Chapter Text
Phototropic Response
Parker
Okay okay okay—lunch crowd. Why were there so many people? Parker checked his watch—12:47, shit. Thirteen minutes to get to Rosien's studio and honestly that was totally doable if everyone just, you know, moved a little faster and if—excuse me, sorry!—the lights cooperated and nobody stopped him for small talk.
"Excuse me! So sorry, just squeezing past!" He ducked around a woman whose shopping bags were effectively blockading the sidewalk. She shifted maybe an inch. He flashed her a grateful smile anyway.
He’d been awake since 4:30 AM. He could still taste the eggs Isaac had insisted on cooking him at dawn—bless Isaac, honestly, but who eats an omelet before the sun is up? Then the publishing house, then the video call with his mom while power-walking, and now... whatever this was.
A "business meeting" with Rosien. Right. And if that ran long, he’d be late for the Oakridge board meeting at 2:30, which simply wasn't an option.
After that, he had three more commitments stacked in neat, unforgiving blocks until 9 PM, because apparently rest was for people who knew how to say no.
He checked his phone at the crosswalk. Of course the group chat had thirty-nine new messages. Parker scrolled up just enough to get context.
Luke: [photo attachment]
Luke: exhibit is almost ready for the opening
Mallory: The third frame is crooked. :(
Sol: why is my portrait in the corner???
Sol: 😡
Parker: 👍
There. Contribution achieved. Team player.
The text from Rosien was still sitting in his inbox:
Need to meet with you about something important. Studio at 1:00. It's a professional matter. Please confirm!!
"Professional matter." Dude. Who talks like that? Not Rosien. Rosien was the guy who sent him memes at 3 AM and called him to scream about 808 drums.
It felt wrong. Like, ‘bad news’ wrong, or maybe just ‘help me with something’ wrong. Parker had tried calling twice, but nothing. Just a terse text: Can't talk. Explain when you get here.
The crosswalk signal flashed to walk. Parker basically jogged, dodging some courier on an electric bike who ran the red light. Three more blocks. He'd make it.
The studio building loomed ahead, all big windows and renovated brick. He nodded to the doorman—nice guy, Parker needed to remember to get him a Christmas card this year—and made a beeline for the elevators.
He squeezed in next to three people who were all aggressively staring at their phones. Parker stared at the floor numbers and tried to switch brains.
The Oakridge meeting. He needed to be ready for the budget review. The treasurer was going to try to cut the Young Songwriters Grant again—he just knew it. He started whispering his argument under his breath.
Point one: It's good PR. Point two: If you cut the funding for the kids, Gerald, you have no soul.
Okay. Maybe don't say the soul part out loud. Stick to the metrics.
The elevator dinged at the third floor. Half the people got out. Parker shifted his weight.
12:55.
Five minutes. Just enough time to catch his breath but not enough to grab coffee. Rosien better have a fresh pot going.
The doors opened on the fifth floor. The hallway was quiet. Parker walked quickly to Studio 5B. He could see light spilling from beneath the door, and his stomach did this weird nervous thing.
They barely saw each other lately—calendars, life, the usual chaos—but it usually felt easy. This didn't feel easy.
12:58. Right on time.
He paused, hand raised to knock. He took a breath. Quick prayer—just a reflex, really. God, please let this be something I can fix. Let me be useful here.
Old habit. His dad would be pleased.
Parker ran a hand through his hair. The blue dye was fading; he needed a touch-up soon. He straightened his shoulders and knocked twice.
Parker had expected an empty studio. Instead, he walked into a wake.
Rosien was perched on the edge of his production desk. Rini stood by the soundboard, arms crossed, looking like he was about to sue someone. Valentine was leaning against the back wall, calm and terrifyingly still.
“Hey,” Parker said, closing the door behind him. “Who died? No, but seriously, why are we standing in the dark?”
"Thanks for coming," Rosien cut in, his voice steadier than his fingers, which were shredding the life out of a pen. His hair—neon green this week—looked even louder against how pale he was. “We need to talk. It's... big.”
Parker's gaze bounced between the three of them.
“What’s going on?” he asked, setting his bag down but not taking a seat. He stayed standing, one eye on his watch—1:02.
Rini stepped forward. "Rosien signed a contract with Silverline Records," he said. "A big one. But there's a catch."
"Multiple catches," Valentine added dryly.
“A catch?”
Parker listened as they explained everything. The contract, the timeline, the clause that would—
“Wait,” Parker interrupted, trying to keep up. “So you already took the money?” His eyebrows pulled together. Rosien didn’t deserve crap like this. “Dude, have you talked to a lawyer?”
"I am the lawyer," Rini said.
Parker’s brain did the thing it always did: run. What would this mean for Rosien, what would they need, how bad was the timeline, really?
"So you need... what? Advice?" Parker asked.
Rosien looked him directly in the eyes. "We're building a company. We need a team. People we can trust. People who can actually deliver what Silverline wants."
"We need you," Rini clarified. "Your songwriting. Your connections. And frankly, your work ethic."
We need you.
"Guys," Parker said, his voice jumping a little. He laughed nervously. "Honestly? I'm flattered. Seriously. But look at this." He tapped his wrist. "My schedule is already maxed out. I've got deadlines through October, and—"
He took a step back.
"I can't take on a whole company," Parker insisted. "I can't do it halfway. That’s not how I work. The work is the... the soil, you know? You can't just plant new seeds if there's no room for the roots."
Wait, did that make sense? Whatever.
"Parker," Rosien slid off the desk. He didn't look like a producer right now. He looked like the friend Parker had spent a thousand nights with, drinking bad coffee and dreaming of making something real.
"We're not asking you to blow up your life," Rosien said quietly. "We're asking you to help us."
And there it was. Help. Fix it. Be reliable.
"The timeline's insane," he mused, thinking aloud. “Six months to build a full production company from scratch while we’re still juggling everything else.” He shook his head. “It’s not just about finding time—it’s about doing it right.”
"We wouldn't ask if we thought you couldn't handle it," Valentine said.
Parker closed his eyes. His dad always said character was about what you did when the road got steep, not when it was flat. And these were his friends. These were the guys who believed in him before anyone else did.
If they needed a miracle, well... that was kind of his specialty.
"Okay." Parker opened his eyes. “I’m in.”
Rosien’s shoulders dropped three inches.
"But," Parker raised a finger, "I have exactly seven minutes before I absolutely have to leave for the board meeting. So let’s be efficient."
Rini nodded, already pulling out his phone to make notes. “Understood.”
"What do you need from me, like, right now?" Parker asked, shifting into problem-solving mode. "I can start working on some frameworks tonight, maybe reach out to some engineers I know—"
"First, the team," Rini said. "We've got a list, but we haven’t made any calls yet."
Parker hummed in thought. Despite how impossible this sounded, a part of him was already lighting up at the challenge.
Time. He checked his watch. 1:15. “I really have to go,” he said, grabbing his bag. “Send me whatever you’ve got so far.”
Rini nodded. “I’ll text you when we decide the next step.”
Parker headed for the door, then paused. He turned back to Rosien. "We'll figure this out," he promised. "Six months is tight, but it's doable. We got this."
Rosien managed a small smile. "Thanks, Parker."
"Just doing what needs to be done, you know.”
He slipped out the door and ran.
Parker slid into the Oakridge Foundation conference room at exactly 2:29 PM, collar slightly askew but his presentation materials perfectly organized. The room was already filled with board members.
He adjusted his tie, took a steadying breath, and scanned the faces around the oak table. His practiced smile dropped the second his eyes landed on Sol. There he was near the center of the table, looking unusually attentive in a fitted black button-down. Of course he was here. How had Parker managed to forget that?
In the far corner, partially obscured by the executive director, sat Octavius, red hair falling over one eye as he sketched something in a leather-bound notebook. He looked rougher than usual, shadows under his eyes visible even from across the room. Parker filed it under ‘worry about later,’ and took the last empty seat—which, by some cosmic joke, was directly across from Sol.
"Perfect timing, as always," said the chairwoman, a retired theater director with impeccable silver hair and a voice that could carry to the back row of any venue without amplification. "We were just about to begin."
Parker set down his portfolio. Rosien’s mess was still pressing at the back of his mind, but years of compartmentalizing allowed him to tuck it away. He offered another professional smile. "Traffic was on my side today."
"For once," Sol added, his voice carrying that perpetual note of amusement that always made Parker swallow. "You look like you ran here, though."
Parker ignored him—tried to—and pulled out his notes.
The meeting started with updates from the scholarship committee. The chairwoman launched into the month’s program budget, and Parker slid into autopilot: nod at the right moments, write a few bullet points, throw in one well-considered suggestion about restructuring the mentorship initiative so nobody asked if he was okay.
But despite his best efforts, he could not stop noticing Sol.
It wasn’t just the way Sol leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, or how he absently twisted a silver ring around his index finger. It was the whole presence of him—the way he’d suddenly lean forward when he spoke, the stupidly good timing in his comments, the constellation of moles running from his jaw down his neck and disappearing under his collar.
When Sol stood to present his department's proposal, Parker found himself watching the way his hands moved as he emphasized each point. The sunlight from the window caught the auburn in Sol's hair, and Parker's body did that stupid lurching thing again. His pencil stilled on the page.
Damn it. Stop. Looking.
He forced his gaze down and made himself read the bullet points. The lines doubled, then smeared. This—this right here—was why he hated working with Sol.
Why is he always... so much? Just ignore him. Focus.
Parker shifted in his seat, his collar suddenly too tight. He reminded himself why letting Sol get to him was a bad idea. Sol was chaos personified, pushing every button just to see what Parker would do. No filter, no sense of propriety.
“Parker? Your thoughts on this proposal?” The chairwoman’s voice snapped him back.
He blinked, scrambling for what they’d just been talking about. Outreach program. Right. He cleared his throat and pulled from his prep, giving a neat little answer about community engagement metrics that seemed to satisfy her.
Sol caught his eye from across the table and smirked, as if he knew exactly where Parker's thoughts had been wandering. Parker looked away, heat creeping up his neck.
Remember the rules, dude.
Octavius spoke up from his corner, voice softer than Parker remembered, tossing out a clean point about arts funding that made half the table nod. Parker watched him for a moment; he looked… thinner, somehow, his usual sharp edges sanded down. Octavius caught him looking and gave a quick, tired sort of nod before going back to his sketching.
The meeting rolled on. Parker did his part: answered questions, stacked follow-ups in his head. Years of practice made it easy to keep the smile in place, the tone steady, even while his thoughts kept skidding between budget lines, Rosien’s contract, and the fact that Sol was still sitting three feet away.
By the time they reached the next agenda item, his breathing had mostly evened out. He kept his eyes on the chairwoman, on his notes, on the slides—anywhere but on the dude who somehow managed to occupy too much space in any room they shared.
The chairwoman's voice faded into background noise as Parker's phone vibrated against his thigh. Either an emergency, or it could wait.
He finished jotting down a note about donor recognition before discreetly sliding the phone from his pocket. The screen lit up with Rini's name.
Parker read the message under the table:
Okay, Parker. First assignment. Need you to get Sol on board for the project. His talent is essential, plus you already work together constantly. Handle ASAP.
Parker rocked slightly in his chair. Recruit Sol? Was Rini serious? His thumb hovered over the reply button, a dozen objections lining up. Of all the people Rini could’ve picked, he’d chosen the one person Parker couldn’t have a normal conversation with. The one person who made his skin feel two sizes too small.
Parker risked a glance across the table at Sol, who was absently drawing patterns on his notepad while the financial director—Gerald— droned on about allocations. The light caught the line of his jaw, the small curl of hair at the nape of his neck. Parker looked away fast.
Absolutely not. Not today.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and shoved the whole thing onto the already overloaded ‘later’ stack in his brain. Maybe Rini would come to his senses and throw Sol at Valentine instead. Or better yet, just handle it himself.
When the chairwoman finally closed her portfolio and declared the meeting adjourned, Parker let out a slow breath and started stacking his notes.
Across the room, Octavius had cornered the CEO by the windows. Their voices were low, Octavius’s shoulders tight. Parker caught stray words—“leaving the project,” “creative differences.” Octavius’s hands were wrapped around what looked like resignation papers. Parker filed that away too, one more problem jammed into an already overloaded day.
"In a rush as always, Peter?" came the amused voice just behind him.
Parker turned to find Sol leaning against the table, arms crossed, his whole body tipped into Parker’s space like it lived there. Too close—warm, too sweet. Burnt sugar on sun-hot skin and cigarette smoke. Jesus Christ.
"It's Parker," he corrected automatically, though he knew Sol used the wrong name intentionally. "And yes, I have another meeting in forty minutes across town."
Sol practically beamed. His whole face shifted into something bright and stupidly charming. “Always so busy. Do you ever just… stop?” He reached out and straightened Parker’s tie, and Parker’s lungs forgot how to work for a second.
Parker stepped back. "Some of us have schedules to keep.”
"Schedules, schedules," Sol teased, copying Parker’s serious tone. “You know what they say about all work and no play…” He leaned in, dropping his voice. “It makes Parker a very tense boy.”
The heat crept up Parker's neck, spreading to his cheeks. Nope. Too close. Way too close. He gripped the edge of the table.
"Rosien's starting a company," he blurted, the words tumbling out.
Sol blinked, actually thrown for a second. “What?”
Parker hadn’t meant to say it—the recruitment task was supposed to be a ‘later’ problem—but now that the words were out, he kept going. “A production company. Full-service. They’re looking for performers.” He took a quick breath. “Good ones.”
"Rosien's starting a company? What are you talking about? What kind of performers?" Sol’s face moved from confusion to curiosity, the teasing dropping out of his voice. He tilted his head. “Is that where you ran off to before this meeting?”
Parker nodded, mind racing to turn this into an actual pitch now that he’d opened his mouth. “It’s… it’s a big opportunity. Like, Silverline Records is involved.” He hesitated, then added, “They need someone with your, um… skill set.”
Sol's eyebrows rose. "My skill set? Careful, Parks, that almost sounded like a compliment." But his eyes had gone sharp; the performer in him clearly heard the word Silverline. "Tell me more."
Parker glanced around the room and dropped his voice. “I can’t give details here. But honestly, it seems big. Six-month timeline, multiple deliverables.”
Sol leaned back against the table, arms crossing again, the grin fading into something more focused. “And you think I should be part of this because…?”
"Because you're good," Parker said, already annoyed at himself. “You know it. I know it. And we’ve worked together enough that there’s like… continuity.” He straightened a little. Business he could do. “Plus, you’re already under contract with me for the Miyazawa project, so your schedule would line up.”
Sol studied him for a long moment. "So you're recruiting me? For Rosien's mysterious company?" A slow smile back on his face. "This must be killing you."
Parker felt his jaw tighten. "Are you interested or not?"
"Oh, I'm interested," Sol said, dropping into that low, teasing tone that scrambled Parker’s brain. "But only if you ask nicely."
Parker closed his eyes briefly, counting to three. "Sol. Would you please consider joining this project?"
Sol laughed, loud and delighted. “Wow, that physically hurt you, didn’t it?” He straightened, stepping in closer again. “Fine. I’m in. But on one condition.”
Parker waited, bracing himself.
"You have to admit that you can't do this without me." Sol's eyes lit up with challenge.
Parker exhaled slowly. "The project would benefit from your involvement," he managed, dragging each word out.
"Not good enough, Parky."
"Fine," Parker said through gritted teeth. "The project needs you. Happy?"
"Ecstatic. Text me the details." Sol gathered his things, then paused. "This is going to be fun.”
As Sol walked off with that loose, easy stride, Parker realized Octavius was still in the room by the window, watching them. Their eyes met for a second; Octavius’s brows lifted, something like curiosity flickering there, before he turned back to the CEO.
Parker slumped slightly. Somehow, he’d already knocked out Rini’s first assignment. He’d recruited Sol. The thought made Parker light-headed, before he shook the feeling off.
He checked his watch. Thirty-five minutes until his next appointment. Just enough time to text Rini the update and breathe.
phototropic response (n.): the directional growth of an organism in response to a light source; the involuntary compulsion to lean toward the sun