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berryispunk · 18 days ago

Text

Slow Motion

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: dual POV, slow burn, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, yearning, angst, all of it, longing, best friend! Frankie, feelings denial, soft! Frankie, everyone knows before they do, Santi and Benny are support actors in this, only allusions to smut with this one, the girlfriend is not the villain, idiots in love, kissing

summary: Best friends. Always there, never quite enough. He broke your heart without ever knowing he held it—until everything fell apart, and the only person he wanted was the one he pushed away.

word count: ~ 8k

read on ao3

You and Francisco Morales had been you and him for as long as anyone could remember. Not in the romantic, hand-holding, Sunday brunch kind of way—but in that soul-deep, private-joke, finish-each-other’s-sentences kind of way. Inseparable. A pair that moved through life side by side, facing every challenge together like you were built for it.

He was your person. You were his constant. You’d both sucked at love, made terrible choices, fallen for the wrong people, gotten burned, and picked each other up off the floor more times than you wanted to count. And somewhere along the way, you’d decided Frankie just needed a little push.

So you pushed.

Blind dates, setups, meet-cutes at your yoga class—you threw him at every semi-decent woman within a 15-mile radius like some emotionally-invested Cupid. And he let you, mostly because saying no meant watching that bright-eyed hope in you fade. And he couldn’t stomach that.

But tonight?

Tonight, you could tell, something had changed.

You pulled up to the curb outside the sad little Italian place you’d sent him to, elbow resting on the open window. “Hey, hot stuff. You survived?”

Frankie didn’t answer right away. He opened the door, flopped into the passenger seat like someone returning from battle, and just sat there, staring out at the glowing neon of the restaurant behind him.

You laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “That bad?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept staring straight ahead, jaw tight.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “Was it the weird laugh again? Or did she talk about astrology like it was a PhD?”

Frankie exhaled hard through his nose. “Can we not do this tonight?”

Your smile faltered. “I’m just asking, Frankie. You’re the one who said you wanted to meet someone.”

“No,” he snapped, turning toward you, his voice sharp. “You’re the one who decided I should meet someone.”

You blinked. “Okay... what’s your problem?”

“My problem is I’m exhausted,” he said, his voice heavy. “Tired of these setups. Tired of pretending. Tired of you pushing me into dates I never asked for.”

You sat up straighter, your frustration rising. “Excuse me? You agreed to them. I never forced you.”

“Yeah? Because every time I say no, you look at me like I’m broken. Like you’re trying to fix me.”

Your heart twisted, his words landing on your chest. “Maybe I am trying to fix you, Frankie,” you fired back. “You’ve been stuck for years—half-living, half-dating, half-everything. You don’t even try. I’m the only one who’s been in your corner this whole time, and you’re making me out to be the bad guy?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t!” you shouted, anger flooding through you like molton. “You’re mad at me for caring? For trying to help? What is this really about?”

Frankie didn’t respond, instead clenching his jaw and gripping his thighs like he was holding back something too big to say.

“Say something!” you demanded, your voice cracking with the weight of everything that had built up between you.

He finally turned to you, eyes blazing. “You want to help? Stop trying to build me a life with someone else when you don’t even know what the hell you’re taking from me.”

And then Silence. Thick, stunned silence.

You stared at him, your throat tight, heart pounding like it may jump out of your chest. “What does that mean?”

He shook his head, suddenly looking like he regretted everything. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“No, you don’t get to say something like that and then shut down,” you snapped, your voice trembling now. “Why are you acting like I’ve betrayed you? Why are you looking at me like I did something wrong?”

“Because you did,” he said, voice softer now, but still laced with fatigue. “And you don’t even see it.”

You looked at him—really looked—and felt something twist in your chest. A rift you couldn’t name but felt in every part of you, ugly and all consuming.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, more vulnerable than you meant to be.

Frankie stared at the windshield, his face tense. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and resigned. “You never do.”

You wanted to scream. Or cry. Or rewind everything to five minutes ago when it was still just you and him. But instead, you turned the key in the ignition and said nothing in return.

And for the first time since you’re hovering in each other’s orbit, the silence between you wasn’t comfortable.

It was unbearable.

Frankie didn’t sleep that night.

He sat on his couch in the dark, the TV on mute, some old movie flickering across the screen while the same sentence looped in his head: "You don’t even know what you’re taking from me."

God. He’d said it. Almost said everything. Too much—but not enough.

He dropped his head back against the couch, eyes stinging. The fight had cracked something wide open, and now he couldn’t shove it back inside. it broke free and was hovering just nearby like a giant shadow of something even bigger than both of you.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You never fought. Ever. You bickered, teased, got under each other’s skin, but you were a constant in each other’s lives. You knew when to push and when to pull back. You always knew.

Until now.

Now you were probably sitting in your apartment, running the argument over in your head the same way he was, wondering what the hell just happened—wondering why he was the one suddenly flipping the board when you’d only been trying to help.

He stood up and started pacing restlessly.

You didn’t deserve that. He’d lashed out like you’d hurt him on purpose, like it wasn’t killing you too, watching him drag himself through one failed connection after another. You were trying to give him something he couldn’t reach for. Because it wasn’t there.

Not in those other people. Only in you.

And he was such an ass to you, you. The only person in his life that kept up with all his bullshit and by some miracle didn’t leave.

Frankie grabbed his keys twice that night. Almost left. Almost showed up at your door to apologize, to explain—but what would he even say? “Hey, I’m sorry I lost it. Turns out I’m in love with you and watching you help me find someone else feels like dying."Yeah, No.

Instead, he stayed up until morning, slumped in his hoodie on the back steps of his building, smoking a cigarette he didn’t even want, tasting as bitter as the words he told you on his tongue and watched the sky change color. For the first time since you’d become friends, he didn’t know how to come back from this.

Didn’t know if there was a way back.

The night stretched on like an endless tournament—one exhausting round after another, only there was no prize at the end. Just pain. Like you were being tested for some higher purpose you couldn’t quite grasp, and you’d failed without knowing why.

He’d never been like this with you before. Sure, Frankie had a temper, always quick to boil over when something pissed him off—but never at you. Never like that. And now, all you were left with was confusion and this dull, aching hurt in your chest.

All you ever wanted was for him to be happy.

He deserved that. Deserved someone who saw past the sharp edges, the emotional clutter, the history he carried like a second skin. Because despite all of it—despite everything—Frankie Morales was one of the last real gentlemen. A dying breed. Being around him was like witnessing an extinction in slow motion, only you had front-row seats and the last perfect example sitting right there in front of you.

It’s not like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind—showing up to one of those dates and pretending to be his date instead. It had. More than once.

But every time, you chickened out. Too scared to ruin the one good thing in your life. The thing you’d somehow, miraculously, managed to hold onto.

The next morning, everything was too loud.

The clink of your coffee mug. The buzz of your phone. The way the silence in your apartment felt like it had grown teeth overnight.

You kept checking your messages like maybe he’d say something. A joke. A half-apology. Anything.

But nothing came.

Not even a stupid meme.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over his name. The little photo you took of him months ago still sat there in the corner of the screen—Frankie in his kitchen, shirt inside out, pretending to argue with a toaster. You remember thinking, this is it. This is what home feels like.

And now it just felt like you’d been locked out and someone tossed the keys.

You typed a message.

“Hey. Are we okay?”

Deleted it.

Tried again.

“I didn’t mean to push. I just…”

Backspaced until the screen was empty again.

You tossed the phone onto the couch like it had personally offended you—then immediately picked it back up. Paced the apartment. Whispered test messages under your breath like they were spells you could get right if you just said them enough times.

But eventually, something clawed its way up from inside you. Something sharp and tired and aching.

And you stopped overthinking. Stopped editing. Stopped protecting both of you from the truth that was already out there, bleeding between the cracks. Lingering.

You sank onto the edge of your bed now, change of scenery, thumb trembling slightly as you typed:

“Frankie, I don’t know what happened to us last night. But I miss you.”

And this time, you hit send.

Then you sat there, phone in your lap, staring at the floor, leg nervously bouncing as you waited for a response.

You kept your phone on loud for days.

It never buzzed. Not once.

You told yourself it was fine. Frankie just needed time. You fought, and it hit hard—maybe harder than either of you expected. Maybe he was licking his wounds. Maybe he didn’t know what to say.

But Frankie always said something. Even when it was stupid. Even when it was sideways and barely made sense, he showed up. A meme, a photo, a “you good?” that carried the weight of a whole conversation.

But this time? Nothing.

And it didn’t just sting—it unraveled you.

The texts stopped. The late-night calls and with it the way you could feel him across town without a word. It was like he'd ghosted his own life, and you were collateral damage.

Until three weeks later, Santi said it like it wasn’t a big deal.

You were helping him stack chairs after a backyard cookout, trying to pretend you weren’t checking your phone every five seconds. And Santi, half-distracted, said:

“You heard Frankie’s seeing someone, right?”

You blinked. Thought maybe you misheard him over the wind chimes or the clatter of metal legs.

“What?”

“Yeah.” Santi shrugged. “Some girl he met at that dive bar on the 14th. It’s new, but… he seems into it.”

You laughed. But it came out too sharp. Too forced. “Since when does Frankie get into anything that quickly?”

Santi paused, squinting at you, like he suddenly realized you hadn’t known. That maybe he’d said too much.

“I just thought—he’s been MIA lately. Figured he told you.”

He hadn’t, not a single word.

And suddenly it all made sense. The silence. The distance. Why he never answered your message. Why it felt like you’d been cut out without ceremony, like a chapter he just skipped over.

It wasn’t like it was with you. You knew that. You felt that.

But it was something. Enough to pull him away. Enough to make him forget to look back.

And standing there with your hands clenched around a folding chair and your heart somewhere between your ribs and the dirt, you realized it: This was heartbreak.

Not the kind that happens when love ends— The kind that happens when it almost begins, and then doesn’t. Impending grief for a feeling, for a connection, for him.

You tried not to spiral after that.

Tried to be the cool, collected version of yourself—the one who let things roll off your back, who didn’t let silence crawl under your skin and nest there. But the truth was uglier than that. It curled up in your stomach, sick and sour, and stayed there. A constant pain you just learned to shoulder.

You stopped texting. Stopped staring at your screen like maybe it was broken.

He’d made his choice.

And you weren’t part of it.

Still, when the group chat lit up about drinks at the bar on Friday, you didn’t bail. Part of you wanted to—wanted to ghost the whole damn night and pretend you were busy or tired or just over it. But the other part, the louder one, needed to see. Needed proof that it wasn’t just in your head. That the silence hadn’t lied.

The bar was warm and loud and exactly the kind of place you used to end up in together, laughing over too many wings and trash-talking each other over darts. You walked in and found the usual suspects—Santi, Benny, Will—clustered near the back corner table.

And then you saw him.

Frankie.

He was already there. Drink in hand. Hair a little neater than usual, no cap whatsoever and a button-down that wasn’t flannel. Beside was a girl perched close. Too close.

You didn’t recognize her. She wasn’t beautiful in that cinematic way, but she had this softness about her—easy to look at, easy to fall into, maybe. Her hand brushed his arm when she laughed. And Frankie—

Frankie smiled.

Not the dumb, half-smirk he used to give you when he was being a pain in the ass. Not the tired, grateful grin that came with late-night takeout and long silences that didn’t need filling. No. This smile was different. Smaller, careful. Like he was holding something back, but offering it anyway.

And that’s when you knew.

He brought her.

To this.

To your table, your friends. The little circle that had always been you and him and everyone else orbiting around the mess you made of each other. You didn’t walk over right away. You hovered by the bar too long, pretending to wait for your drink, pretending your heart wasn’t jackhammering in your chest, pretending you hadn’t just been sucker punched without warning.

When you finally made your way over, Santi gave you a look—one part apology, two parts brace yourself—and pulled out a chair for you to sit.

Frankie’s eyes met yours for half a second. Not a word. Not a smile. Just a blink, a shift in his jaw almost unrecognizable, and then he turned back to her.

That was it.

No hey. No you good? No flicker of the person who used to make space for you without even thinking.

And you sat there, surrounded by laughter and the hum of conversation, with the hollow roar of grief in your ears. Because now you knew what it looked like—what it felt like—when someone moved on and left you behind. Frankie hadn’t just found someone new. He’d brought her into your world like you were never part of it.

And the worst part?

You couldn’t even blame him, because you were the one who told him to try. You were the one who pushed him. And now he was gone. Gone in the way that matters most—not out of your life, but out of reach.

You made it thirty-two minutes.

Thirty-two minutes of nodding along, sipping watered-down vodka, laughing too loud at things that weren’t funny, and pretending like your entire chest wasn’t about to collapse every time she touched him.

Every time he let her.

You didn’t even know her name until Will leaned over and said it like it was normal. Like it didn’t feel like a knife being twisted right under your ribs.

“Mira seems sweet, huh?”

You smiled. A tight, practiced thing. “Sure. Sweet.”

Mira.

The name tasted wrong in your mouth.

And maybe it would’ve stayed quiet—maybe you would’ve kept swallowing it all down like poison you could survive—if Mira hadn’t looked at Frankie, all wide-eyed and innocent, and asked, “How come you’ve never brought me here before?”

Before.

You heard it before he even answered. Before implied history. Ritual. Something that existed long before she did. Frankie paused, just a second. But it was enough.

“This used to be our spot,” he said, voice casual, not looking at you. Giving the words no meaning at all. “It’s been a while.”

Our.

As in you and him.

You swallowed hard and stood up too fast, chair scraping against the floor like a siren. “I need some air.”

Nobody stopped you. Not even him.

The night was warm and loud, headlights dragging down the street like slow thoughts. You didn’t make it to the curb before you heard footsteps behind you, you didn’t need to look to know it’s him.

Frankie.

“Hey,” he said. Not urgent, not guilty. “You good?”

You turned, eyes narrowed. “Do I look good?”

His jaw tightened. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say anything,” you snapped. “Anything real. Because for the past three weeks, you’ve been radio silent and now you show up with her—like I’m just some extra in your new life?”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d take it like this.”

“Like what?” Your voice rose, sharp and brittle. “Like I’m hurt? Like maybe you bringing your rebound into our space like it means nothing would actually mean something to me?”

Frankie’s eyes flashed. “It’s not a rebound.”

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s serious, huh? That’s why you brought her here—to mark your territory?”

“Stop,” he said. Quiet, but there was power in it. This voice meant no bullshit. “You don’t get to make this ugly.”

“You made it ugly the second you ghosted me.”

That shut him up.

You pushed forward, voice trembling. “You always text back. Always. Even when you’re drunk or pissed or halfway asleep. You always showed up. And now what? I’m just gone?”

Frankie’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked like he wanted to say something, then didn’t. Which pissed you off even more.

“You owe me, Frankie,” you said, stepping in close now, eyes wet but your voice firm. “You owe me honesty. Because I was there. Every time you fell apart, every time you doubted yourself, every time you needed someone—I was there. And the second you get a maybe-kind-of-working-something, I’m just background noise?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. And it cracked something in both of you.

“I didn’t know how to face you,” he admitted, raw and low. “After what I said. After how I said it. I was pissed, and I took it out on you, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“No,” you whispered,brows furrowed deep. “I didn’t.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and ugly.

Then you added, “And now you’ve got her. So I guess I was just... convenient enough”

His face twisted like you’d slapped him.

“You were never convenient,” he said, almost a whisper. “You were the constant.”

You stared at him, heart clawing at your ribs, and for one stupid second, you wanted to kiss him just to make it all go away.

But then Mira opened the bar door behind you and called out, “Hey, babe, everything okay?” her voice was so sickeningly sweet, it made your stomach turn. You didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. Frankie looked back once at her, then down at the ground like it was suddenly the only thing that made sense. He didn’t even look at you.

You stepped back, more stumbling than walking. Shaky steps, as unsafe as you felt.

“Yeah,” you said, voice steady now. Cold. “Everything’s crystal fucking clear.”

And then you walked away.

Frankie tossed and turned, stared at the ceiling, counted sheep. It wasn’t because of the heat or the creaking pipes in his apartment or Mira breathing soft and even beside him—but because your voice kept replaying in his head like a broken record.

“I was just… convenient enough.”

He’d heard a lot of things in his life. Screaming commanders. Crying civilians. Doors slamming, hearts breaking, all kinds of silence. The one that makes your ears ring and the one that makes your chest tight. But your voice cracking like that?

That was new, brutal.

He sat on the edge of the bed now, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The digital clock blinked 3:47 a.m in an alarming red light. Mira shifted behind him, half-asleep.

“You okay, babe?” she mumbled, barely conscious.

“Yeah,” he said. Automatically. Out of habit, out of guilt. “Just need some water.”

He got up, padded barefoot into the kitchen, and stood there in the dark, palms braced on the countertop like it was the only thing holding him up.

There was a photo stuck to the fridge—one you’d taken. Him and Santi arm-wrestling at your place, stupid grins on their faces, half a beer spilled in the corner of the frame. He remembered you laughing behind the camera, saying “Act natural, idiots.”

He hadn’t taken it down, he couldn’t.

He grabbed a glass but didn’t fill it. Just stood there, staring into vast nothingness, thinking of you. How you didn’t yell until the end. How you didn’t cry until he turned away. How you said “crystal fucking clear” like you meant it.

And for the first time, it hit him:

You weren’t mad because he was dating someone. You were mad because he’d shut you out. You were hurt because he made you feel replaceable.

But you weren’t. God, you weren’t, you never could be.

You were the one person who saw through all his bullshit and still stuck around. You were the reason he even considered fixing himself. Not for you—but because when you believed in him, he started thinking maybe he could believe in himself too.

He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand into his eye sockets like he could rub the image of you out of his head. Didn’t work. You were everywhere.

In the mug you left once and he never returned. In the hoodie Mira kept asking about—"Whose is this?" your scent still clinging to it. In the way he couldn’t laugh at dumb memes anymore without checking if you’d seen them too.

Frankie Morales was in a relationship, sure.

But he was in love with someone who wouldn’t even look at him now.

And he only had himself to blame.

The next morning, he made breakfast. French toast, Strawberries on the side, just how Mira liked them. He kissed her shoulder while she sipped her coffee and made her laugh hard enough to snort. He was attentive. Present. Trying his best to silence the ghost in the room that only he could feel.

And when she asked, softly, cautiously, “You okay? You’ve been a little... distant,”

He smiled and lied. “I’m good. Better than I’ve been in a long time.”

She lit up. Actually lit up. And the worst part? She bought it.

Hook, line, and sinker.

And Frankie hated himself for how easy the lie slipped out.

It was supposed to be game night. You showed up late on purpose—half hoping maybe he wouldn't be there, half terrified that he would. But the second you walked in and saw him sitting on the couch, hand resting on the back of her chair, like it was the most natural thing in the world?

Your heart dropped.

You tried not to stare. Tried not to see it. The way her laugh came easy. The way Frankie leaned in to say something just for her, close enough to catch the scent of her hair. How she reached for his knee when she laughed too hard at something Benny said. He’d never brought girls to this. Not game nights. Not Sunday barbecues. Not this space—the one sacred little pocket of your friendship he used to keep just for the people who knew him best.

For you.

Your chest tightened like someone was wringing out your lungs.

He glanced at you once, a flick of the eyes, and then quickly away like it burned. No smile. No wave. Just... nothing. Like he hadn’t spent the last few years orbiting your every step. Like you weren’t the one who held him through half of his worst nights. Like that fight didn’t leave a crater between you big enough to swallow this whole damn room.

Santi handed you a beer. You didn’t even remember asking for one.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah, fine.”

But your hand shook when you took a sip, and you hoped no one noticed.

Mira laughed again. Loud, beautiful, perfect. And Frankie ? He laughed with her. Not that half-hearted chuckle he used to do when dates didn’t land. This one was full. Real.

You excused yourself to the kitchen before you could break down in front of everyone.

You barely made it in there before the tears started.

Silent at first—just a sting in your eyes, a tightness in your throat. You braced your hands against the counter, trying to breathe through it, trying not to fall apart like some cliché in a movie. But it wasn’t just heartbreak—it was the kind of grief that comes when someone doesn’t die, they just stop being yours.

And then you heard footsteps.

Santi.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just came up beside you, leaned his hip against the counter, and cracked open a beer like he hadn’t just walked in on a silent breakdown.

Then, quietly, observed like he always was. “Yeah... I figured this would happen.”

Your lip trembled, and you shook your head, wiping under your eyes quickly like it might hide the mess.

“I’m fine,” you lied even if your voice betrayed you in its thinness.

“You’re not,” he said gently. “And it’s okay. You don’t have to be.”

That broke something. A small, shattering sound in your chest. You let out a breath that turned into a sob and folded into him before you could stop yourself. Santi pulled you in without hesitation. No questions. no pressure. Just arms that held tight and steady while your shoulders shook, his hand on the back of your head.

“I didn’t think he’d really...” you started, but the rest dissolved into his shirt.

Santi rubbed slow circles on your back. “I know. None of us did.”

You stayed like that for a moment, tucked against him, letting his steady presence fade out some of the noise when another voice cut through the quiet.

“Jesus,” Benny muttered from the doorway. “He’s a goddamn idiot.”

You laughed against Santi’s shoulder, the sound more broken than amused. “Don’t say that. She’s not the problem.”

“I’m not talking about her,” Benny said, stepping inside. “I’m talking about him. He’s sitting out there like you never existed. That’s not Frankie. Not the one I know at least.”

Santi nodded. “He’s... stuck. Pretending so hard he forgot he’s not that good at it.”

And they didn’t say it—no one said it—but you all knew exactly who Frankie used to be good at pretending with. You. He never had to.

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, trying to pull yourself together. “I don’t want to ruin the night.”

“You’re not,” Santi said firmly.

“You showing up tonight?” Benny asked. “That made the night.”

You offered a shaky smile, grateful even if you couldn’t quite show it yet.

Out in the living room, you could still hear Mira’s laugh. Still hear Frankie’s voice, low and warm and not at all the boy who used to show up at your door at 2 a.m., asking if you had Pop-Tarts and time. And maybe everyone thought he’d moved on. Maybe he thought he had, too. But if he had even glanced toward the kitchen just once—he would’ve seen the other two important people in his life holding up the one person he’d forgotten how to hold.

Nobody prepares you for the call you get late at night when you were supposed to sleep, telling you that your dad is in the hospital because of a heart attack, his condition critical.

Frankie sat on the edge of the bed, hands in his hair, breathing like he’d forgotten how. Mira stirred beside him, mumbled something soft and half-asleep, but it barely registered. The words from the phone call were still ringing in his ears like a fire alarm.

Chest pain. Ambulance. Unresponsive for two minutes.

His first instinct wasn’t to shake Mira awake.It wasn’t to call his mom, or Benny, or even Santi. It was you.

His hand moved before his brain could stop it—phone unlocked, your name already pulled up in the recents even though it had been weeks. His thumb hovered over the call button like it had muscle memory. Because in every other version of this moment—in every other emergency, every broken-down car, every fight, every loss—it had always been you.

He didn’t call. Not right away. He just stared at your name, and the photo next to it—blurry, laughing, eyes shining from that road trip last year when the AC broke and you threatened to abandon him on the side of the highway.

And that’s when it hit him, hard, fast and cold:

This isn’t a best friend anymore. This is the first person I think of when my world ends.

His hand recoiled from the phone, like it bit him.

Mira was sitting up now, rubbing her eyes. “Frankie? What’s going on?”

“My dad,” he said, voice as hollow as he felt. “He’s in the hospital.”

She was by his side in a second, hands on his shoulders, asking the right things, offering to come with him. She said all the things a good girlfriend should say, but they didn’t land.

Because all he could think about was you. Not just because you would’ve been there in a heartbeat—but because you’d know what to say. Because you’d reach for his hand before he asked. Because you’d sit beside him in that sterile waiting room and not talk unless he needed you to. Because with you, he wouldn’t have to explain what this felt like. You just… would.

And that’s when it shifted. In a way that couldn’t be undone. It wasn’t about dating, or jealousy, or the fight, or Mira. It wasn’t even about the timing anymore.

It was about truth and for the first time in weeks, it crushed him.

The fluorescent lights in the waiting room buzzed low, mechanical. Too bright for a place this heavy with dread. Frankie sat hunched over in a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, staring at the tiled floor like it owed him something—answers, maybe. A break. Mira had gone to grab coffee, or air, or space. She hadn’t specified and he hadn’t asked.

And then he heard your voice.

Soft, tentative.

“Frankie?”

He didn’t look up at first. Thought maybe his brain had conjured you again—just like it had when he’d scrolled past your name in his phone and nearly called you on instinct, like some kind of survival response. But then you were closer and right in front of him.

There, not just an imagination. Real.

Hair in this messy bun you always did when you couldn’t be bothered to straighten it. Eyes wide and red-rimmed like you’d cried in the car before coming in. Like the thought of him hurting still cracked you open even if he hurt you first.

“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “Santi told me. I just— I needed to be here.”

His breath caught. Not because you were there. Not even because you showed up without needing to be asked. But because part of him had known you would. Even now. Even after everything.

“You didn’t have to come,” he muttered, but it came out hoarse. Hollow, useless.

“I know.” You sat down beside him anyway. Close, but not touching. “But I wanted to.”

Frankie didn’t know what to say. His hands shook. He dug his nails into his palms like that could stop the ache building under his ribs. But it was too much, everything was too much.

“I can’t lose him,” he said, voice cracking on the last word.

And that’s when you moved. No hesitation. Just reached for him, pulled him in like you’d done a hundred times before. Only this time it broke him.

His arms wrapped around your waist and he buried his face in your shoulder and for the first time since he got that call, Frankie cried. Not loud, not dramatic. Just silent, shaking tears against the only person who ever made him feel like he was allowed to fall apart.

You held him, steady and firm. Holding his broken pieces together like you always did. Your hand in his hair, your breath steady and close. No questions, no anger, no I-told-you-so.

Just you, the one constant that always has been there and it all made it worse. Because this wasn’t Mira. This wasn’t temporary comfort, this was home. And he’d spent weeks pretending it wasn’t.

You were still holding him when Mira walked back in. Frankie’s face hidden in your neck. His hands clutching the back of your sweatshirt like he’d sink without you. His entire body folded into yours in that desperate, wordless way that doesn’t look like friendship. It looks like gravity.

She stopped mid-step.

You didn’t see her at first. You just whispered, “I’m here, okay?” and brushed your fingers through his hair the way you always did when things got bad.

But Frankie did see her and lifted his head. Eyes glassy, face streaked with silent tears, breathing uneven. His gaze locked on Mira—and in that instant, everything in the room went still. Her expression didn’t crack. Not really,not yet. But her eyes said enough.

This wasn’t the grief of a girlfriend who’d been left out. It was the grief of a woman realizing she’d never been in.

“I brought you coffee,” she said, voice tight, like she was reading a script someone handed her last minute. Frankie stood up too fast. Swiped at his face like he could erase what she saw. “Mira, it’s not—”

She held up her hand. Calm, composed. Kind.

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “You don’t owe me a performance.”

You stepped back instinctively, putting space between you and Frankie like that might fix it. Like that might soften the blow. But Mira wasn’t stupid, she wasn’t cruel, either. She just nodded, a silent resignation and set the coffee on the table beside him, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“You should’ve called her first,” she said. “I think we both know that.”

Then she left.

No big scene. No yelling. Just the hollow echo of her footsteps down the hallway and the sound of a door swinging closed behind her. Frankie didn’t move.He just stood there, looking at the coffee, shoulders stiff like they were holding the rest of him. And you?

You didn’t say I told you so or she deserved more or what are you doing even if you had every right to. You just picked up the damn coffee, pressed it into his hands, and whispered, “Drink, you’re shaking.”

And he did, even in the wreckage, in the fallout of his silence, you stayed.

It was sometime after 2 a.m. when you finally convinced Frankie to sit down again.

The ICU floor had gone still, lights dimmed, nurses moving in hushed, practiced rhythm behind sliding glass. No updates. Just waiting. You were still there. So was Santi—sitting cross-legged on the floor with a vending machine coffee and a million-miles-away stare. Benny had shown up with tacos no one asked for, claiming ‘grief makes you hungry’ and refused to leave since.

Nobody asked questions. Not about Mira, not about crying. Not even about the way Frankie hadn’t let go of your hand since you laced your fingers through his hours ago.

Santi finally passed him a coffee. “Still hot. Miracle of science.”

Frankie took it with both hands. “Thanks.” His soft brown eyes full of sorrow.

Benny threw an arm around the back of the chair beside him, stretching like he owned the room. Typical. “Listen, Morales, I know it’s not a great time, but if your old man pulls through and you don’t tell him we all waited like a bunch of loyal golden retrievers, I’m gonna start charging emotional support fees.”

That pulled the smallest breath of a laugh out of Frankie, which was the point. You gave Benny a grateful look over Frankie’s shoulder. He winked and shoved a half-eaten taco into his mouth like it was his life’s mission.

Santi leaned forward, arms on his knees. “You good on food? Water? Want me to harass a nurse?”

Frankie shook his head, lips pressed tight. Then softer, “Thanks, man.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” you said, your thumb brushing lightly against his. “This is what we do.”

Frankie didn’t answer. But his grip tightened. Because he felt it—the thing that held him upright. It wasn’t Mira. It wasn’t some illusion of romance or a picture-perfect fix.

It was this. You, Santi and Benny.

People who’d sit with him in fluorescent hallways all night long. Who didn’t flinch at his mess. Who knew him and stayed anyway. Chosen family. And for the first time since he got that call, Frankie felt the sharp edge of loneliness dull just enough to breathe.

You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until the nurse smiled.

“He’s stable,” she said gently, as if the words might shatter in the air. “It’ll be a long road, but he made it through the worst.”

Frankie didn’t react at first. He just sat there, staring at the tiles like he hadn’t heard her. Then something in his shoulders sagged. His whole body exhaled. Like the fear that had been coiled so tightly in him all night finally let go.

You touched his arm. Lightly. Carefully. “He’s okay,” you said. And the words felt like a blessing.

Santi clapped him on the back, eyes tired but warm. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Get some rest if you can.”

Benny stood, stretched like a lazy cat, then leaned down and pressed his knuckles into Frankie’s shoulder. “Try not to emotionally combust while we’re gone. I’ve bonded with your old man now—I’m personally invested.”

They left without needing to be told. That’s what family does.

The quiet that followed was heavy. It settled over the waiting room in soft waves—early sunlight through the blinds, the hum of machines, the lingering tension that hadn’t quite disappeared with the good news. Frankie hadn’t let go of your hand all night, it’s been sweaty and uncomfortable at times but you wouldn’t say anything. But suddenly he let loose and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes trained on the floor.

“You didn’t have to come.” You swallowed hard.

“Don’t say that.”

He didn’t look at you. “I called her first.”

Your heart twisted, but you kept your voice steady. “Of course you did.”

“No,” he said. “I wanted to call you.”

He said it like it was a confession. Like it cost him something to get it out.

“I started dialing,” he went on, “but I hung up. I told myself it wasn’t fair. That I couldn’t ask you to show up again—not after everything I’ve already taken.”

You stayed quiet, let him speak.

“I tried,” he said, voice breaking. “I tried so fucking hard to move on. To convince myself that Mira was good, that she made sense. That she could be the person I needed.”

He finally looked at you and it took all your air out of your lungs.

“And she’s not you, she’ll never be.”

The words slammed into you. Hard and simple and impossible to miss.

“I thought I could keep it buried. That if I never said it out loud, I could live with it. But when I got the call about my dad, when I thought I might lose him—I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. The only person I wanted was you.”

You couldn’t breathe for a second. Couldn’t think.

Frankie scrubbed a hand over his face, tears in his eyes he didn’t bother hiding anymore. “I don’t expect anything. I know I wrecked it. I just… I needed you to know. Because if I lost him and never told you the truth, I don’t think I could’ve carried that.”

You reached out before your brain caught up, threading your fingers through his again, lifting it up to your lips and kissed his knuckles.

He looked smaller like this. Not weak, just real. Raw. All things he never let anyone see except you. You didn’t say anything. Because some truths didn’t need answers right away—they just needed air. And this one, between you and him, was finally breathing.

It didn’t happen in a single moment. There was no dramatic speech, no fireworks. No declarations in the rain.

Just… quiet.

The kind that came with knowing someone inside and out. The kind that had always lived between you.

A few days after the hospital, you showed up at his door with two coffees and a bag of something warm, and he didn’t question it. Just stepped aside and let you in like you’d never left. You curled up on the couch, tucked your legs under you like you always did, and when your fingers brushed reaching for the remote, you didn’t move away. Neither did he.

After that, it was movie nights again. Grocery runs together. Your hoodie hanging off the back of his kitchen chair. Your hair in his sink. He never asked you to stay, but you did.Until one day, you just… were. A part of his , his rhythm, his everything, like you always were, just without holding back now. Frankie wasn’t afraid to name it anymore.

No one asked questions. Not Benny, not Santi. Maybe because they’d all seen it before he had. Maybe because it was written all over both your faces the second the storm passed.

You were all at Benny’s one night—barbecue smoke thick in the air, beers half-drunk, someone playing music off an old speaker—and you were curled into his side like gravity had always meant for it. Your head on his shoulder, a small gesture but so monumental to him.

And Santi, mouth full of ribs, just grinned and muttered, “Finally.”

Frankie looked over at him. “What?”

“You two. Took you long enough. Benny and I had a whole betting pool.”

Benny snorted. “I lost, by the way. Thought it’d take ‘till Christmas.”

You laughed into his shoulder. Warm and soft and unmistakably you. Frankie rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile pulling at his mouth. “Real supportive friends I’ve got.”

Benny raised his bottle. “We’re rooting for you, Morales. Doesn’t mean we can’t roast you while we do it.”

Later, after the sun dipped low and the night got quieter, you tugged him out onto Benny’s balcony. Just the two of you. The city stretched out in front of you, all hazy lights and faraway sounds. You leaned on the railing beside him, arms brushing against each other.

“I know you were a bit slow at times,” you said, eyes on the skyline. “But this… this was slow motion.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I had a lot of shit in my head, okay?”

“I know,” you said, voice softer now. “But I was right there.”

He turned to you. Took in your face, lit by the dim glow of porch light and stars above you. That expression he’d always known but only just let himself hold onto.

“You’ve always been there,” he echoed.

And then he kissed you.

Not like the end of something, not even like the start. His hands in your hair, your mouth meeting his like it already knew the shape of him. Slow, sure and welcoming.

The sun eased into the room slowly and quiet, like it knew better than to speak after the kind of night that changed everything.

You lay on your side, tangled in sheets that still smelled like him—like heat and skin and something you’d waited years to have. Frankie was asleep beside you, one arm stretched toward where your body had just been, hand curled loose on the pillow as if even in sleep he couldn’t let you go too far.

You reached for him instinctively, fingers brushing the curve of his shoulder, then trailing down his arm like you were retracing last night’s map.

It played like a movie behind your eyes. His hands, his mouth, the way he said your name like it broke something open inside him every time. The first kiss, not rushed but anchored, like he’d known exactly what he was doing—like he’d been dreaming about it and was just finally awake. Your lips tingled at the memory of where he’d kissed you. Where he lingered. Your skin still hummed in the places his hands had claimed, like he’d memorized you with his fingertips.

You pressed your fingers to your own mouth, not to stop a smile, but to feel him again. To remember how it felt when he whispered things you never thought you’d hear from him—need you, been dreaming about this, can’t believe it’s real.

Your breath caught. Not from lust, but from how right it all had felt.

The mattress dipped behind you and suddenly, there he was—still half-asleep, hair a disheveled mess, voice low and rough as he murmured, ‘Where’d you go?’ Only one eye open, just enough to peek at you.

You smiled, settling back into the warmth of him as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest like you belonged there.

“Was just thinking.”

Frankie pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder, slow and warm and so him, it made your throat go tight.

“’Bout what?” he mumbled.

You smiled. “When it happened for me.”

He went still behind you. “What?”

“When I fell for you.”

His breath hitched, just slightly, and his hand tightened at your hip. “Yeah?” he whispered. “When was it?”

You let out a soft laugh. “That day you showed up at my apartment soaking wet ‘cause your car broke down and you needed to borrow a charger. You were dripping water on my rug and swearing in Spanish under your breath like the world personally offended you. I made you tea, remember?”

He groaned. “I do. I was a mess.”

“And I just… looked at you. And felt it.”

Frankie was quiet for a second, then leaned in, lips brushing the back of your neck. “You know when it happened for me?”

You turned your head slightly. “Tell me.”

“That night we crashed at my place after the bar. You passed out on the couch, and I tried to sleep. I thought I’d be fine, but I had one of the nightmares. Bad one.”

Your breath held in your chest.

“I woke up sweating, choking on my own damn breath, and before I could even sit up, you were there. Not scared, not freaked out. Just there. Sat beside me, hand on my back. Let me breathe. Didn’t say anything stupid. And most importantly you didn’t run.”

Your heart clenched.

“That was it,” he said quietly. “That’s when I knew.”

You turned in his arms, met his eyes, your hands cupping his face like he might disappear if you blinked too fast, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.

He looked at you with those warm, deep brown eyes—like melted earth after rain and it felt like he’d never seen anything more certain. More beautiful. The same way he looked at you that night on his couch, when you didn’t flinch at the worst parts of him. When you just held him, no questions asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like maybe love had already happened and neither of you had realized it yet.

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t wild or desperate—it was soft. Full of all the things neither of you had said for years. The things you didn’t need to say anymore.

Because you knew.

You both knew.

thank you so much for reading <3

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indecisivemuch · 1 year ago

Text

Cupids in Converses

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Valentine's was rolling up. You and Luke played Cupid on Percy and Annabeth. But what if playing matchmakers gave both you guys and your unspoken feelings the nudge that you guys have always needed? (Fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)

Warning: sort of cliché, but it's Valentines so.

Note: Valentines got me in the mood of writing something rom-com-ish. Let's just assume Luke wears red converses that looks like Maia in the show. Also, I've been incredibly busy so I kinda rushed through this one to post it on time for Valentines.

Word count: 4.1k (whoops)

February has always filled the air with some sort of sugary chemical. Everything seemed sweeter like a pink filter had been put over the world. Some may dislike the upcoming February holiday, but it was perhaps one of your favorite times of the year.

Why? You were somehow blessed with the skills of getting people together and nudging them just enough to cross the line they needed to. So far, you have managed to help six couples get together. With Valentine’s right around the corner, the urge to play cupid grew to the point it was itching your hands.

“Well, compared to the Chimera on Monday, Medusa on Sunday, could have been a lot worse,” Percy was quickly interrupted by Annabeth.

“Medusa was Saturday.”

“I thought Sunday?”

“No monsters on Sunday. Monday, you died in a river.” You squint your eyes at the conversation that Percy and Annabeth were having. The familiar bells rang in your head; you could practically hear them roaring at you.

“Right, so Medusa on Saturday…”

“Woah, guys, what’s this?” Luke interrupted. “When did you turn into an old married couple?” Percy and Annabeth both grew slightly flustered at the Hermes counselor’s words. Muttering a few things here and there, the two kids quickly excused themselves and walked off from you and Luke just to avoid the topic in general. You slowly turned towards Luke and peered up at him.

“Surely…” you spoke cryptically.

“Surely what?”

“Them!” you gestured to the direction that Percy and Annabeth had headed off to. You kicked a small rock with your Converse and watched it tumble away. “Surely we can give a little nudge?” you trailed off, bumping into Luke’s shoulder.

“You’re not seriously gonna play Cupid on them, right?”

“No, I’m not…because we are,” Luke let out a loud breath, hands on his hips as he peered down at you. However, you could see a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Sweet girl, I adore you, but why not let things run their course?” you hope he did not see the physical reaction over that nickname because, internally, your heart skipped a beat.

“Oh? And you’re telling me those six couples from before would have gotten together without me? You know I’m right about this kind of stuff. I can usually sense it. Besides, it’ll be fun, I promise.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Uhm…you get to spend time with me?” you decided to answer, grinning up at Luke when he gave you a feigned unimpressed look. “Please, besides, you and Percy are close, so it would help a lot. I already have a plan and I need your help for it.”

One look into your eyes, and Luke knew he was doomed. For some reason, you just can make him do anything you ask. Luke could feel the hands on his hips slowly slipping as he looked into your eyes.

“Fine.”

Stage 1: Get Percy to realize his feelings cause he’s blind as hell

It was midnight and everybody else was asleep except for you and Luke. The two of you were in the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible.

The two of you were making some fortune cookies for your plan. However, there was a tiny twist to the treat you two were making. You had personally printed out a couple of prompts that you wrote yourself in hopes they would nudge Percy into realizing his feelings.

“Really?’“Romance is in the air. What you’re looking for is right in front of you’?” Luke read out the small piece of paper that you printed. You pulled the cookies out of the oven when they were ready.

“It’s cliche and sort of obvious, but hey! It’ll work because it’s Percy I’m working with,” you quickly pulled the paper out of his hand to put it in the fortune cookie before folding it into shape and letting it cool down.

“Mhm. He’s gonna realize you’re trying to play cupid.”

“Are we talking about the same person? I doubt Percy would realize. Annabeth would, hence why I’m not trying this on her.”

Luke helped you out with a couple of other spare fortune cookies that you two intended to keep for yourselves.

“Alright, finally done,” you muttered, washing your hands. However, you were caught off guard when Luke dipped his hand in the bag of flour on the counter and smeared some on your cheek. Your mouth hung slightly at this, and you looked up at him challengingly. You wiped your hands with a hand towel, “Oh? Is that how we’re playing it?”

“...No…” Luke sheepishly replied, a grin growing on his face when he saw the look of mischief creeping on your face.

“Game on, Castellan,” with that, you dipped both of your hands in flour and chased after the tall boy, who was sprinting around the counter. You caught up with Luke and compromised by smearing flour onto the back of his shirt first. At your attack, he turned around and smeared some more across your face from your other cheek to the top of your nose. You immediately did it back to him.

“Ok, ok, I surrender,” he coughed in between quiet waves of laughter after you smeared some from his cheek down his neck, marking your last attack.

For a moment, Luke and you stood in silence, but when you two let the state of one another sink in, laughs echoed throughout the room again. Luke was able to stop his laughter first, though he was still wearing a wide grin. He washed the flour off his face and dried it with kitchen tissues as you muttered: “Oh, I wish I had a camera. I could practically blackmail you with that photo.”

“I have no doubt you would have never let me live that down,” while replying, Luke also approached you and started wiping the flour off your nose before moving to your cheeks. Your laughter slowly faded as your cheeks heated at the feeling of his hand on your skin. He was looking at you so tentatively. Callous hands - a reflection of his remarkable title as best swordsman - delicately holding your face as if you were the rarest diamond to exist.

Something about this moment felt so domestic. Luke allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that this is how it would feel like to be with you and share cute moments like these together. Luke unbeknownstly let out a breath he didn’t know he was keeping in as he made eye contact with you.

However, the moment was interrupted by another camper who yelped upon seeing you two in the kitchen. The presence of another person caused you two to spring apart. “I’m so sorry, I’ll leave,” the camper muttered, clearly abandoning their plan of stealing food and sweets in the middle of the night. Luke coughed to break the silence.

“So what’s the plan after giving it to Percy?” Luke asked, looking down at the fortune cookies before picking one up and munching on it.

“Hopefully, he’ll finally realize his feelings, and when he does…Percy will come to you, for sure.”

Stage 2: Romantic gesture

You were right, Percy came to Luke for dating advice. As you planned, Luke suggested that Percy make a flower crown for Annabeth. Hence, here the Hermes counselor was - with Percy as he picked out flowers for Annabeth.

"I'm gonna need you to guide me on this 'cause I've never made flower crowns before," Percy muttered as he picked out California Poppins, Annabeth's favorite. Luke grinned at this. He found it interesting how the young boy already knew. "Maybe you could make one for someone special too?" Percy said, his voice somewhat unsure.

At the young boy's words, Luke froze. The first person that seemed to pop into his mind when Percy said that was you.

"I mean, might as well, right? It's for Valentine's. Maybe you could give it to someone who means a lot to you and makes you happy?" Percy spoke, though there was something instigative about his tone.

Happy. The word bounced in between the walls of Luke's mind. Once again, the first thing that flashed in his head was you. Then, a surge of images came running from memories of you two. He almost could not remember happiness before you. A warm feeling embedded in his chest as he pictured your smile. Just seeing you happy seemed to do it for him, like you could spread happiness to him by just looking at him. You were like the first glimmer of daylight after a cold night. He subconsciously smiled at that thought.

You have always made him feel loved, even though he knew you were probably doing it platonically. However, he would gladly take any form of love that he could receive from you. Every day, waking up and knowing he had you in his life was good enough for him. Maybe he should try giving you more hints. Maybe you'll finally see it. Perhaps Percy was right with the flower crown idea.

“Uhm, sure,” with that, Luke decided to take some of your favorite flowers into his hand and went to a nearby table, where he started guiding Percy on how to make a flower crown. However, ever so often, his mind would trail to its own thoughts whenever he focused on making this flower crown for you.

Percy watched Luke as the older boy started intensely working on his own flower crown, crafting it with so much care as if it was an artwork intended for a national museum. If Percy didn’t know better, he would think Luke was a perfectionist.

Meanwhile, you were sitting with Annabeth near the ocean where she had previously pushed Percy into the waters, leading to Poseidon claiming him. You asked, “Any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“No, you?”

“Nope.”

“Oh?” she replied, though you tilted your head at the tone of her voice. “I’m just surprised,” Annabeth explained as she looked out at the ocean instead of at you. “I mean…I thought you and Luke…”

“Huh?—”

“Well, I mean, you two are together all the time, and there seems to be something going on —”

“What do you mea—”

“It always seems like you two would gravitate to one another. I just assumed you two were together already—”

“We’re…just friends,” you settled on saying, though you could hear your heart beating loudly, seemingly echoing near your chest and neck. Of course, you knew you had feelings for Luke. However, you have always ruled it as a silly little crush.

“...You sure? You sound really unsure,” Annabeth challenged, making you sigh.

“I mean, he’s really sweet, and nice…”

“Uh-huh”

“And he makes me laugh all the time…”

“That’s good,” Annabeth’s words echoed as you sunk into silence and started reflecting on who Luke was to you. He has always made you feel cared for. Out of everybody at camp, perhaps he was the one you were most comfortable with, never having to be afraid of being yourself. Almost all of your favorite memories at camp included him in them.

You remember the night you told him about your minor fear of the darkness and how he promised to always protect you in it. In a way, since then, he has become your light. You always felt lit up when he made his way to you. Your eyes are always drawn to him like a moth to its flame. Then, it finally dawned on you how serious your feelings were. You realized how most of the time you seemed to be mindless about the existence of your heart until Luke was around because it was only then that your heart would tug or race to run you breathless. You gulped as your eyes darted around slightly.

“I mean…maybe…” you started but snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Luke’s voice. And there it was again, the silly familiar tug your heart was doing just from his voice. “Hey…” you greeted Luke and Percy before noticing Percy with a flower crown in his hand.

“Annabeth, can I speak to you privately?” Annabeth stood up and gestured for Percy to lead the way, presumably somewhere, so the young boy could give her the flower crown and ask her out on Valentine’s Day. You remained seated, still pondering at your feelings and wondering when they had exponentially grown that much.

“I actually have something for you as well,” you finally looked up at Luke when he said this. You noticed he had his hands behind his back. Something about the way he looked now seemed so shy and timid, which was unlike the outgoing and confident boy you always knew.

Your mouth fell agape when he pulled out a flower crown made of your favorite flower. “Luke…” you said his name and stood up when you saw the item.

However, because your eyes were on his gift, you didn’t notice the way Luke’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice calling out his name. He never thought it was anything special until November two years ago when you said his name while laughing at one of his jokes by the campfire. It was probably a moment you did not remember, but ever since then, he felt so sure that he was named so because the name sounded like it was born just for the sole purpose of being sounded from your lips.

“I made this for you,” he muttered, though it sounded almost like a whisper. His eyes shifted to both of your Converses instead of at you. Something about this made him so nervous as if he was handing you his heart instead of a simple gift. He almost scowled at himself for acting like a boy in kindergarten, confessing to his crush.

If only Luke was looking at you because you were looking at him and the item in awe. Your cheeks flushed from his gesture. Though, you were somewhat glad he was not looking at you because you were sure one look at you right now would tell Luke exactly everything about your feelings. You were a blushing mess. “Luke, thank you so much. This is beautiful. I can’t believe you made one for me.”

You touched Luke’s hand that was holding the crown, and he almost grew an even deeper shade of red. “Put it on my head,” you instructed, and he obliged just like everything else you would ask. He was sure he must have caught a sickness or something for wanting to follow you this blindly. But you were perhaps the only one with the power to get him to do absolutely anything. Just as the crown touched your hair, you peered up at him, and the sight alone made Luke swallow nervously.

You looked breathtaking.

And he meant this literally because Luke felt like he stopped breathing for a second. He could not look away. That was until you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him. His arms wrapped around your neck almost immediately to return the hug as if they existed to only hold you.

However, unlike the hundreds of hugs before, this one felt different. It was as if something had shifted and was bound to unfold.

Final Stage: Valentine’s Day

Annabeth had said yes.

You were ecstatic to learn that the young girl had agreed to go on a Valentine’s date with Percy. Even though you didn’t want to intrude, you and Luke decided to just have a peep to see what Percy had planned. You were not planning to stay long. It was just a sort of reward or a way to see your plan grow into fruition. You smiled when you spot the cute picnic date near the shore.

“See, I told you the plan was going to work,” you muttered as you tiptoed up in your converses to peer at the kids through the tall bushes nearby. You almost lost balance and step onto Luke's shoes that were similar to yours, except his was red.

The boy quickly steadied you with his hand on your waist. You muttered a quick thank you before turning back to the kids, trying to ignore the blush that was slowly decorating your cheeks. But you were quickly caught off guard at the sight of Percy and Annabeth pushing a small boat off the shore and hopping on it.

“Uhm…that is not what I expected. Where are they going?” Luke looked over your shoulder when you said that. Your eyes fluttered at his warm breath hitting your neck.

However, you noticed the two kids looking like they were in trouble and panicking as they quickly started rowing away. You turned your head towards Luke, forgetting he was very close to you. Your voice faltered as you were about to utter your next sentence. Noticing this, Luke turned to you, only causing the two of you to come face to face with little distance in between. You gulped and forced yourself not to glance down at his lips, “Do you think they’re okay? Should we follow them? I mean…what if they’re in trouble?”

Seeing the worried look on your face, Luke frowned. He deeply disliked anything that caused that kind of expression on your face. Hence, he decided to go over to the second boat there and started pushing it towards the water. “Come on,” you hopped onto the small boat with him and started rowing after Percy and Annabeth, hoping to help them from whatever trouble they were seeming to have.

After a few minutes of rowing behind them, you saw Percy and Annabeth rowing into a small tunnel. Luke and you quickly followed in, rowing your boat, only to be engulfed by darkness upon entering the tunnel.

The wind blew much harder in there, causing goosebumps on your arm as your hand gripped your oar tightly. To make matters worse, it was your most hated type of darkness - utter pitch black. Even with your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could see nothing, not even Luke.

You were fine with darkness in familiar places like your cabin, where you knew at least there were other campers around and you were safe. You were also mostly fine with darkness where you could see as your eyes adjusted to it. But here, you were in a tunnel you’ve never been in, where there were possibly monsters that could attack you at any moment.

You were slightly startled by the hand that softly touched yours that, unbeknownst to you, was crushing the wooden oar. You immediately recognize it was Luke’s hand from the warmth and familiar touch. He soothingly ran his thumb across your hand. His actions were proven effective at calming you down when you could feel your grip loosen around the tool.

“Breathe, sweet girl,” his words somehow made you release the breath you were subconsciously holding.

A few seconds later, the lights were turned on. You were met with one of the most beautiful sights you’ve ever seen. Lights were decorating the path throughout the tunnel. There were also plants and trees with extended branches and leaves that softly brushed past the boat Luke and you were on.

Suddenly, you both heard a tune start playing quietly in the background, almost quiet enough to make you two think you were imagining it:

“There you see her, sitting there across the way.

She don’t got a lot to say, but there’s something about her”

His thumb hasn’t stopped rubbing over your knuckles even though the darkness was no longer casting over the both of you. His eyes were absorbing how you looked at that moment, embracing it. You were absolutely stunning and he was hopelessly infatuated with you.

“And you don’t know why, but you’re dying to try

You wanna kiss the girl.”

The lyrics made Luke subconsciously lick his lips as he pictured himself kissing you. Gods, he wondered if his heart would even survive doing so and whether anything would ever surpass getting to kiss you. Your eyes flickered to Luke's lips, and he noticed it. He also noticed how your cheeks flushed as you gulped at his actions.

“Luke.”

“Y/N,” you almost melted at the way Luke was saying your name as if it was an honor or privilege to do so. The tone he used was sweeter than any dessert you have ever had. Gods, it was as if your name was a sacred passage he lived by.

“Yes, you want her

Look at her, you know you do”

Indeed he was looking at you, and it felt almost like he was spellbound because he could not take his eyes off you. Right then, you could see it all - he was utterly smitten. He was giving you a soft smile. The lights decorating the tunnel shimmered in his eyes, illuminating just enough to display his pupils and how they almost completely overtook the usual dark brown color that you love. Before you knew it, he was leaning closer to you on the small boat and you mirrored his action.

“Possible she wants you too, there is one way to ask her…”

Just when Luke was inches from your face, he stopped. His eyes longingly stare at your lips like a long-awaited dream that was within his grasp but not quite within his grip yet. You noticed how he took a deep breath as if mustering all the drops of courage he had. His eyes fluttered shut for a second before he opened them again.

“Can I?” he uttered only two words, but somehow, his voice conveyed enough the yearning coursing through every inch of his body. Luke gulped as he restrained himself from closing the distance and waited for your consent.

You nodded wordlessly.

“It don’t take a word, not a single word

Go on and kiss the girl.”

Almost instantly, he caressed both sides of your face and sealed the deal.

All the glory Luke has gained throughout the years seemed trivial compared to kissing you. It almost convinced him that everything he had gone through to get here today was worth it. He hummed against your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Kissing you felt like the best gift he had ever gotten in his entire life. Luke knew he was forever screwed from the way it felt. He could not fathom the idea of his lips ever touching anyone else’s. Maybe they were made for you, but his heart and mind do not seem to oppose that idea.

You slowly slid your arms down, allowing your hands to caress his jawline and the sides of his face. However, your hands slightly jolted at the pace of his heartbeat along the side of his neck. It was as if his heart was trying to break out of his body. Your own heart started replicating the same rhythm. It had you flustered that you had such an effect on him.

Luke broke away from the kiss breathlessly. For a second, he hated the idea of needing air to live because if he could, he would not have stopped showing you how much his lips belonged to you. His forehead leaned against yours while his hands rested on your hips. He looked at you endearingly as if he could not fathom that he just got to kiss you. You smiled at the sight of him.

“I know I’m a tad bit late, but will you be my Valentine?” he sweetly asked.

“Of course, Luke.” Luke grinned at your answer. He drew you in for another kiss as giggles escaped your lips and echoed through the tunnel that now marked an important memory for the two of you.

You truly must be Cupid because your plan not only worked for Percy and Annabeth, but somehow also indirectly gave Luke and you the nudge you both needed.

14th February marked the day when two Cupids wearing Converses got their happy ending.

Bonus:

“I told you that would work,” Annabeth whispered to Percy as the two hopped back onto their boat with a speaker in hand, rowing away hastily to be out of sight from the older couple.

Little did you know, Annabeth had orchestrated the whole thing, including the conversation between her and Percy about their mission in front of Luke and you. Annabeth’s plan of getting Luke and you together through playing cupid together had seemingly worked just like she had planned.

Who said you were the only cupid at Camp Half-Blood?

----------------------

masterlist

join my Luke Castellan taglist

taglist: @nininehaaa @perseus-jackass @tanifsblog @bubbly0 @hinata7346 @hinata7346 @justanotherkpopstanlol @mysteris-things @randomgurl2326 @star611 @2hiigh2cry @seriously-slytherin22 @spideytingley @blondervoi @stuffyownswrld @fantasticchaosthing @amortencjja @chunkiwhunki @bookwormlu @crack240 @fandomthings-blog @sh0-ya @milkncookies143 @burdeningbitch @bugcuti3 @alexisishaunted @lilacspider @olivegirl123 @nellyjan-th @kehlanislefttoe

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan #luke castellan fanfiction #pjo fic #pjo #charlie bushnell #pjo imagine #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #pjo series #best friends to lovers #fluff

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unluckilyimnot · 16 days ago

Note

could you do blue lock characters headcanon as your classmate

bllk boy as your classmate - isagi, sae, hiori, rin, shidou, chigiri, bachira, reo, nagi

Note: thank you for asking! It was fun

m.list | rules

Isagi

He's so sweet, calm and helpful it's amazing

You don't even hesitate to ask for a pen with him, he'll give you a pretty one !

He's not the best at school, but he'll help you out the best he can if you ask him

He's cute and rather funny if you spend some time with him during the break

He's shy at first, it takes time before he's comfortable around you but when he is, he invites you to his match

You two get called out sometimes because you talk a lot !

He's not that popular so you don't get bothered by anyone beside your friends asking WHY you talk to him that much

Just saying he's nice isn't enough, they'll play cupid for sure

Chigiri

Compliments your hair and how healthy it looks

It shocks you because he's not nice with everyone (you'll never hear the end of it)

He's the one you share your magazine with at the break between classes

He can't really help you out in class but he's nice to have in a group assignment!

He's dedicated to the job he has to do and helps around a lot

He's a bit harsh with people sometimes and once told you how he thinks one of your friends as shitty tastes

You just know he thinks highly of you to talk to you regularly when you're just his classmate

But you can't help it but like to talk with him, he's cool and nice to be around

Bachira

He goof around, making you laugh a lot

You probably find him weird too, if you rather feat in, but that doesn't mean you dislike him

He's nice to talk to, you like hearing his thoughts even if everything go pretty fast in there

He shows you drawing/painting his mom did

He consider you as a friend before you can say a word and he wants to hang out more

He invites you to his match as well ! He loves to hear your thoughts afterwards

You're the weirdo's friend but it doesn't feat that bad with you, he's really nice and you're happy to be close with him

Reo

He's seem so out of touch even if he talks with everyone, it's unsettling

Yet, you're always smiling when he asks you about your day or weekend when he sits back next to you

It's a pure pleasure to work with him, he's so smart it makes things so easy

He notices when you change something about your hair or your supplies – he always asks when you got your cute pen or stuff like that

He's charming, your friends are sure you're in love with him

People are jealous of you bc you get to sit next to him all he time and at school, it's the closest thing to intimate

Nagi

You consider him a lucky charm

You choose your team when you borrowed him a pen and got 97 at your test

He never bothers you since he sleep a lot, but he always asks if he doesn't take too much space but you never mind it

He lets you pet his hair now to wake him up for the break, he loved it the first time and asked you to do it again

You give him your notes without hesitation, you don't mind

People actually ask you question about him but you rarely have answers

You got closer to Reo without meaning to bc Nagi talked about you with him

Sae

Worse classmate /hj

It takes time before he softens around you

He never talks, barely answers you when you ask him if he heard what the teacher said

It's only when he sees you having A REAL hard time that he offers some help

He barely can help you but he'll surprisingly do his best to do so

It's not bad to work with him though, he does what he has to do even if he sucks

If after some time you get a bit closer, he'll tell you to come to one of his match sometimes

You don't want to go at first but go anyway, and it's a good surprise honestly

Talk about it with him and you're sure to start a friendship with him

Shidou

He's sooooo chill

It's a pleasure to have him around honestly

He's funny, he talks to you as if you're a friend of him already when not

He flirts with you and it makes you laugh a lot honestly

He's not necessarily good, he can't really help, you help him more than the other way around but it's fine

He invites you after-school with his friends but you never really go

He always seem really happy to see you and greets you happily everyday

Hiori

So sweet

He's not really talkative at first but after a few weeks he starts to ask you about your week-end

His voice is so soft it's calming

He's always asking if you're ok after a bad test and pat your shoulder

You invite him to eat with you sometimes at lunch but he doesn't really say yes at first bc there's your friends as well

If you're alone, why not

Rin

He barely talks as well

He helps you only in English, after telling you you suck ofc

If you're good at it too, he immediately think higher of you

But he's mostly calm to be around and doesn't bother you, ever

He's shy to ask for anything and rather stay stuck than ask for help

You still offer him your notes if he needs, but he never say yes

He's so annoying bc he never agrees with you or accepts your help

Let me know if you liked it !

#blue lock x reader #blue lock hc #blue lock headcanons #blue lock imagines #blue lock #bllk x reader #bllk headcanons #bllk imagines #isagi x reader #chigiri x reader #itoshi sae x reader #rin itoshi x reader #bachira x reader #reo x reader #nagi x reader #hiori x reader #shidou x reader

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verstappen-cult · 9 months ago

Text

STUPID CUPID, M. VERSTAPPEN

CHAPTER 01: OF ALCOHOL AND BAD DECISIONS

✶ SUMMARY. Making decisions when you’ve had too much to drink is the worst thing someone can do, but it’s exactly what Lando does. He has 100€, a plan and a friend in need of a new camera. What could possibly go wrong?

content warnings ✶ disclaimers. fem!reader. oscar being an overprotective brother. alcohol consumption. i don’t specify what they’re studying, just that they’re in the same university & some of them share classes. use of Y/N. attempted humor. attempted banter. a little bit of landoscar.

NEXT PART | SERIES MASTERLIST.

“Remember to keep your things close to you at all times. Do you still have the pepper spray I gave you last summer?” Your brother talks as he walks by your side. He woke you up this morning to have a last walk around campus, so you won’t get lost Monday morning on your first day. He doesn’t wait for you to answer before adding, “I’m always gonna be around but you need to—”

“Oscar,” You place a hand on his shoulder to make him stop. “I’m ten minutes younger than you, and I’ve been traveling around Europe alone for the last four months. I think I can handle myself.”

“I just want you to be careful.”

“If I survived High School, I think I can survive anything.”

He smiles and wraps an arm around your shoulders to resume walking. “I can’t believe you finally decided to join me here. This past year has been awful without you.”

“You’re exaggerating.” You chuckle, wrapping your own arm around his waist. “I just needed some time away to clear my head,” You shrug, a hesitant smile gracing your lips. There’s so much inside your head, so much you want to say to him, but you’re not brave enough to say it out loud. You’ve never been. “And I know our parents wanted us to go to the same university since, like, forever. I couldn’t disappoint them.” Not again.

You’re passing outside the Ice Rink when you run into one of Oscar’s friends.

“Hey!” One guy, whose name you can’t remember, approaches you both. He’s wearing his hockey uniform, sport bag hanging over his shoulder and a hockey stick in his left hand. “We missed you at practice today, mate. Hey, Y/N.”

His smile is so contagious, you feel bad for not remembering his name. You turn to look at your brother and just one exchange of glances is enough for him to understand.

“Hey, Alex.” He pulls away from you to clasp a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I just wanted to show my sister some places.”

“Oh yeah! You start on Monday, right?” You don’t even have time to open your mouth before he’s speaking again. “Are you nervous?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and nod one time. “A little,” It’s the only thing you’ve been thinking about since you moved in with your brother a few days ago. There is so much you still need to do, the rest of your clothes aren’t even here yet, but you are more worried about finally starting your uni life than anything else. “but I prefer not to think about it.”

“I keep telling her she has nothing to worry about.” The smile on your brother’s face is the same one you saw six months ago before he left for his second year at University and you left for your trip, the ‘i’m so proud of you’ kind of smile. “She’s sharing classes with Charles, actually.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna be in good hands.” Alex says it with a laugh, that only earns him a hit on the head from your brother. “Anyway, we have that party tonight at Lando’s. Are you coming?”

You don’t miss the way his cheeks heat up in a blush. “No, we can’t. Maybe another time.”

“You can,” You interrupt him. It is the second time he turns down an invitation just to stay with you. “I need to finish organizing the last of my stuff. Boring stuff. You should definitely go, it’s Saturday, Osc.”

“Yeah but—”

“He’ll be there.” Alex tries to hide his laugh but doesn’t do a good job.

“I’m pretty sure someone’s gonna be very happy.”

“Goodbye, Alex!”

Oscar grabs your arm, giving you barely enough time to turn around and wave a goodbye to his friend before he drags you away.

“What was he talking about?”

“Don’t know,” He simply answers, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “What do you say we grab some lunch?”

The party’s in full swing when Oscar walks through the door of his friend’s apartment.

It is definitely a party organized by Lando; too many people in a cramped space, his DJ friend in a corner of the living room and everyone making out with everyone. Just the kind of party only Lando likes.

Oscar makes his way into the kitchen, needing some liquid courage.

“You came!” Alex shows up out of nowhere, he notices his friend is holding a beer in his left hand as he wraps his arm around his shoulders. Oscar doesn’t know how much he’s had to drink, but he smells too much like alcohol for his liking.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, full of different kinds of alcohol and chips, is Charles and his girlfriend.

“Hey,” Charles raises his own beer as a greeting. “Where’s your sister?”

“Don’t tell me you left her alone in your apartment.” Charles’ girlfriend frowns, throwing daggers at him.

Oscar throws his hands up in surrender. “She didn’t want to come. I insisted but she still has things to organize.”

“You should give her my number,” Alex, Charles’ girlfriend says with a smile, snuggling closer to his boyfriend. “I’m sure we’re gonna get along.”

Oscar opens his mouth to actually ask for her number when the thunderous voice of none other than Lando Norris interrupts him.

“Oscar! You came!” Lando hugs him from behind, spilling some of his drink on the floor. But he doesn’t even notice, he’s more focused on finding his cheek to kiss.

“Hey, Lando.” Oscar blushes. Blushes hard. He’s glad the dim lighting can hide how Lando makes him feel. “Good party.”

Lando smiles, sliding next to him and bumping shoulders. “Glad you like it.” Oscar finds himself returning the smile.

“Please stop flirting in front of me or I’m gonna throw up in your faces.” Alex rolls his eyes and Lando hits him in the chest.

Oscar finds it cute the way Lando’s cheeks heat up at the joke. He downs the last of his drink and Oscar has to fight the urge to wipe a drop of liquor from his bottom lip.

He hasn’t even had a drink. What’s wrong with him?

He’s thankful when Charles hands him a beer, so he has something else to do rather than stand there like an idiot ogling at Lando and wondering what his lips would taste like.

One minute they’re all hanging out in the kitchen, drinking and talking about the next hockey game — the boys threatening him if he misses another practice — and the next one he’s sitting on the couch with Lando glued to his side, one of his legs over his lap.

Oscar looks down at his phone, his last text to you still without an answer.

[00:25] Oscar: Are you okay? Do you need anything?

He sighs, typing a new message.

[00:30] Oscar: I hope you’re just busy and nothing bad happened.

[00:31] Oscar: I’m going to buy pizza on my way back home.

“Oscar?”

He immediately looks up to find Lando looking at him with a pout.

“Sorry, I needed to text my sister.”

He reaches forward and boops Oscar on the nose with his index finger. “You worry too much. Isn’t she the same age as you?”

“Well, yeah.” Oscar feels a little silly now but doesn’t say anything. “But she doesn’t know anyone around here, so I don’t wanna leave her alone for so long.”

Lando flops his head onto Oscar’s shoulder and gazes up at him with his big, brown eyes.

“You’re cute.”

Oscar can’t help himself. He lifts his hand and pushes an errant curl behind Lando’s ear, fingers lingering on his cheek.

“You’re cute, too.” Oscar says, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Lando’s eyes are wide as he stares at Oscar.

Oscar breathes into the air and Lando’s expression softens as he moves closer, breaths mingling and faces flushed. They’re so close that Oscar can count the freckles on his face.

The moment is interrupted by the ping of Oscar’s phone announcing a new message.

Oscar pulls away, hands reaching for his phone beside him.

[00:48] You: sorry was busy trying to fit all my clothes in your tiny closet

[00:48] You: pizza sounds good! im starving

[00:49] You: hope you’re…

He doesn’t finish reading the third message, he just gets up after the second one, almost throwing Lando off the couch.

“Wha—what happened?” Lando is confused, his pupils wide and a faint blush still on the top of his cheeks.

“Sorry, I have to go. My sister needs me.”

“But we were about to,” The curly-haired boy tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, not really wanting to say the word ‘kiss’ out loud.

Oscar types a quick message, letting you know that he’s on his way, not even listening or looking at Lando. “See you Monday!”

Oscar is out of there in record time, leaving the party and a very confused and frustrated Lando behind.

Lando groans, head hanging over the back of the couch, and hides behind his hands.

A laugh startles him, making him look through his fingers. “That was awful, mate.” His best friend’s leaning against the wall behind the couch, a glass of —he assumes— gin and tonic in his hands.

“Were you watching us?” Lando wants to dig a hole and crawl in. “You perv!”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me the first time I announced myself. You were too busy trying to get laid.”

Lando groans again, “I barely know Oscar’s sister but I don’t like her.”

Max laughs, plopping down next to him. Lando takes the still very full glass out of his friend’s hand and downs all the liquid, wincing as he’s not used to the taste.

“You should’ve run after him.”

He perks up, “Should I?”

“No, you idiot.” Max looks at him as if he’s grown a second head. “Are you that desperate to get laid?”

“It’s not that.” Lando pouts, turning his body to the right so he’s facing him. “I really like Oscar. Like I have a huge, fat crush on him since the first time I saw him at hockey practice a year ago.”

“And I’m sure he knows it.” Max says, sarcastically.

“We barely talk,” Lando really wants the earth to swallow him whole. “well, he barely talks. I don’t know if he’s just shy or doesn’t like me.” He sighs, looking at his friend, who is listening expectantly. “And when I finally decide to do something, his sister moves in with him. It’s great. Just great.” He throws his hands in the air, tired, frustrated. Sexually frustrated more than anything.

“What a cockblock, uh?”

“Exactly! You’re the only one that gets me, Maxie.” Lando throws himself at him, and Max has barely any time to grab him by the waist to stop him from falling face first onto his lap. “I wish I didn’t catch feelings so fast. Just—like you! Fucking my way around, no strings attached. How do you do it?”

Max laughs, patting his friend on the back when he starts hiccuping.

“You’re too soft for that.”

“I’m not!” He pulls away, eyebrows furrowed. “I need to do something before I go mad. I really want Oscar to notice me.”

“Oh, believe me, he notices you.” But Lando is deep in his thoughts, bottom lip between his teeth. Max can almost see the cogs working inside his head.

“Does she not have a life? Friends?” Lando asks absentmindedly.

“Well, you said she just moved in.”

“So that’s what she needs.”

“What?” Max can barely keep up.

“A life!” Lando pulls out his wallet, and it takes him three failed attempts to pull out a 100€. He hands the money to Max without another word.

Max looks at him, and then the money in his hands. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I don’t know,” Lando shrugs. “just make sure she has a life.”

“What?”

“Money,” He takes his friend’s hand and places the money on his palm. “so you can take her out or something. I don’t care.”

“Hold on a second.” Max sits up, hand brushing through his hair. “You want me to take her out?”

“Yes! If you take her out, she has a life. Then, I can shoot my shot with Oscar without having to worry about his sister.” Lando looks like the cat that got the cream, eyes glistening and everything.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you love me. And everyone wins.”

“What do I win?” Max wants to laugh but the seriousness on his friend’s face stops him.

“A pretty girl.” Lando simply answers. “And 100€.”

“How do you know she’s pretty?”

Lando looks at him beneath his eyelashes, his lips in a pout. “Please do this for me.”

Max thinks about it for a second.

He really thinks about the whole plan.

He would be helping a friend — his best friend. He would be hanging out with a pretty girl and, if everything goes well, he would be getting in that same pretty girl’s bed.

And he needs a new camera.

“Just one time? Or you want this to be a regular thing?” If he’s going to do this, he may as well make the most out of it. “Because if you want me to keep her busy, that means I’d have to take her out and that means more money.”

“I can’t think anymore.” Lando throws his arm over his eyes, the music too loud for him to hear his own thoughts. “Let’s see how it goes first. Then, we talk about more money. Now just let me sleep, I’m gonna have the worst headache of my life tomorrow.”

“Well, you got yourself a deal.”

The first two classes weren’t that bad.

By the third one you felt a lot more comfortable. Even more so when you recognised one of your brother’s friends in the same class as you.

Charles gave you some tips about certain professors and what you needed to expect in your first year. He’s in his second year now, so you listened very closely to everything he had to say.

You’re one of the first ones to walk in the lecture hall, so you have enough time to find a seat and answer one of the dozen text messages from your parents asking about your day.

And the other dozen from your brother.

[15:23] Oscar: Want to have lunch together?

[15:28] Oscar: How’s your day going? Any news?

[15:35] Oscar: I just bumped into Charles. He says you’re doing good!

[15:40] Oscar: I have hockey practice today.

[15:42] Oscar: In case you want to come and walk home together.

You sigh, a small smile gracing your lips.

[16:02] You: all good so far. i have a very weird professor lol

[16:04] You: charles is such a nice guy, it made my classes so much easier and fun

[16:07] You: i really want to see you playing hockey so i might go look

[16:08] You: my last class is about to start so i’ll talk to you later. love you!

You’re hitting send when a presence startles you.

“Is this seat taken?” He asks, pointing to the seat right next to yours.

You look around the lecture hall, still pretty much empty.

“Uhm, no?” You can count on the fingers of one hand how many people are attending the class. But he still chooses to sit next to you.

The teacher comes in a few minutes later, a few more students after him, but even then the lecture hall feels empty.

“Hey,” The stranger says, leaning in to whisper without drawing the teacher’s attention.

You turn your head around, forcing yourself to move away when you realize how close he really is. “Yes?” You say, typing away on your computer as the professor gives the class the list of books needed for the semester.

“Do you have a pen I can borrow?” He has a sheepish smile. Only then you notice that he doesn’t carry a backpack, or books. He’s just there, in a class where he’s supposed to be taking notes, without anything.

You dig into your bag, pulling out a pen and a sheet of paper.

His smile grows. “Oh, thank you!”

“Are you sure you’re in the right class?”

“Yes, why do you ask?” He turns his attention back to the professor, who’s saying something you should definitely be paying attention to, but you’re more focused on the boy sitting next to you.

“No reason at all.”

You make it through the first hour without distractions. Well, apart from the tapping of the stranger next to you and his constant sighing and twisting on his seat.

When the professor excuses himself to answer an important call, you know you have to say something.

“Can you stop, please? You’re distracting me.”

“Oh,” He leans a little closer, “Am I?”

You groan, asking yourself if staying in that seat is really worth it.

You don’t want to look at him, you really don’t. The first time you saw how big and blue his eyes were, you knew you wouldn’t be able to look at him again without getting lost in them.

So, you simply nod while pretending to look for a folder in your computer.

“I noticed the first time you kept typing the same line over and over again.”

Your blush starts at your neck and goes all the way up to your ears.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re doing it again,” His breath hits you on the cheek, too close for your liking. “You know you’ve been opening and closing the same folder for five minutes now, no?”

You hold your breath, trying to regulate your heartbeat.

He doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on what the professor is trying to teach you. However, you know you won’t be paying much attention.

You can still feel the warmth emanating from him, making you feel hot all over. His closeness is enough to put you on edge.

Just when you think he won’t be bothering you again, he slides a piece of paper over to you.

You ignore it for about five seconds until you can’t anymore.

You unfold it.

‘Your hair is pretty’

It sends a thrill down your spine. The ghost of a smile crossing your face, something inside you making a funny little flip.

You force yourself to look at him, only to find his gaze already on you. The blonde stranger tilts his head and observes you for a while, and when you don’t know what to do, and afraid of giving away how flustered you really are, you simply roll your eyes as an answer, immediately going back to paying attention, or pretending to. But the professor is nowhere to be seen and everyone is picking up their things to get out of there as fast as possible.

Finally.

You pack up your own things, slipping his note inside your notebook without him noticing, and stand up ready to run away.

You only make it out of the lecture hall before he falls into step with you.

“Hey, you forgot this.” He shoves the pen into your face, almost making you trip over your own feet.

“You can have it.” You walk a little faster, but it seems he doesn’t want to leave you alone. “Pretty sure you need it more than me.” It’s just a whisper, a comment for yourself more than for him.

“Uh, feisty!”

You stop, turn around and take a deep breath. Plastering a smile on your face, you say, “You are annoying.” And it seems that you amuse him, because he fights back a smile. A very pretty smile, you notice. “Goodbye.”

“I’m Max, by the way!”

“I don’t care!” You’re not proud, but he totally deserves the middle finger you give him.

He doesn’t need to know but you’re glad you can put a name to that handsome face.

You check your texts as you make your way to the ice rink and, as expected, a message from your brother awaits you.

[17:45] Oscar: Something special you want for dinner today?

It’s cute how much he cares about you. Maybe too much sometimes, but you wouldn’t trade your twin and overprotective brother for anything in the world. Even if it means you have to put up with the hundreds of text messages and death glares directed at anybody who dares to even look at you.

“Texting a boyfriend?”

You look at Max from the corner of your eyes; he’s still walking a few feet behind. “Are you following me?”

He laughs. “Why would I be following you?”

“You’re weird.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

How can someone be so attractive and annoying at the same time?

Unfortunately, he’s headed the same way.

“Are you on the hockey team?” If you slow down to wait for him, well, who can blame you?

He cocks his head and the edge of his mouth quirks up in a smirk. “Why? Are you into hockey players?”

“You can’t have a normal conversation, can you?”

Max laughs, opening the front doors and moving to the side to let you in first.

“Yes, I’m on the hockey team.” Max chuckles, “Are you on the hockey team?”

“My brother,” You answer him, and Max raises his eyebrows. “His name’s Oscar. Do you know him?”

“Are you asking me if I know my own teammate?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. You’ve never felt so stupid talking to someone before, but that’s exactly how this guy makes you feel. Have you forgotten how to talk or he just loves being an idiot and getting under your skin?

“Max!”

Both of you turn around to find a curly-haired boy waving in your direction.

You recognize the bright, brown eyes of Lando Norris immediately.

“Hey, Y/N!” He says when you approach him, putting his arm around your shoulder. “I see you’ve met Max.”

You nod, “Yes. He’s in one of my classes.” Max winks at you. He has the audacity to wink. “Are you on the hockey team too?”

“Oh nah, that’s not for me. Max is actually my roommate.” Lando explains as Max leans against the side of the bleachers beside you. “I’m here as his moral support.”

Max laughs. A full belly-laugh.

Your head snaps at him so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash.

“Anyway,” Lando’s eyes widen, like silently saying something to his friend, before turning to look back at you. “Are you here to see your brother?”

“Yes. I don’t know anything about hockey, though.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t either. I’m here to see the hot guys.” You laugh at how honest he is. “You got plans tonight?” Lando asks after a few minutes, getting comfortable on the bleachers beside you, seeing some of the players getting out of the changing rooms.

“I don’t know if Oscar has something planned, but I don’t think so.” You fold your arms over your chest, feeling a little cold. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

“I know this pub that serves the best Guinness in town.” He states, nudging you. “You and your brother should come.”

You shrug. It is a very appealing invitation after all, and after your first day of classes you definitely deserve it. “It sounds like a place I want to know.”

“Great!” Lando claps his hands together, then looks at his friend. “You should join us too, Max.”

Please say no, you think.

Max shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”

Great. Just great.

“I’m gonna get ready before the coach starts screaming at me again.” Max interrupts, a lopsided grin on his face. “Pleasure to meet you, Piastri.” He bows, like one of those Lords in a period drama, tilting his head up a little and winking once again, making your heart stop for a second.

He disappears before you have time to think about something witty to say.

You look back at the ice rink, spotting your brother from a distance. He sees you almost immediately, and waves at you with enthusiasm. You wave back, a soft smile spreading across your features.

Well, you have an hour to come to terms with spending the afternoon with the most annoyingly attractive, blonde haired and blue eyed boy you’ve ever met. What’s the worst that could happen?

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GWEN RAMBLES — well, hello! thank you so much if you made it this far. i don’t know when the next chapter will be posted. i’m already working on it, but it may take me a few days. if you want to be added to this series taglist you can reply to this post, send me a dm or leave it in my ask box! as you know, comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated. i’ll see you in the next update!

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