.

He would think about Lucy later.

—

“Today is probably the best day of the entire summer,” Peppermint Patty sighed as she leaned back in the lounge chair. A plate laid on top of her abdomen, holding a half-eaten burger. Marcie leaned against the chair with her hand placed on Patty’s shoulder.

“It’s only the beginning,” Schroeder shrugged. He shoved another spoonful of the glorious macaroni and cheese into his mouth, finishing his second plate. Besides the black coffee he had drunk with Violet previously that morning, he hadn’t eaten or drank anything all day. The macaroni and cheese was by far one of the best dishes he had eaten in the past few years, given that English food was rather a gloomy chore than a delicious meal. 

“I’m being serious,” Peppermint Patty said. “Everybody was able to come back this summer, even you! We have to do practically everything this summer. Who knows what will happen next year?” 

“I’ll be moving soon,” Franklin said, taking a bite of his burger. Schroeder blinked in confusion. 

“But you already don’t live here,” Marcie said. 

Franklin lowered his voice. “As in, from New York, you imbecile!”

“Moving? But where?”

“Out to California. I got offered a job at my cousin’s business, and I desperately need to find a career,” he explained. He licked the discarded ketchup off of his fingers. “College didn’t do shit for me.”

“Patty has been talking about moving elsewhere with Shermy,” Marcie chimed in. 

“Is everybody leaving?” Schroeder asked. 

“Not a lot of us live here full time,” Peppermint Patty softly said. It was a reminder that they were all grown. A reminder that they all have their own lives and worries. A reminder that no one seemed to like. “Marcie and I, we, uh, live in the city. Linus moved out to some godforsaken town down in Georgia, and Violet lives in New York City. Not near Franklin, she said.”

Franklin shifted in his seat. “And you’re all the way out in England.” 

“Well, that was just for school. I just didn’t know what to do afterwards. I might move back, I’m not sure,” Schroeder sputtered. Franklin smiled.

“You should. Maybe if you do, I’ll stay as well. Hey, who knows, we could be roommates!” 

Schroeder poked at his empty plate. He eyed the pool behind Franklin.

With his outfit choice for the evening, he was sweating buckets even in his thin blouse. He noticed he was the only one not to wear summer-appropriate attire, and he regretted it. 

“Wanna go jump in that pool?” Schroeder blurted out. Franklin looked up and down at his clothes. 

“You’re dressed like a businessman,” Franklin spat. Schroeder rolled his eyes.

“I don’t care. It’s hot as fuck right now and I could use a bit of cooling off.” There was nobody in the deep side of the pool as most came out to eat a quick bite. A few women—Lucy—were on the shallow side, accompanied by the same girl he saw earlier that morning. 

“Fuck it, let’s do it,” Franklin jumped up from his seat, tugging off his shirt. Schroeder followed, unbuttoning his dress shirt in fear that the chlorine could potentially ruin the cream color of the shirt. 

Swimming wasn’t a common activity he did in England, and he definitely didn’t sunbathe very often. He knew he was going to end up with a hellish sunburn, but that’ll pass.

Both of them crept up to the rim of the deep end and stared at the bottom. It was only about eight feet deep. “Shall we do it the old way?” Franklin smirked. 

Schroeder smiled. “What other way should we do it?” 

Franklin climbed onto Schroeder’s back, latching himself tight, before the two of them cheered out a battle cry as they went splashing into the water. The initial wave of water splashed past the pool interior, resulting in some cries by unhappy sunbathers who sat near the deep end. 

As Schroeder plunged out of the water, he rubbed his face and shook his hair wildly, and Franklin did the same. They both burst into a fit of laughter and tried to convince Charlie to jump in with them.

“Somebody has to take care of the grill,” Charlie glared at Franklin. He put his hands up as if he were surrendering.

“Hey, you invited us for a pool party, not a moping around party.” 

“Alright, maybe I will-“ Charlie was cut off by a shriek as he splashed into the water, nearly tumbling on top of Franklin. Schroeder looked up to see who pushed him and saw Lucy van Pelt, beaming with satisfaction, with her hands on her hips.

“You blockhead!” she called out after him, teasing. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the edge. You could trip or even worse, fall!”

His spine shivered with each word she spoke. It was as if he were cursed and she woke him from his trance. In his head, he could see the new and improved Schroeder get thrown away and stomped by the old version. So much for change.

He immediately felt off. Schroeder pushed himself up on the cobblestone ground and felt his dress pants immediately stick to his wet skin. A nasty feeling.

Just as he plopped himself down on the burning stone, Lucy bent down and moved her face so close to his ears that he could smell the perfume on her. She smelled sweet, not like a syrupy kind of sweet, but a bright and fluttering kind. Like flowers.

“Well, well, well,” Lucy smirked. “Look who finally showed up.”

“Nice to see you too, Lucy,” he grimaced. His ear burned with each word she breathed. Lucy sat herself beside Schroeder, giving a decent distance between the two. She didn’t look back at him, and Schroeder could feel his face burning again. 

His whole body was burning. He could feel the heat on his freckled shoulders, and he nearly immediately dried up just by sitting in the sun for a mere minute.

He never expected to be beside her again. He never expected her to act friendly as if they were old friends (Technically, they were, but that's besides the point). The taste of macaroni and cheese filled his mouth again as the same feeling from the bakery returned.

He pulled his gaze away from Lucy and stared down at Charlie and Franklin in the water, fighting with each other. Peppermint Patty and Marcie had joined in, along with Shermy, Pig-Pen, and a few others, Schroeder couldn’t name. He could feel the growing tension between the three feet of distance.

“What brings you back?” Lucy finally asked, turning back to look at him. Schroeder swallowed the bile in his throat. Dryness spread through his mouth.

“I, uh, shit,” he cleared his throat. “I came back to visit my mother.” 

“That’s it? What about friends? Do we not meet up with your fancy standards?” Lucy jokingly accused. Just the mention of we brought an ache to his chest. Lucy still thought of him as an old friend. He was just delusional, and maybe she didn’t hate him like he always assumed she did.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he quipped. “I wasn’t planning on doing so, but I’m glad I did.”

“Oh,” Lucy mumbled. She crossed her legs and fiddled with her fingers. “You got friends in London?” 

“I guess, but they can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” Lucy scoffed, hiding back a laugh. 

“You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know,” she said. Schroeder had only laughed and agreed. He had missed the snarky side of her.

Schroeder turned to Charlie, calling out his name repeatedly. “Hey, come back in! We’re going to play football!”

He scrunched his nose. “In water? How would that possibly work?”

Charlie only shrugged before he moved on to his next victim. “What about you, Lucy? It’s too hot to be sitting pretty, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, hush up. If I wanted to take a swim, I would have done so already. I’m more than satisfied getting my tan in,” Lucy scrunched her nose. “Maybe ask your wife, or are you just excluding pregnant women from your game?”

“Thanks for the suggestion, but I already asked,” Charlie childishly stuck his tongue out at Lucy, who only returned the favor.

Lucy turned her attention back to Schroeder. “Do you still play the piano, Mr. Beethoven?” her mock British accent only made him laugh. Schroeder could tell that she already knew the answer. He was sure nearly the whole town knew of his well-known persona.

“Why would I not? I went to a university of art, after all,” Schroeder boasted. “How’s your life going?” 

He already knew the answer, but he needed to keep the conversation going. He just needed to know that she was happy. He needed to know that he didn’t fuck up her life like he would’ve. He just needed to feel relieved. 

She sighed and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “I got married, in case you didn’t know,” she replied. Her voice lowered on the word married. Schroeder congratulated her. “I have a kid. A daughter.”

“Really? I never expected the great Lucy van Pelt to be married with kids before the start of her career,” Schroeder joked, but immediately regretted it after Lucy’s dry laughter. His mouth went dry. 

“You moron!” he thought. “She probably isn’t even van Pelt anymore.”

Lucy pointed to a little girl who sat beside Violet on the opposite end. A pool float was wrapped around her waist, and her long hair was braided into a singular braid down her back. “That’s her.”

Schroeder blinked. The image of when he first saw her was burned in his head, and all he could think about was the little girl who used to hang around his piano, asking for his hand in marriage. “She looks identical to you.” 

Lucy snorted. “That’s what everybody says.”

“How old is she?” 

Lucy shifted and pulled her legs out of the water, and sat with her legs crossed. “She turned seven a few months ago.”

“Wow, so, you, uh-“

“Don’t mention it,” Lucy cut him off. 

Schroeder’s head felt fuzzy once more. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the amount of alcohol he drank or how he was messing up his conversation with Lucy. His stomach churned again. Just like that morning. 

“What’s her name?” Schroeder attempted to fix the conversation. Lucy put her arms back and slightly leaned back, stretching out her back. Schroeder just watched.

“Elise.”

—

“Aw, Schroeder, can’t you play something cool for once?” Thirteen-year-old Lucy sat in a lounge chair beside Schroeder, pouting and crossing her arms. Schroeder only rolled his eyes and continued playing Debussy’s Clair De Lune. 

“You don’t have to listen to me play, Lucy,” he muttered. Lucy only interrupted by placing a finger on the keys and playing the highest note. Her finger lingered on the key, dragging out the sharp noise. Schroeder swatted her hand away.

“Is it too much to ask for you to teach me a song? Last time, you said you would. But guess what! It’s not the last time anymore,” Lucy whined. “You promised!” 

Schroeder certainly did not promise anything, but he did feel some sort of remorse for poor old Lucy. If he were Lucy, he would drive himself insane by how much he would talk. 

Schroeder scooted on the piano bench and gently patted the seat. “Fine. But I’m not going to make it easy.”

Lucy’s face lit up as she gladly sat beside Schroeder. “Oh, thank you, darling!” 

He blushed in embarrassment. “Don’t call me that!” 

He guided her fingers as she played the first few measures of one of the first songs he ever learned, Für Elise. He wasn’t going to teach her the full piece, just the beginning. Besides, it was practically impossible for someone who couldn’t name a single key on the piano. 

“Did Beethoven write this for a girl?” Lucy teased. She twirled her hair around her finger and stared at Schroeder’s eyes, but he ignored her again.

“He did, indeed,” Schroeder said. This was the first time Lucy’s assumptions were right. 

“Really? Gosh, Schroeder, was she pretty?” 

“One of Beethoven’s students was a woman who Beethoven very much liked, but she was a terrible piano player. She ended up marrying someone else, so out of frustration, he wrote her a song that she could never finish playing.”

Schroeder felt proud of himself for coming up with that story. He did stretch the truth, but he needed to make something clear to her.

Lucy stared in awe. She bit her lip. “Well, that wasn’t very romantic, was it?”

—

Just as she did, her daughter Elise called out for her. Schroeder hadn’t noticed—he wasn’t used to Lucy being called Mom—until Lucy shot up from the ground. “I'm sorry, I have to go. It was nice to catch up with you.” 

And just like that, she was gone. He blinked, and his vision went blurry. He felt Franklin grab hold of his leg, trying to pull him into the water with everybody else, but he wasn’t feeling well anymore. Franklin laughed, trying to pull him down, but Schroeder shook him off. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he muttered as he took his legs out of the water. 

“Schroeder!” Someone called after him, but he didn’t care. Actually, he did care, but he felt far too ill to look at anybody at that moment. He snatched his dry shirt from a garden chair and rushed through an open gate, leaving everybody behind. He felt the eyes burn into his back. He passed by Violet's car.

“I’m going to have to walk home,” he thought as he pulled the shirt over his head. It wasn’t all so difficult, and he didn’t mind. He needed to exercise after hiding in his house all week. It’ll be alright. 

—

The sun hadn’t calmed down since his departure, and he arrived parched with a horrible stomach cramp. Charlie lived on the opposite side of town. He had walked for over an hour! 

His pants dried stuck to his legs, making it awkward and uncomfortable to walk in. He shifted to his doorstep, unlocking it with a house key his mother hid under the doormat, and walked inside.

His mother was watching the television—an old rerun of a soap drama he despised—with another person beside her. And not just any person, but another man.

Both of them immediately turned to Schroeder as he opened the door, closing it with a creak.

“Mom? Who is this-“

“Schroeder! You’re back early,” she lifted herself from the sofa and pulled the other man up. She clapped her hands together and walked up to Schroeder. He didn’t take his eyes off the stranger.

“Mom?”

“This is Harold.”

Harold put out his hand and shook Schroeder’s, though Schroeder kept his look of disgust on his face. “How do you do?” Harold asked in a light tone. Schroeder ignored him.

“Why is he here?” Schroeder stared down Harold, and observed him. He must’ve been a wealthier man, probably a businessman by the clothing he wore. A crisp deep brown suit with an even darker tie, and his salt and pepper hair was pushed back in a swoop, accompanied with a mustache. 

“We’ve been dating for two years now,” she announced. “I meant to introduce him to you earlier, I’m sorry.”

“Dating?” Schroeder fumed. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Well, you were gone for so long, and I wasn’t sure how you would react.”

“But why? I thought you said Dad was the only other person you loved!” 

“Schroeder, he’s been dead for over twenty years now, and I don’t want to be a lonely widow for the rest of my life. Have you ever thought about how I feel? Especially with you living so far away?”

Schroeder silenced himself. He stared at his mother and at her new boyfriend. He stared at the television and its black and white show. He stared at the fluorescent light that dimed the entire room, making everybody an odd shade of yellow. And then he stared at a mirror, strategically placed right where he could see his reflection and his expression that haunted his face. 

And finally back to his mother. 

Has she really been that lonely? He knew he should’ve written more, or even called, but there was never anything going on with his life and overseas calls were a hefty price.

He should’ve apologized to both his mother and the man beside her. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. 

So he ran again. He grabbed his car keys and mumbled something about being back later. His mother ran after him.

I’m so sorry, I didn’t think he would act so immature.

Don’t stress about it, it’s alright. He just needs time.

“Oh, don’t do this. You can’t keep running when things are too much,” she fussed, trying to get his attention. “You’re not a teenager anymore.”

“I told you, I’ll be home later.” It hadn’t worked, and Schroeder got into his car and drove off. 

He hadn’t realized what he had done until he reached a stoplight. 

He didn’t need time. 

In his defense, he didn’t want to hate that man. He didn’t want to act like he disliked him, and he was sure he was a good man. But his whole life, he watched his mother decline flowers from men around town, and he assumed it was because she loved his father far too much to love someone else. 

He knew it was an immature decision and he regretted it, but he couldn’t go back now. He already played into the act and there was no going back. 

Schroeder pulled into a random parking lot in town and stepped out of the car. Although it wasn’t exactly sunset yet, the sun had dulled and the weather cooled. There wasn’t a place he wanted to go, but he just needed to take a walk and think about what to do next. He already ghosted his friends and ruined his Mom’s night. 

He recognized the street he turned onto and decided to just go to a bar. He hadn’t been to an American bar in years, and they were a tad bit different than the pubs in England. 

He hadn’t been to that bar since his high school days of sneaking into bars and buying drinks when it was too late in the night for the bartenders to care.

He swung open the door and scooted past a few older men playing pool, and sat himself at a barstool. There weren't many people in the bar, as it was only a Thursday night, but still a decent number of people. Music was playing, people were talking, and he could hear a football game on the television in the back. He wasn’t much of a football fan, but he did enjoy hockey quite—

“Schroeder?” he looked behind his shoulder, annoyed, but felt better when he saw Linus looking back at him. He was always a patient person, and Schroeder liked his presence, even when he was mad. 

“Hey,” Schroeder’s eyes lit up. Linus gave a lopsided grin before sitting himself on a barstool beside Schroeder. 

“How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in ages,” Linus said, his voice full of excitement. 

After having the same conversation at least ten times today, he was exhausted. And he knew Linus would understand.

“Horrible,” Schroeder snorted. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”

He called out for the bartender and ordered himself a drink and Linus. “To drink?” Linus asked.

“I’m not exactly sure, but I guess that’s what I’ll be doing with my time,” Schroeder said. “Now, what’s up with you? Why weren’t you at Charlie’s house?”

Linus ran his hand through his messy black hair, longer and more unkempt than it had been years before. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “You know Sally and me, right?”

Schroeder nodded and took a sip of his drink. It must’ve been at least his fifth drink just that evening. Linus followed and took a sip of his before he continued.

“We aren’t doing so well right now. I just…” he trailed off, collecting his thoughts. “I just wanted to give her some space, you know? And I assumed she was going to be there, and I knew she would appreciate it if I wasn’t.”

Schroeder recalled who he had seen at Charlie’s barbecue, but he couldn’t think of Sally Brown. She’s definitely a memorable person, and he hadn’t seen her that evening.

“Now that I told you why I’m drowning my feelings in alcohol,” Linus joked, “tell me why you’re here.”
“It’s a long story,” Schroeder huffed. He wouldn’t even know where to start. From that morning, or maybe starting from the day his problems started, he had no clue at all.

“It’s barely even half past six, we have all night. Tell me everything.”

And so Schroeder told him everything. He wasn’t even sure why.

Maybe it was the alcohol getting to his brain, or maybe it was the fact that he had never told anybody, and it just felt nice to finally tell someone, but he did.

And he watched as Linus’s face switched from expression to expression, ever so subtly. He nodded as he listened to Schroeder’s entire story, everything from what he regretted about Lucy to how nervous he felt having to see his old friends again.

Something told him that he shouldn’t. After all, Linus was Lucy’s younger brother. And it wasn’t until the last word he spoke that his throat finally gave out, then he took a deep breath in to make up for everything he’s neglected. 

He looked back at Linus, his face scrunched in thought, and started to worry that he had messed up again. Maybe it was too heavy of a subject to put on someone after reuniting. Maybe Linus thought he was a weird freak for venting to him about his sister.

Instead, he gave his first opinion. His breath hitched as he spoke his first word.  “First off, I have two things to say. One as your friend, and another as Lucy’s brother,” he began. Schroeder listened attentively. 

“I understand why you broke up with Lucy, and even though I believe you did it in a cowardly way, I understand why you did. If you were to ask me then, I would’ve said there were other solutions, but then again, I wasn’t an adult. Now that I have experience and I’m educated, I think you made the right decision. And I give kudos to you for making such a hard decision, Schroeder. That isn’t easy for someone to do.”

“I know,” Schroeder puffed. Linus immediately interjected, claiming he wasn’t done. Schroeder muttered an apology, but Linus, once again, cut him off. 

“Now, as Lucy’s brother,” he emphasized the last syllable. “You weren’t there for the aftermath. You didn’t see how depressed she was for weeks on end, and she even delayed the day she left for college because she was too sick to get out of bed. Seeing her in person that summer was a rare event. Lucy didn’t want to see anybody. Do you know how heartbreaking it is to see your sister that sad because of a boy, Schroeder?”

“Back then, I swore to myself that if I ever saw you again, I would beat you so hard that you would never be able to see again, but another part of me wanted you to see the damage you have done. But as time went off, Lucy recovered and at some point, she was okay when your name was mentioned. We talked about it when she came home for the first time from college and announced that she was getting married. She told me that she would never forget it, but she couldn’t be stuck in the past. I think that’s good advice, Schroeder. You talked to her today, and I think that’s a step up after avoiding her for so long.”

“Maybe you will never be friends again, or maybe you will. That all depends on how you treat the situation and how she feels about it, so talk to her about it. It’s more awkward acting like normal old friends after a huge fight than talking about it. And that sounds very vague, I’m aware, but that is really the best solution you can do in your scenario.”

“And the thing with your mom…just apologize.”

Schroeder shifted in his seat. He finally received the advice he’d been yearning for years on end, and it felt eerie. His life, which was still and stagnant, had become more active. He hadn’t stressed about one subject since he finished university. 

And there he was, his angel in disguise. Linus stared at him, waiting for a response after giving him all that he could. And Schroeder was grateful to have someone like Linus in his life. Someone who wouldn’t judge the way others would. No words formed in his mouth, but his arms tingled. 

He reached over and hugged Linus, pulling him as close to him as possible, squeezing him tighter and tighter. Linus returned the hug, holding Schroeder with just as much force as him. “Thank you,” was all that he could say. 

“No problem,” Linus responded.

—

There was a grandfather clock in the far corner of the bar, banging and clanging when the clock struck midnight. Schroeder had hardly noticed it. He was so wasted that all he could focus on was the drink in his hand and the face in front of him. 

He was laughing, dancing, and singing with the other men in the bar. He didn’t even know who they were, despite their names, but it didn’t matter at all. He was having fun with his friend, and that was all that mattered.

And it wasn’t until he was violently vomiting in the grimy old bathroom in the back of the bar. Just the sight of it made him ill, and the smell was even worse.

Linus waited outside the stall as Schroeder continued to throw up every single remnant of his stomach bile. Though the vile taste lingered in his throat, he felt significantly better. He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and threw it away.

“Maybe we should start heading back…” Schroeder suggested, but he hadn’t heard a response from Linus. He called out for his friend. No response.

“Linus?” Schroeder unlocked the stall and stuck his head out, only to see Linus slumped against the wall. He must’ve gotten more drunk than he was.

“Hey buddy,” Schroeder lowered his voice. “We’re going to head out, alright?”

Only a few indecipherable murmurs came from Linus’s mouth, and Schroeder took it as a synonym for okay. Schroeder grabbed Linus’s arm and slung it over his shoulder, and wrapped his arm around his back. He carefully walked him out of the bar and outside, where the night sang.

The town was quiet and somber, and Schroeder could hear the crickets. He missed the peaceful music of the night that he had missed out on the past few days. He told himself that he had to start going out in nature more often.

Schroeder finally reached his car, which was around the corner, and sat Linus in the passenger seat. He wasn’t sure if Linus had driven his car there, and if he did, he would have to come pick it up in the morning. As he pulled out of the lot, he prayed that he wouldn't end up in the statistics of deaths caused by drunk drivers.

He recalled a conversation he had earlier at the barbecue, and learned that Linus was staying with his parents at their old house. It wasn’t a far drive, only a few minutes, and soon, Schroeder parked his car on the curb of a familiar and dreaded house. 

He carried Linus to the front door and was careful with it, since there were no lights on outside. But just as he was going to knock, the front door opened, and he was met face-to-face with Lucy. Her eyes widened as she saw him, and she turned her gaze to Linus. The smell of alcohol filled his nose as he caught a whiff of Linus’s scent. He must've smelled the same.

“What in the world…” Lucy instinctively reached her arms out to help bring Linus inside, and Schroeder helped to place him on the couch. He carefully slipped off Linus’s shoes and placed them on a shoe rack near the entrance of the house. Lucy turned to Schroeder as she sighed. 

“I’m sorry, we were out drinking and I didn’t realize how drunk he was and–”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m not angry at you, nor at him. Actually, I’m excited to hear how my mom will yell at him for passing out at a bar like that,” she giggled, staring at his face. Schroeder softly laughed, making sure he didn’t wake him up.

“Why are you here? And not at home?”

“My husband’s been working all evening, and he has the night shift at the hospital. When he does, I sleep here with Elise. It’s a lot nicer than it sounds.”

“I ought to be going right now, it’s rather late, and I probably stressed out my mom earlier,” Schroeder said. He started heading through the door, but Lucy grabbed him by his arm and stopped him. He paused and turned around, his fingers grazing the doorknob.

The light was off, but he could still see the gentle curve of her face. She bit her lip as she looked up. “Just…” she stared, “be careful, okay? It’s late.”

“I live right down the street. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Lucy softened her gaze and pulled her hand away. “Yeah, sorry, I just get worried when people drive at night, y’know?” 

Schroeder whispered goodnight and opened the door, leaving her house. He stood outside her front door and stared up at the constellation above. His head still ached, but the summer breeze made him feel better. He counted the stars and their clusters, though many of them weren’t actual stars anymore. 

When a star dies, it can take years for the people on Earth to see. Sometimes, someone will look up at the sky and see a star their entire lifetime, only for it to have died years before they were born, and will continue to shine even when that person is dead.

A long time ago, someone had told him that as they both sat on the rooftop of that very same house, lying side by side as they watched the stars. 

He missed the stars.

Chapter Text

Lucy had many regrets; mistakes in her life that she wished she had never done. It could be as simple as regretting to dine at a restaurant because it gave her such awful food poisoning, or as deep as regretting the man she married.

Every day was the same dreadful cycle of waking up, dropping Elise off at school, going home, and waiting. He promised he would be back for lunch, but something kept him busy. He promised he would be home for dinner, but there was an emergency surgery. He promised to spend time with her, but he never did.

And something within Lucy’s heart grew a hatred against that man, but she told herself that she loved him and she just chose a busy man.

—

“I’ll be back later today.”

A voice echoed in her ears. Lucy murmured as she woke up, pushing the heavy weight of the covers off of her. Her eyelids felt heavy as she forced her eyes open, sitting up on the bed. David, her husband, was across the room at a desk, shoving papers inside a briefcase. “What?” 

David looked back at her, glaring, and scoffed. “I said, Jones is taking the day off, so I’ll be expected to work later. I won’t be home until seven.”

“What? Again?” Lucy whined. “Elise has her dance performance tonight at seven-thirty, can’t you just get someone else to cover?” She settled her hands underneath her thighs, digging her fingernails deep into her skin, and awaited his response.

David breathed heavily through his nose and continued packing, angrily closing up the briefcase. “You know I can’t control the time I get home, I told you. If I miss her recital, I’ll just go to the next one.”

Under his breath, he muttered, “She’s not going to remember this in a few years.”

“It’s not about what she’s going to remember, it’s about supporting your daughter!” Lucy continued. “You’re always working, even on special occasions. You missed Elise’s birth because you were working on the floor above me!”

David gave out a sharp exhale.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” David lingered around the bedroom door, awaiting his departure, “I’m the one who makes the money around here. Without me, you would be forced to work like some bum’s wife.”

Within the blink of an eye, David opened the door and left, leaving Lucy alone on the bed. She sat there, thinking about what if she did have to work. What if? 

That was her dream. She thought being a housewife would be sufficient, but she longed to have the career she wanted. Now that Elise was older, she considered returning to school to earn her degree, but David would never allow it. She would just have to convince him. 

Lucy lifted herself off the bed and got ready for the day. There was only so much she could complain about. She had other things to do besides sulking around.

“Hey, stop moving! I can’t braid your hair if you’re squirming like a worm,” Lucy said as her fingers worked their way through the hair, carefully braiding it into one long braid. Elise giggled at the comment, making her move even more.

“I can’t stay still if you’re pulling my hair,” Elise fussed.

“When I was your age, I kept my hair short due to the thickness. My mother would spend hours with me just brushing my hair because of how tangled it would get, and she wasn’t gentle with it. I guess you inherited it from me. You’re lucky I have patience.”

“How much patience do you have?”

“Not a lot.”

Elise laughed and turned her attention back to the television that was playing a morning cartoon she enjoyed. The sun had risen and shone through the sheer living room curtains, and created a ring of sunlight around the two of them.

This was their morning routine. Every morning, Lucy would wake up and cook Elise whatever breakfast concoction she could think of, then sit her in front of the television and style her hair how Elise wanted it for the day. Most days, they spent their time outside their house, normally visiting her parents or close friends.

Today, they were going to see Lucy’s parents. Linus is home for the summer—she learned a few days prior—and he didn’t even let her know that he was. He could’ve called, but she supposed he was a busy person. Doing what? Lucy had no idea. She had only spoken to him a handful of times over the past year, and most of it was her calling him on the telephone. She and Sally had a conversation over Linus’s well-being during her last visit, as Lucy thought maybe he was struggling, but Sally only said that he was busy with schoolwork. 

Rerun, on the other hand, had been staying with their parents since he graduated from high school. She spoke to him a little too much for her liking.

Lucy finished the braid off with a blue ribbon that complemented Elise’s eye color. She gave Elise a quick kiss on the head before sending her to get dressed, but Elise didn’t budge. 

“Do you have any more stories about Dad?” she asked, innocently batting her eyes. Lucy bit her tongue as she thought of the familiar man. She had hoped the questions would stop.

Elise had asked her questions about how Lucy was when she was her age, and then curiously asked about her father’s youth. Maybe she just wanted Elise to know the truth, or maybe it was because she was, in fact, a little bit tipsy that night, but Lucy told her a story about playing baseball with a certain catcher. 

She thought it would be alright since she never had any childhood photos out in the open, and Elise never thought of to look at old photographs.

Lucy knew she was risking a lot by just telling Elise that story, and she hoped that Elise was happy with that one story, but Elise enjoyed it. She kept asking Lucy for more, but Lucy refused. She came up with a cover claiming that Elise’s father, David, doesn’t like it when Lucy tells stories from their youth.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell him,” Elise had promised. And since then, when David wasn’t around, Lucy would tell her more stories about the man Elise presumed to be her father, and tried to be as vague as possible, though she knew that she couldn’t cover everything up.

“He was an artist,” Lucy would say. 

“Did he paint?”

“No. But he would create the most beautiful art anyone would ever hear.”

But after talking to Schroeder again, she had to stop. It was a childish thought to think that he would ever want to be in her life again. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to be in her life again. She had her fantasies, but then again, that was her imagination. Her actual life was too important to fantasize from her reality. A girl could only dream.

So she shook her head, telling Elise to ask her another day.

Lucy threw herself on the living room sofa, placing her feet on Rerun’s lap, and watched as Linus displayed his movie collection to Elise. She ignored his attempts to shove her away and stretched, reaching her arms out. 

“Mom!” Rerun shouted out as if they were children. He forced Lucy’s foot off of him, but Lucy only shoved her foot back into his face. “That’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Lucy replied. She dramatically jumped off the couch while her mother walked into the living room, yelling at Rerun for pestering his sister.

“But Ma, it was all Lucy! I didn’t do anything!”

Lucy walked over and kneeled beside Elise, placing a kiss atop her hair while Linus held a movie out in front of her. Out somewhere in the attic, there was an old projector they used to watch movies and home videos from their youth, and Linus had promised he would show Elise the next time he visits. And now, Linus held out a display of videos their mother had filmed, and told Elise to pick one out.

“How far do these films go?” Lucy asked as she went through the box, checking the years. 

“I think, maybe around 1956? I haven’t watched them, but I’ve been keeping track of the years,” Linus shrugged. 

“That’s a long time,” said Elise. Linus scoffed. He picked the oldest one he could find and placed it into the projector, and turned it towards a white sheet he pinned to the wall.

“Rerun, can you turn off the light?” Linus asked as he fiddled with the machine. Rerun groaned in response, but still flicked the light off. He had no interest in watching the home movies. 

The odd machine whirred and groaned and sputtered before producing light, then a picture appeared. A moving picture.

And in that moment, Lucy felt the same happiness she felt the day she first went to the movie house.

“It’s starting, hush,” Linus whispered.

On-screen, Lucy appeared. A much younger and lively version than the one in the room.

Her smile was wide and bright, and her round face was surrounded by her chin-length pin curls. She wore her favorite blue dress, all ruffles and frills, and held a book—a school book—in her hand. The video was obviously filmed in the front porch of her home, and she could see someone standing in the doorframe, holding a blue blanket over their shoulder.

Beside her, Charlie Brown wobbled on his knobby knees with an awkward grin on his face. She had grown up with him since infancy, and knew him longer than anyone else in town.

Lucy peeked over and read the label on the film.

Lucy’s First Day of School – 1957

“Who’s that?” Elise asked, tilting her head.

“That’s me, dear.”

Elise’s eyes widen and her jaw dropped. “That’s you?” 

Lucy chuckled and nodded. “Yes, that’s me when I was around your age. This was my first day of school. Beside me, that’s Charlie.”

Elise gazed in awe to see her own mother young. Much younger than she had ever seen her before.

The video continued and Lucy could hear her mother in the background, scolding Linus for being in the video. Linus quickly came to defense by claiming he was “just curious” on why Lucy was getting more recognition than she usually did, which Lucy denied. They all turned their attention back to the video.

 Her mother began to talk to both Lucy and Charlie, asking them what they wanted to be when they grew up. Charlie had said he wanted to be Mickey Mantle, and Lucy had laughed at him. Then Lucy answered, beaming with a wide smile, and she simply said one word: married. 

“Married? That’s what you wanted to be when you grew up?” Elise asked, tugging on Lucy’s sleeve.

Rerun butted in the covnersation. “Oh, you should’ve seen Lucy then! She was all over some neighborhood boy–”

“Rerun!” Lucy quickly shouted, cutting him off.

“What? It’s important to the question at hand,” he shrugged. Lucy rolled her eyes, and he went back to reading his magazine.

“Was it Dad?” Elise asked.

“Yes, it was your father,” Linus gawked at Rerun. He stopped the video and placed another one, without reading the labels.

The next video played, and immediately, Lucy could tell it was one of Linus’s birthday parties. Judging by the candles on the cake, this was 1965, only twelve years prior. 

“Is that you?” Elise asked Linus, pointing to the stringy haired boy in the center. Linus nodded. 

Beside Linus stood their friends. 

Charlie Brown was on his right, obviously his right-hand man, and Sally was beside Charlie, staring at Linus with hearts in her eyes.

Lucy was on the opposite side with Schroeder at her side. Her hair was all curled and teased, decorated with a light blue headband just like the ribbon Elise was wearing. Her arm was wrapped loosely around Schroeder’s and even without seeing his face, she could tell that he was, in fact, annoyed. 

Lucy watched as Linus blew out his birthday candles and everybody clapped, cheering for his thirteenth years of creation. And though she kept her eyes on the teen Linus, she couldn’t stop her mind from thinking about her and Schroeder in the corner, keeping it all a secret.

It had been when their freshmen year had just begun, and during this time, a childish time of hand-holding, walks, and kisses blossomed between the two—her and Schroeder. A secretive time, mostly out of privacy, where none of their friends directly knew they were together, though some suspected it. 

Lucy had forgotten about her mother’s obsession with filming videos of everything, especially since it stopped around that time. Their video camera broke, and Mrs. van Pelt never bothered to replace it. They only had the projector and remaining films now. 

The clip ended and the room fell silent, except for the heavy pattering of the rain outside. Lucy was still lost in thought, thinking of that time before adulthood. 

Elise tugged on her sleeve again. Lucy hummed.

“Was that Dad?”

And that’s where the lies had stopped. David looked nothing like Schroeder, not at all, with his nearly black hair and even darker eyes. “No, your father was not there that day, I don’t think,” Lucy frowned. Linus stayed still, staring at Lucy and then Elise, then back at Lucy. They held eye contact for a bit and Lucy could tell exactly what he was thinking.

That son of a bitch. 

Linus blinked away.

He knew! 

Lucy frowned and turned her attention back to Elise, who had asked who that boy was. “He was a friend of ours growing up, but he moved away.” 

An idea popped into Lucy’s head.

She pushed herself up from the hardware floor, and dusted herself off. “I’ll be back, I’m just going out for a walk,” she said as she kissed Elise goodbye. “Behave.”

“But Lucy, it’s raining out there!” Linus interjected from the floor, holding another film in his hand. Lucy scoffed and opened the front door.

“It can’t be that bad, I’ll just-”

The sky rumbled and let out more rain, pouring like crazy. As stubborn as she is, she couldn’t go back on what she said. So Lucy toughened up and walked out to the porch, shutting the front door behind her. 

She didn’t immediately leave, she had absolutely no idea where she was heading anyway! She just needed to think about things thoroughly and clear her mind. Naturally, her eyes slowly trailed down to the brick house down the street.

And before she knew it, she was standing at Schroeder’s front door step, sopping wet. The curls from her hair were most definitely flat, and her makeup was probably running down her face in black tears, but she didn’t care. 

She had seen his mother out in town a few times, but never thought to think what she does all day alone, especially with Schroeder’s rare visits. Occasionally, she would have a polite conversation here and there, but she kept it brief. 

At first, she thought that someone must’ve had the television’s volume up, but the noise wasn’t talking; it was music. 

Music from a piano.

Lucy took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, and heard the playing abruptly stop.

Back to silence.

The front door swung open, and Schroeder appeared in front of her, all high and lofty. His mouth opened in response to her waiting, but he immediately shut his mouth and furrowed his brow, narrowing his blue  eyes.

She had only seen him a few times on his visit, one being at Charlie’s, then when Linus was drunk, and another just around town. She didn’t speak to him, not at all, but she did watch from afar while gathering groceries. Her brief conversation with him previously didn’t feel enough to satisfy Lucy, but she hadn’t had the chance to talk with him any other time. Except now.

He towered over her, waiting for her to state her reason for interrupting his day. And amongst this, Lucy had forgotten why she had walked all the way through the pouring rain.

“Oh right,” she reminded herself. “I just wanted to see how he’s doing.”

“Hi,” she smiled. Lucy peeked over behind him, just a quick glance to see if his living room was the same, and her assumption was right.

From the outdated wallpaper to the old photographs on the wall, except one thing. Schroeder’s piano, as he owns two at his home, was in a different spot. She could clearly see it from the door but before, it was in the opposite corner. Schroeder’s mother must had such an earful from Schroeder’s complaints, as Lucy is highly aware of Schroeder’s resistance to change. 

“Lucy, did you-” he looked up and down at her, then peered over her head to look at her house. “Did you walk from your house in the rain?”

Lucy bit her lip and looked at her hands. “If I say yes, would that be bad?”

Schroeder ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “Lucy, come inside. It’s raining, and you’re wet.”

“Sounds fine with me,” Lucy shuffled inside the quaint house. Lucy looked back up to Schroeder. His face was a slight shade of pink. Actually, his entire body must’ve been pink. It trailed down his neck, and she could see it on a bit of collarbone his t-shirt showed. Such delicate skin. His hair looked as if he hadn’t styled or even brushed it in ages, and she could tell he probably hadn’t slept in a good two days.

Besides the tremendous ticking of a clock on the wall, the house was silent. With each step, she could hear the soft creaking of the floorboards as she made her way to the kitchen table. Schroeder rushed off to a linen closet and pulled out a towel, handing it to Lucy. She graciously accepted it, thanking him, and dried her hair before wrapping it around herself.

And Schroeder, he just—stared at her. His eyes had never looked more blue in the dim kitchen light. There were no windows in the kitchen, just pictures of what should’ve been windows. Though it was barely noon, to Lucy, it felt as if it were night. 

There was something about the way he stared at her. Maybe she was just hallucinating, but she could’ve sworn that he had the tiniest smile displayed on his face.

And Lucy had never felt more embarrassed in her life.

Whatever she was thinking, she was an absolute idiot to just show up like she lived there. And it must’ve been worse for Schroeder, to just see Lucy pop up on his doorstep all soaking wet. 

Maybe Lucy could come up with a reason, but with that stupid clock ticking, it was nearly impossible to even come up with a single thought.

“It’s hot in here,” she noted. 

“My mother still doesn’t believe in air conditioning,” Lucy chuckled. They sat in more silence.

Tick tick.

That stupid clock. 

“What are you doing here?” he  finally asked. 

Tick tick tick.

Lucy had no idea what exactly her goal was. Was it too crazy to say that she just wanted to talk to him?

Tick tick tick.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” she replied. She watched as his brows slightly lifted, and his body loosened. 

Tick tick tick. 

“About…?” 

Tick tick tick.

Lucy frowned. “I…I’m not exactly sure.”

Chime! The clock stricks noon! 

Schroeder shifted in the chair and sat up straight. “Well, I have to admit, I’m confused why you’re here.”

—

“Ask me a question.”

“What?” 

“I said,” Lucy slowly repeated, “ask me a question.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

Though Schroeder remained stoic as always, she could tell when he was thinking. It was just the slightest scrunch of his eyebrows and his tendency to stare blankly, but he was thinking.

“Did you miss me?”

She hesitated before answering. “I did.”

Schroeder softly chuckled and rested his chin on his hands. “Ask me a question now.”

Immediately, Lucy asked, “Did you miss me?”

“I do.”

“Really? I didn’t think you would admit that,” Lucy dramatically gasp with her hand hovering over her lips. 

“I’ve grown quite accustomed to you, haven’t I?”

Lucy blushed. “I would imagine that you still play the piano thinking of me.”

“If I say yes, would that be bad?” he smirked. Lucy’s face went blank before she scoffed and leaned back into the chair. She crossed her arms, still clutching onto the towel.

“I see what you’re doing, Mr. Felton,” she said. 

“And what about it, Mrs. van Pelt?”

Lucy rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, resting her elbows on the table. By doing so, she was closer to Schroeder’s face, and she could see each and every individual freckle sprinkled on his pink cheeks. Her eyes trailed to his own eyes, and she was lost in them. Those damn eyes. And then back down to his lips. Her mouth went dry just thinking of them.

Schroeder’s voice caught her attention. “Are you not married?” 

“I told you that I’m married,” Lucy stiffened up. “Why?”

“I would assume you would take your husband’s last name,” he shrugged.

“Well, it is the ‘70s. Didn’t you hear? Feminism is rising,” Lucy responded. 

Another great idea in Lucy’s brain.

Her brain short circuited and suddenly, her mouth was speaking before her brain could’ve comprehended what she had just said. “Are you busy later?” 

Schroeder cocked his head. “What? What do you mean?”

“Elise has a ballet performance tonight—at seven-thirty—and I just thought you would like to attend. They’re performing Sleeping Beauty, and Elise is playing the main character,” Lucy explained. “You don’t have to go, I’m not exactly sure why I’m asking you. But you could support the local theater, I suppose.”

She looked back at Schroeder and gulped. It was stupid to have asked him; this was only their second conversation. She thought he would decline, and maybe kick her out of his house, but he didn’t.

“Of course I’ll go.”

Lucy gave a dry laugh at his response. “It’s a formal event, by the way.”