*Requests welcome, just keep it clean please*

Heyo I've got a dilemma...

Jack and Davey are both super hot, just in different ways and they appeal to different aspects of my personality and it's so confusing like who should I crush on?!?!?

The artsy side of me loves Jack
The nerdy side of me loves Davey

WHAT DO I DO?!

Anyway, here's a Jack X Reader one-shot. Remember to keep an eye out for Great Aunt Merriweather! She's part of or alluded to in every one-shot. Comment if you find her!

I wrote this entire thing instead of annotating Hamlet so you're welcome because I'm def gonna get either a bad grade or a bad night's sleep because of this. Part 2 will be posted soon; just gotta proofread, so look forward to that!

If you enjoy the story, please consider leaving a star!

-:-:-:-

"Are you sure, Ms. Medda? I'm not exactly the best at rhyming... or coming up with a tune... or singing..."

"Child, I can think of no one better for the job."

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at the ground. THE Medda Larkin asked you to write a song for her next show. YOU. Of all people, this legend of a woman chooses a little homeless girl fresh outta the Refuge. Well, fresh-ish. It had been about six months.

"Ms. Medda, I really don't-"

"Write from your heart, hon. It'll come, I guarantee it." Medda said, patting you gently on the shoulder.

"Chin up. The silence ain't gonna fill itself with beauty; that's your job. It's just there to hold the sound for you." She smiled and waltzed away, leaving you alone in the middle of the theater.

Write from your heart? But your heart was blank. Empty. It was like you were made of paper; fragile and one good hit away from shredding into tiny bits.

Being in the refuge for years does that to a person.

You jolted back and sealed away those memories. Your glass heart couldn't take another shattering, not after you'd just pieced it back together.

No, your heart wasn't going to produce any beauty for a good long while. You'd just have to write from your mind.

They say 'write what you know' and go from there, but how on Earth were you supposed to do that when all you know is hell?!

No, it's better to just... fake it.

You glanced down at the small stack of paper in your hands and sighed. Might as well get this out of the way.

-:-:-:-

You had moved to the catwalk above the stage in order to stay out of the way of anyone who happened to pass through the theater. Also to hide while you attempted to BS your way through this song.

You could write about his... physique? No no no! That doesn't convey love!

How cute and loyal he is? That makes him sound like a dog!

"Mrrrruuurrrrgghhhhhh..." you groaned looking over what you had so far:

I love you, you're my favorite man
I love you more than anyone else can

Your

Damn. That's it. That's all you had after HOURS of trying.

"HOW ON EARTH AM I SUPPOSED TO WRITE A LOVE SONG WHEN I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!?" You screamed, tossing the stupid lyrics up into the air and flopping onto your back.

At this rate, it would take a miracle to save you from this torture.

-:-:-:-

Jack was just putting the finishing touches on his latest masterpiece of a backdrop when he heard a sound that was comparable to that of a dying cat from directly above him. Looking up, he saw a pair of well-worn boots and a threadbare petticoat dangling off of the catwalk. He had been so engrossed in transferring the painting in his head onto the canvas that he didn't even realize that he was not alone in the theater.

Jack tossed his dirty brushes into the water pot and wiped the fresh paint from his hands onto his multicolored apron, still keeping an eye on the old boots.

"HOW ON EARTH AM I SUPPOSED TO WRITE A LOVE SONG WHEN I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!?" A sudden, decidedly female voice wailed from the general location of the boots, accompanied by the fluttering of paper. Jack smirked. He had nothing else to do at the moment, so he may as well have some fun with this little kitten.

"Love, huh? I's betcha I could help yous out wit that subject." Jack called up to the girl.
...
He was met with complete silence.

-:-:-:-

You were completely frozen, as though you were lying on a block of ice.

That voice. You knew that voice. But why on Earth was he here? How? Why RIGHT NOW?!

You flinched when the voice called up to you again.

"Yous alive up there, Kitten? Does I gotta come up there a makes sure yous okay?" He said. He'll come up here. Up to where you are. Him and you... Wait. HOL UP.

"WAIT! No, it's fine! I's fine. Yous can just stay right where you is and I's gonna stay right here." Shoot, your dialect was poking through. His presence must have really taken you off guard.

Just the sound of his voice unearthed painfully unpleasant memories from the deep recesses of your mind. You could only imagine what seeing him would cause.

He laughed.

Of COURSE he had to FREAKING LAUGH.

Images flashed across your vision; a dirty old cap, moldy bread, and a pair of eyes. Sparkling, green eyes...

No no no no no... block it out, (Y/n)!

"Yous sure? I would love to puts a name to da voice." He called.

"I would love to puts a name to da face."

"Go away Jack, you slippery little snake."

"don't cha mean snack?"

"Dangit, Jack."

"Dat's my name. Don't wear it out, love."

"STOP! Stop it. Stop talking, please." You cried, curling up into a little ball and trying to shake away the memory. At least it was one of the more pleasant ones this time, but if you let this continue, you knew you would relive something you never wanted to experience again.

"Whoa, hey. No need to get so defensive. I ain't gonna hurt you." He said, as though he were talking to a skittish feral cat.

"Please, just..."

"Hey, no need to worry. I's was just on my way out anyway. You gots the whole place to yourself now." He called. You heard him begin to walk away.

"Wait, J-" you bolted up and cried without thinking. You were able to slap a hand over your mouth, however, stopping yourself just in time.

"Wait, Jack! "

"Yes, Kitten?" The footsteps stopped. You shook your head. you couldn't keep him here. How could this be the same boy you knew? You were certain he had booked it long ago. Tears pricked at your eyes. You had to let him go. He was just a memory now. A beautiful, haunting memory.

"Nothing. It's nothing. I's fine. Yous can go." You said. It was time to say goodbye to the phantom that had haunted you for years. Farewell, you smooth little jerk. Thanks for all the memories.

"See ya later, Kitten." He called.

"Bye, Jack." You murmured.

-:-:-:-

Jack was halfway back to the lodge, still confused about what the girl had said.

"I never told her my name, but I coulda swore she called me Jack..." he mumbled.

Who was this girl?

-:-:-:-

Your head was spinning. It was a tornado of emotions and memories and nightmares all swirling through your mind. It was so intense, you were physically dizzy and nauseous. Thankfully, you had gotten down from the catwalk as soon as Jack left; otherwise, you probably would have fallen down.

"Dammit, Jack. You've been gone for ages and yet you still make my head spin." You whined to the quiet theater.

"Now if I didn't know any better, I would say that Miss (Y/n) the Lyricist has got a crush on Mr. Jack the Artist." A teasing voice called from the shadows.

"Ms. Medda! That ain't... I isn't..." you stumbled over your words. The guy's name was Jack? And she thinks you LIKE him?!

"Honey, there's no use denying it. It's written all over that red face of yours." She laughed patting your cheek that you suddenly noticed was very hot.

"It ain't that, Ms. Medda, I's... I was just rememberin'." Your tell-tale dialect keyed her into where your head was at the moment. It only came out when you were distressed or excited.

"Oh honey, the Refuge?" She murmured softly, placing her hands on your shoulders. You paused, then nodded. It was partially the Refuge's fault, but mostly your mind was on Jack.

Ms. Medda pulled you into a tight hug, one hand on the back of your head in a surprisingly motherly fashion.

"I know that horrible place did quite the number on you, but you must remember that it is in the past. What's past can only hurt you if you let it."

You felt the first tear fall. Medda continued, smoothing your hair down.

"I know you're strong. Stronger than that place or the memories it left behind. But that doesn't mean you need to take this on all by yourself. I'm here, and I'm sure Mr. Jack the Artist would be more than willing to help as well. He was in the Refuge for a stint once. He'd understand what you're going through much better than I could." You jumped and pulled away, grabbing Medda's hands and looking up at her with wide, desperate eyes.

"Did you say he was in the Refuge?"

"Yes... are you-"

"How long ago?"

"Well, it would have to be a little more than two years ago he got in the second time..."

"And the first?!"

"When he was about twelve. Why are you so interested in this boy, (Y/n)? You aren't exactly helping your 'I don't have a crush' case here- Honey, are you alright?" Her tone shifted majorly when she noticed the look on your face; shock, loss, and, most importantly, excitement.

"So yous tellin' me that Mr. Jack the Artist is THE Jack Kelly?!" You squeaked out. Medda just nodded, confused (and a bit scared).

"Why is this such a big deal, (Y/n)?"

"Because I know him, Ms. Medda. We was... we was family in the Refuge."