Exploration

After the museum trip, we ended up at a small café I'd never been to—the kind of place with mismatched furniture and local art on the walls and a menu full of creative coffee drinks with names like "The Philosopher's Brew" and "Existential Espresso."

"Okay, this is cute," I admitted as we walked in.

"Right? I found it a few months ago when I was exploring the neighborhood. Figured it was a good resting point." He led me to a corner table by the window. "Let's do something unique. Since this is a date, we should act like we don't know each other."

"Hm. If that's the case, I should probably start yelling since some weird stranger is trying to lead me into a café I'd never been to."

"Haha," He replies sarcastically. "Go on. Tell me something I don't know about you."

I thought about it as I scanned the menu. He was putting me on the spot; it was hard to come up with some interesting fact about myself. "I've been having recurring dreams about being on a stage but forgetting all the words to my songs."

"Sheesh. That's anxiety, not a fun fact."

"Fine. Um..." I searched my brain for something interesting. "I secretly taught myself to play the cello last year but gave up after two weeks because I didn't have time to practice."

"Oh, now that's interesting. Why the cello?"

I sighed. "Because if you're liberal enough, 'cello' sounds a bit like 'Celeste', and I figured that meant that me and the cello I bought would totally end up having a connection."

Parker laughs heartily. "You can be really vain sometimes, Cee."

"Hey, at least I actually liked the instrument's sound! But then...I got busy with other stuff and it just sat in the corner of my room judging me."

"Should I start calling you Cello-este in light of this new information?"

"Not if you want to live beyond 25, obviously."

He ignores me and taps his fingertips on the tabletop. "Ah. My turn. Something you don't know about me: I've been trying to make a game lately."

"What?!"

"Okay, I lied. It's actually just a visual novel. I'm not smart enough to learn coding and all that jazz."

"Still impressive."

"It is, until you realize I've been putting a heavy emphasis on try, and I haven't actually finished it yet. Despite initially having the idea for it several months ago."

"Hmm. What is the visual novel about?"

"Nothing serious, just... when I can't sleep, I write these little scenes. Or character sketches. Dialogue." He looked almost embarrassed admitting it. "It's probably terrible."

"I doubt that. I mean it."

***

We talked for over an hour, the conversation flowing easily from topic to topic. He told me about his favorite movies and why he thought they worked. I told him about the songs I'd been listening to on repeat. We debated whether pineapple belonged on pizza (he said yes, I said absolutely not), argued about which Sunset Heart scene was the most cringe-worthy, and discovered we both had an irrational fear of escalators.

"Wait, you too?" I said, laughing. "Why?"

"There's something about the moving steps and the way they disappear into the floor. It's unnatural. One wrong move and you're getting swallowed by a mechanical staircase."

"Exactly! Everyone thinks I'm crazy when I take the stairs instead."

"We can be crazy together."

It felt easy. Natural. Like we were just two friends hanging out, except there was something else underneath—a warmth, an awareness of each other that made every accidental touch of hands or shared smile feel significant.

After the café, Parker took us to a small amusement park on the edge of the city. Not one of the big theme parks with massive roller coasters, but a vintage-style park with a Ferris wheel and carousel and games where you could win oversized stuffed animals.

"This is perfect," I said, taking in the colorful lights and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. 

"How did you find this place?"

"I'm a man of mystery and excellent Google skills." He bought us tickets, and we wandered through the park, trying different games and rides.

Parker won me a small stuffed bear at the ring toss—it took him six tries and cost way more than the bear was worth, but he was determined. I failed spectacularly at the balloon dart game, missing every single balloon despite my very careful aim.

"You're overthinking it," Parker said, watching me line up another shot.

"I'm being precise."

"You're being Celeste." He moved behind me, gently adjusting my stance and helping me aim. His hands were warm on my arms, and I was suddenly very aware of how close he was. "Just feel it. Don't think so hard."

I threw the dart, and it popped a balloon.

"See?" His voice was soft, close to my ear. "Sometimes you have to stop thinking and just do."

We moved apart, but my skin tingled where he'd touched me. 

We rode the Ferris wheel as the sun started to set, the sky painted in shades of pink and orange. At the top, Parker pointed out different landmarks in the distance, narrating an increasingly ridiculous story about each one.

"And that building there? That's where the great Pizza Rebellion of 2019 started. Pineapple supporters versus traditionalists. It got ugly."

I laughed, the sound surprised out of me. "You're ridiculous."

"You're smiling though."

"I smile at a lot of ridiculous things."

***

By the time we got back in the car, it was late and I was pleasantly exhausted. The kind of tired that comes from actually having fun instead of just completing tasks.

"So," Parker said as we started moving through a blur of city lights and street signs. "Did you get what you needed? For the song?"

"I think so. Yeah." I leaned my head back against the seat. "This was really nice, Parker. Thank you."

"Anytime."

We rode in silence for a while. I found myself thinking about the day—not in an analytical way, but just replaying moments. The way he'd looked embarrassed telling me about his writing. The warmth of his hands on my arms. That smile at the top of the Ferris wheel.

Parker glanced over at me. "You okay? You got quiet."

"Yeah, just thinking."

"About the song?"

"Sort of." I hesitated, then decided honesty was easier than deflection. "Actually, I got some annoying news yesterday. From my label."

"What happened?"

"The single I wanted to release—the one I'd been working on for months—they scrapped it. Said it wasn't 'commercial' enough." I felt the frustration rising again, even though I'd tried to push it down all day. "They want me to lead with a love song instead because of all the buzz around us dating. Something that capitalizes on the timing."

Parker was quiet, processing this. "And that's why you needed to write the love song."

"Yeah. It wasn't just writer's block. It was... I had a whole vision for this album, you know? And now they're making me change it because it's more marketable." I sighed. In a way, I should probably be happy that the album is getting made in the first place. I was getting the feeling that I was always going to be in the backburner, and this was the first time in ages that I genuinely felt like my label actually believed in me. Still, I couldn't help but feel upset.

"That really sucks, Cee. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's the industry. I knew what I was signing up for." But my voice betrayed me, cracking slightly on the last word.

"It's not fine if it's making you this upset." 

"There's nothing to talk about. I just have to write the song they want and move forward."

"Celeste."

Somehow, the way he said my name this time broke through my defenses.

"I'm just tired of feeling like I have no control over my own art. They want me to be marketable and on-trend and palatable, and I'm trying, I really am. But sometimes I just want to make the music I want to make without worrying about streaming numbers and social media potential."

"That's valid."

"And the worst part is, the whole reason I 'retired' from acting was because I was tired of not having any creative control; you know, when you're acting, you're at the mercy of the director, the script, your co-stars, and all other things. But I thought if I pursued this, I would have more control about the way I wanted my career to be like."

I looked outside the window thoughtfully. "I just had a lot of unrealistic expectations, I guess."

"Your music is good because it's authentic to you," he said. "Whether you're writing a love song or something else, that authenticity is what people connect with. So write the love song, but write it your way. Make it something you're proud of, not just something that checks their boxes."

We sat there in the car in silence after that. I felt some of the tension drain from my shoulders. Parker had a way of making things feel less overwhelming just by being present, by listening without trying to fix everything.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "For today. For listening. For... everything."

"Of course."

The car makes a turn to the left, and my apartment complex was already peeking into view. "Ah, it's pretty late. I'm sorry that I kept you up so late, Cee."

I looked at the clock—nearly midnight. And suddenly the thought of going home to my empty apartment, of being alone with my thoughts and my laptop and the pressure of writing a song I wasn't sure I wanted to write, felt overwhelming.

"Actually," I said, "it's really late, and you've been trying to cheer me up all day. I bet you're tired from today too."

He shakes his head. "It's not really a big deal. Don't worry."

I didn't know how to phrase it without coming across as weird, so I just said it as fast as possible: "Do you want to just stay over?"