((partially inspired by poet by bastille aka one of my freaking favorite songs ever))

You sat at your desk typing away at your latest poetry collection. Your publisher had given you a forward of almost $10,000 for the book, and it was due by the end of the next month. Eighty-eight poems exactly were to be included in it, but much to your dismay, you’d only managed to pen fifty-nine. In the middle of a half-assed attempt to write something about the changing of seasons, you threw your keyboard across the room in anguish. There was no point in writing if your heart wasn’t in it. Why wasn’t your heart in it?

You had risen to fame in the past year across the poetry community, getting huge offers from major publishing houses and many accolades for your free-form expression of raw human emotions and bringing new points of view on already explored topics. You could write freely about whatever you wanted. But now your ideas and words were dried up. The river of emotions that once swelled at its’ banks within you and cascaded out your fingertips across paper seemed to just disappear. Lately you’d been going through the motions of your daily life as automated as a robot.

With a deep sigh, you determined that you would get nothing done just sitting in your apartment, and decided to head out and do some people-watching in the local park. Throwing your notebook, a pen, and your phone into a bag, you locked the door behind you before descending into the bustling streets of LA.

You didn't quite like the city, too many people everywhere, so you didn't ever stray from your quiet apartment complex on the outskirts of town. Your publisher was in LA, so it was more convenient for you to be here than in your preferred lodging deep into rural areas. Wherever you could find good food and good people, you would stay. That's how you had lived everyday since you turned 18 and graduated high school. Couch-surfing across the country to get ideas and keeping every scrap of paper you wrote your poetry on for years.

Your agent insisted you at least tried to settle down nearby while they were getting this huge deal through, it was going to be your first collection after your big break 13 months ago. You reluctantly agreed, maybe it was time to tame your free spirit and find normality for a little bit.

Finally, you had trudged through the throngs of people and came across a quiet park that was close enough to others that you could observe them well, but not close enough to where their precense overwhelmed your otherwise serene bubble. Slinging your bag up higher across your shoulders, you gripped the trunk of a large oak tree and began scaling it. You always liked being up high, it cleared your head and gave you physical and figurative perspective on what's going on around you.

After settling in, you pulled your notepad and pen back out, scanning the park below for any means of inspiration. Minutes passed and you were starting to get bored. The only people that had come through were an old man and his little yippy dog, not exactly the most inspiring thing. You decided to go back to your apartment and get some lunch, but a car pulling up stopped you. You sat half-dangling in the tree for another split second, watching as the doors opened and bunch of people streamed out. Quickly hauling yourself back up into the tree, you hid yourself amongst the branches, hoping they couldn't see that you were there.

The people seemd to be a lively bunch of ranging hair colors, from brown, to blonde, and one boy with bright blue hair caught your eye. He was carrying a camera, filming the brown-haired boy and the tall, curly-haired guy with them. You watched with intrigue as they filmed some sort of football-related skit.

They stayed for a bit longer, just hanging out and messing around. The whole time your eyes never strayed far from the blue-haired boy. Your eyes followed him as they all went back to their car, but he didn't climb in, instead talking to the brown-haired guy that seemed to be their leader of sorts. The brown-haired guy nodded, climbing into the drivers seat and driving away as the other boy jogged over to the tree you were hiding in.

Afraid that he had seen you, you curled up and tried to conceal yourself further into the branches and leaves. He stopped at the base of the tree, peering up into the leaves. Your eyes looked down fearfully, and your heart stopped when you made eye contact with him. You were unsure if it was because his hazel-blue eyes were just so beautiful, or if it was because you were mildly afraid he was going to beat you up or something.

"Can I come up too?" He asked, smiling up at you.

"Uh sure, it's not like I own the tree or anything." You shrugged, scooting further down your branch to make room for the lanky boy as he tried to climb up.

His foot missed the last foothold, and he wobbled before falling towards the ground. You were about to jump off after him worridly, but to your amazement, he twisted himself around and landed safely on his feet. Then his legs gave out from the force and he ended up on his butt.

Gracefully leaping down the way you came up, you stood in the dirt beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, my gymnastics skills are a little rusty." He accepted the hand you offered him, and you maanged to pull him up. "So uh, what's your name?"

"Y/N Y/L/N." You informed him, highly doubtful that he knew who you were. Thankfully he didnt seem to, as he carried on the conversation with you casually.

"I'm Ethan Nestor. Do you mind if I ask why you were in the tree?"

"I was trying to get some inspiration. My deadline in coming up and I'm barely half-done."

"Well how about some lunch to clear your head?"

"Is... this a date?"

Ethan gave you a weird smile, and began walking along the sidewalk, not answering your question. Curiosity getting the best of you, you followed along beside him. You found yourself falling into an easy conversation with this bright boy as he guided you to a small resturaunt that served breakfast all day. After being seated, you ordered yourself some pancakes and Ethan just got eggs and bacon.

"Only thing you can guarentee hasn't been cross-contaminated." He commented, and at your alarmed look, he gave a small laugh. "I have a peanut allergy. Don't worry, no toxic substances here to the ordinary person."

"Oh that makes sense." You laughed with him, Ethan just made you feel so at ease, which you didn't feel in your day-to-day life now-a-days.

The waitress came back soon enough with your orders, and you began cutting your pancakes. "So what were you and your friends doing at the park? It looked like some football, but not? And also the camera?"

"Filming a little bit for a video. We all make YouTube videos."

"That's really cool! I'm not up to date on social media stuff, but I can appreciate someone being a creator for a living."

"What about you? Why does your job require you to get inspiration up in a tree?"

You were about to answer when your phone began buzzing from your bag. Quickly peeking at it, you groaned when you saw the contact name, it was your agent. "I am so sorry Ethan, I need to take this, it's my agent. I'll be back in five minutes tops, okay?"

"You're fine, Y/N." He nodded to you as you slid out of the booth, and as you walked away from the table, you could hear him musing to himself about your 'agent'.

"Yes, Shannon?" You tried to answer the phone without sounding as irritated as you were.

"Y/N, how are the poems coming along?" Her cheery-as-ever voice came through your speakers.

"Fine, I'm getting pretty close." You fibbed, if she knew how far behind you were, she would march down to your apartment and put you under house arrest until you finished. She was the best agent you could ask for, but her passion for her work went overboard sometimes.

"Good, because the publisher is moving the due date up to the end of the month."

Your jaw just about hit the fucking floor. "This month?"

"Yes, Y/N, I tried to negotiate but they were insistent. Something about resources and advertising, I couldn't get many details from them."

"That only gives me three more weeks!"

"You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out. Alright, I need to be going now, love ya girlie!" Shannon made kissy noises into the mic before hanging up, and you stuffed your phone back into your bag angrily.

Taking in a few deep breaths, you tried to throw a smile back onto your face as you approached the table again. Ethan was still there, thankfully, but you frowned as you saw that he had pulled something up on his phone. It looked like a news article about your deal with the publishing house eight months ago, complete with a picture of you, Shannon, your editor, and the president of the publishing house.

"I'm back, sorry again about that." You cleared your throat awkwardly, still standing beside the table.

Ethan quickly shut off his phone and turned to face you. "It's really no problem. So you're that Y/N Y/L/N. The poet extrordinaire."

You scoffed at his description of you, sitting back into your seat across from him. "I'm just some punk kid that wrote when she was semi-homeless."

"That's not what everyone else say about you. Have you read the New York Times' review of your work?"

"I don't care about stuck-up critics that latch onto anything that's already popular and try to twist into something they want and say they discovered it." You said brashly, then turned your inquisitive look to Ethan. "Have you read any of them?"

"Yeah, my friend Amy leant your first collection to me. I really like 'Forget-Me-Not'."

You cringed at his answer, knowing exactly which one he was talking about. "Oh god, that one? I was like 12 when I wrote it. Please don't tell me that's actually your favorite."

"What? The comparison of the narrator's love to the lore of the flower was really strong for me." He explained his reasoning, and you felt you heart swell at his sincerity when he described your work. "And you haven't published anything in nearly two years, so it's not like there's anything more recent to compare it to."

"Fair enough." You shrugged, fingers rubbing against the spine of your notebook. You'd never shown your rough drafts and unpublished poems to anybody before. These pages were for your eyes only. But for some reason, your hands were holding it out to him before you could even process what you were doing.

"Are these?"

"Yeah, I want you to read them. It's a new journal, I filled up my last one a few months ago, so there's only a few poems in it. But I want your opinion of them, if you want to read them."

"Of course I do!" Ethan took it in awe, a gentleness in his actions as he set it down beside his almost-empty plate. "Thank you."

"No, thank you." You smiled.

"What for?"

"I need to have eighty-eight poems done for the collection whose due date just got moved up to the end of the month and haven't had inspiration for nine weeks."

"And what did I do?"

"I think I just found my inspiration."

((tysm for 9k that's fucking insane y'all are so awesome))