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capitalisticveins · 2 years ago

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Shaw Pack Hcs Part 4 (i think?) (Ft. Sam)

These are 3 pages long on Google Docs wow um

- Tank has smoked once, but didn’t exactly get into it.

- Asher and Christian put things they KNOW Milo will need on the top shelf of whatever house they’re in.

- Baaabe has freckles. Whether they're faint, or there’s tons of them, it doesn’t matter. They HAVE freckles.

- Angel may not be able to cook, but for some reason they can really fucking good. Cake, cookies, macaroons, brownies, lava cake, hell, Creme Brulee. They just find baking and cleaning everything up tedious, so they don’t do it often.

- As kids, whenever Kelsey came over with her mom to visit Arden and Christian, Arden and Kelsey would do anything and everything to scare the shit out of Christian.

- The only game Sam and Tank can play on equal grounds with no advantages towards each other is Just Dance 2018.

- Ansel and Bailey work on their upper arm strength more

- David doesn’t shave often, but his face somehow remains slightly shaven? Which is weird because he grows facial hair like crazy.

- David sleeps like a fucking corpse, that man does NOT move.

- Angel likes to shave David’s face when he’s asleep and keeps the hair in a jar under the bed in a box.

- Asher eats Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese.

- Tank LOVES frosting on cake and cupcakes. They lick the frosting off of those mini-cupcakes and eat the frosting first off normal cake.

- Angel used to believe in Herobrine, but instead of being scared or not playing the game until he was “removed”, they’d actively seek him out.

- Sweetheart’s impulsive thoughts have once led them to go tangible while in between a wall. It was excruciatingly painful and they don’t know how they didn’t get split in half.

- Milo would sharpen his teeth if he could.

- Ansel eats Crumbl Cookies, much to Christian’s dismay (he believes they’re undercooked).

- Asher and Baaabe don’t get out of each other’s arms until both of them are awake. If one wakes up first, they just lay there until the other wakes up.

- Baaabe didn’t go into elevators for a week after they met Asher. Not because they didn’t want to see him again, but because they were deathly afraid of being stuck again.

- When he was a kid, Marie would aggressively pinch Milo’s cheek whenever he did something bad.

- Baaabe took it surprisingly well when Asher first admitted to being a werewolf. Not because they were shocked or in fear, but because it explained a LOT of weird shit he would do.

- Once, when they were a kid, Tank got into a frosting container their mom used to ice cakes she’d make, and ate all the frosting out of it. They would’ve been punished if they didn’t vomit an hour afterward, since it was “punishment enough” in their father’s words

- Madelyn and all of the older pack kids (only girls) would have sleepovers almost all the time. Kelsey, Bailey, and Arden were invited, but not so often since they were younger.

- Sweetheart likes to buy square pillows so it can support their neck better.

- Asher, David, Milo, and Christian would try to sneak in or see what the girls were talking about, much to Madelyn’s dismay.

- David has a vase full of honeysuckles in his bedroom.

- Sweetheart can NOT hopscotch. They’ve tried and they keep tripping by the time they reach 6.

- Angel has once laughed so hard they passed out.

- Bailey likes to blow bubblegum, but it’s hard to pop them. Meaning if they grow too big she has to use her fingers to pop them, but then sometimes it gets stuck to her hands.

- Brooke has seen Bailey get tangled up in gum during a pack meeting, and had to go over and help her, but then he started getting stuck in the gum, until Amanda saw him.

- Long story short half the pack got stuck in 5 pieces of gum until David had to use scissors to cut them out. That night he prayed for a normal pack.

- Sweetheart was once compared to Sherlock Holmes. That’s the best compliment they believe they’ve ever been given.

- Baaabe always has a stupid and goofy smile whenever Asher walks into the room.

- As a kid, Milo was often left out of fun activities with the other kids. Bailey was the only one that stuck around him when they forgot to invite him.

- I.E: Brooke forgot to invite him to his 10th birthday party, and when Bailey found out, she and her parents took him to Six Flags.

- Other than the literal stealth in the pack, Brooke is the most stealthy member of the Shaw Pack. He can stop breathing for up to 5 minutes and cloak his aura enough for any normal empowered person to not sense or notice him.

- Tank has put mentos in coke and shoved the bottle in their mouth, Milo had to snatch the bottle from their hands after soda started spraying from their nose. Asher gave them 20 bucks to do it.

- David would stay up until 2am studying for ANY test they were given back in high school.

- Asher tried getting a tattoo in high school and told David, but David said if he ever finds a tattoo on him, he’d tell Asher’s parents immediately.

- Arden is the reason unempowered people in Dahlia believe wolves howl during a full moon. She makes sure that during ALL full moons, she’s at the highest peak possible in the town, shifted and howling as loud as she can. Only Christian knows she’s the one doing it.

- Tank has forgotten to put water in a cup of noodles once before microwaving it.

- Sweetheart has scared Baaabe before and this led to Baaabe cursing them out in a different language.

- Angel had braces from elementary school to high school, and keep unknowingly licking their teeth.

- David is NOT flexible, that man is as stiff as a floorboard.

- When Tank and their family first joined the pack, Tank was pissy and distant because they missed their old pack with their old friends.

-Milo has said “I’m walking ‘ere!” once, that’s the only reason Asher and Christian say it whenever he’s around.

- Bailey eats waffles with her hands.

- Kelsey and David fold their pizzas.

- Arden used a fork and knife to eat hers once to piss everyone off.

- Asher, David, Christian, Arden, Amanda, Brooke, Miguel, and Bailey have done the cliche “break a window with a baseball” in Amanda’s backyard once. Bailey broke it and was going to come clean, but Christian panicked and blamed it on Kelsey, who wasn’t there. He then tried to backtrack and blame it on Milo, who was in the corner playing with dandelions because they forgot to ask him to play. Bailey got away with it because Amanda’s mom believed it was him due to his lying, and no one backed him up.

- Asher tries to laugh more “cutely” or “manly” but whenever Baaabe says a joke he can’t help but laugh genuinely.

- When David was scolding Tank in “Confronted but your Pack Alpha”, Tank had a scowl on and kept looking at the ground. They didn’t make eye contact until the end.

- Sweetheart can throw it back

- David can be DEATHLY silent when he wants to be. This is why Sam didn’t hear David from behind him during the pack Solstice, despite his advanced hearing.

- Whenever the Sunbound Solstice comes around, and none of the wolves feel good or energized enough to do anything, the mates do everything in their power to pamper and take care of them until they feel better. The only exceptions are Tank, Sam, Milo, and Sweetheart since they’re all Moonbound. In this case, Baaabe and Angel wait until David and Asher fall asleep to help them out.

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cc-nadama · 2 months ago

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Feelings, It’s Been Too Long Since I Felt

Inspired by a Mustafa Avşaroğlu song

Summary: When a series of innocent encounters with the cleaning lady led to a more intimate relationship, Viktor finds himself absolutely smitten.

Pairing: Viktor x cleaning lady!reader

Rating: Mature

Expected Content: There are no sexual acts depicted in this work. However, there is a passionate kissing scene.

Word count: 2,440

To @the-californicationist, thank you for your kind words and advice. I finally wrote something that I felt proud of sharing.

———

Even in his deepest moments of solitude, there was this undeniable feeling—a yearning that Viktor could never shake. It was this bothersome inkling, incessant in its demand and fervent in its inclination. Forever present in his lonesome existence and forever there to remind him of his growing need for companionship.

With each passing day, the notion remained. It festered like an ill-begotten wound, clawing into his flesh until it gnawed on his weary bones. Soon, his mind became a feverish haze, lost in a stream of consciousness that delved into the primal depths of his imagination.

For hours, Viktor sat. His gaze was turned towards the window, watching the silver light filter into his laboratory. His space was a mess, cluttered with various contraptions and inventions, the metal machinery glinting underneath the pearlescent glow. Somewhere, a faint yet constant hum filled the empty air, a noise that barely kept him from the brink of silence.

Within his hands was a small device, a partially constructed piece that kept his idle hands busy. Yet, despite his best efforts to keep his mind from conjuring visages of you, it was all met in vain.

For a brief moment, Viktor caught a faint whiff of your perfume—the delicate notes of lavender and vanilla flitting in the air until it swirled around him like a tender caress. Suddenly, memories of you rushed into his mind like a babbling brook. Every little detail came to him so vividly. The way you looked into his eyes with that sweet little smile. The lovely sound of your voice while you rambled on about your day. The feeling of your fingers running over his skin.

With a shuddering sigh, Viktor slumped into his chair and closed his eyes. He was fraying at the seam, practically unraveling from the mere thought of you. The moment he had gotten a taste, you became a craving for a man who never knew he was starved. You became his reckoning—the reason behind the fall of a brilliant scientist. If you were to ever disappear from his life, Viktor would be in absolute pieces. You became his everything.

It was a simple yet profound epiphany, one that dawned on him the night you slept in his arms. Your weary head was pressed against his firm chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sleep. His slender arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him while the two of you lay on his bed.

Somehow, that night stirred something deep within him as he watched you. His gaze was tender, eyes tracing the features of your face and counting the moles and freckles along your skin. Viktor spent those blissful hours studying every little detail, committing them to memory.

“Viktor? What are you doing, it’s a quarter past midnight.”

Your voice was a delicate sound, one that complimented the peaceful stillness in his laboratory. Amidst the constant humming and thrumming, devoid of the usual clanging and thrashing, your voice was the perfect harmony that soothe his aching heart.

Within an instant, Viktor turned in his seat to meet your gaze. Even under the dim moonlight, the amber in his eyes were smoldering with emotion—something so raw and intense that it left you momentarily stunned. Before Viktor, no one had ever looked at you that way. It was as if you were the definite solution to a once insoluble equation.

For a fleeting second, nothing else mattered. Whatever words you were supposed to utter next had died on your tongue. In the absence of speech was the weight of unspoken meaning—sentiments that were never fully expressed but entirely felt. It lingered heavy in the air, begging for someone to bring it to attention.

Then, Viktor cleared his throat and looked away.

“I needed to finish some work.” He gestured to the device in his hand before placing it on his desk. He spoke in an even tone, belaying the inner turmoil stirring deep within his core. Somehow, a simple cleaning lady was turning him inside out.

Unlike his stoic delivery, what tumbled out of your trembling lips was a sheepish reply,

“Well, you should—uhm—call it a… night.” You suggested, your voice barely even an audible mumble.

You watched the corner of his lips twitch into a crooked smile, his voice sounding softer than when he last spoke. When Viktor met your gaze again, the heat behind his eyes softened—replaced with a promising warmth that made your stomach flutter.

“I suppose I could use the rest.”

Viktor made a small hum before he lifted himself from his chair. His movements were careful, using his cane to support his crippled leg. Even with the subtle hobble in his step, his stride remained purposeful. There was nothing that could stop him from walking towards you. Viktor was always determined to cross the distance, especially when it meant he could be with you in the end.

Soon, the two of you were walking down the hallway side by side. It was a long journey from his laboratory to the dormitory, navigating through several intersections and winding corridors. But, whenever Viktor had you with him, it made the ache in his leg a little more bearable.

You listened to the sound of your footsteps padding against the marble floor, noticing how the tip of his cane would make a soft clack at the same moment. It was an easy melody, one that filled the comfortable silence.

“How have you been?” Viktor finally spoke. His heart was racing—building a thundering rhythm he was sure you could hear.

It was an innocent question. One that either of you would ask on any given occasion. Viktor knew about the misgivings of your work, having witnessed some of it firsthand. Yet, he always loved to hear your recounts—rather, he loved to hear your voice when you did so.

“The usual.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing the small smile that curved his lips. It was almost unusual to see him like this—content and at peace. Viktor was a man of relentless ambition. Yet, whenever you were with him, Viktor seemed to forget about his work. Instead, all he could focus on was you. You were what mattered most in that moment.

“The councilors had a gathering earlier. Had to clean after them…” You continued, relaying the events of your day while knowing how trivial it was to a distinguished scientist like him. Yet, unbeknownst to you, Viktor needed to hear something mundane. His mind was like a loom—constantly weaving equations and theorems. He needed to hear something unrelated to his work, something monotonous and ordinary.

“I missed you.” You remarked suddenly.

Within an instant, Viktor snapped his head to the side. He looked surprised, not expecting you to say something so bold. His lips were opening and closing, searching for the right words to say.

“I… I missed you too.” He mumbled a reply. But, beneath the twilight, you saw how his eyes gleamed with sincerity.

Then, the both of you stopped.

“How have you been, Viktor?” It was your turn to ask, and when you did, you saw how his lips curved into another smile.

“Restless—until you came.” It was an honest answer. Because throughout the day, his mind was nearing the brink of hysteria. You were driving him practically insane.

Then, the two of you continued to walk, rounding the corner to where his dormitory was.

It was only when you stood in front of his door did you meet his gaze again, noticing something swimming beneath the amber of his eyes. It was almost indiscernible—yet, it made your core blossom with warmth.

“Would you like some tea?” Viktor inquired as he opened the door, gesturing for you to enter.

“That would be lovely.” You smiled in reply before stepping inside.

A few of the curtains were still drawn from this morning, offering a faint pearlescent glow to an otherwise unlit apartment. He followed you from behind, closing the door until it made a click. Then, he made his way into the small kitchen, pulling the kettle from the shelves so he could boil some water.

Whenever the two of you had your little meetings, it always began with a good cup of tea. It became a tradition—something that Viktor looked forward too.

You ventured deeper into his room and took a deep breath, smelling something familiar. It was his scent—woody, musty, and with a delicate note of vanilla. It reminded you of an old book, where the pages were browning and the ink was fading.

His room reflected his simplicity, keeping to the basic necessities while staying true to his academic pursuits. You walked over to the side of his bed, your hand tracing over the grains of his wooden bookshelf. It displayed a few of his favorite collections, with titles written in his native tongue while others pertained to the sciences.

You undid the front buttons of your jacket, folding it over the backrest of his chair.

Meanwhile, Viktor watched you from the kitchen, his eyes following your gentle movements. While the kettle remained on the stovetop, boiling on low heat, he walked over to you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, the sound of his cane mingling with the soft patter of his footsteps. Then, it came to a stop just a few paces behind you.

When you turned around, you saw his slender fingers undoing his necktie and the first few buttons of his dress shirt. He gave you a knowing smile before glancing over to the bed.

“I could say the same about you.” You replied, the corners of your lips twitching into a cheeky grin. Even under the dim light, you could see the playful gleam in his eyes.

So, you kicked off your shoes and jumped into bed. Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, removing his loafers before he settling in beside you.

You lay your head on his chest, a finger tracing a gentle pattern over his skin. His nose was buried in your hair, an arm wrapped around your waist. Viktor pulled you closer to him until your bodies met, pressed impossibly close. Underneath the layers of clothing, you could feel his warmth seeping into your skin, stoking a fire deep within your core.

“I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.” Viktor whispered, his lips grazing your forehead.

You tilted your head back, wanting to meet his gaze. You could see something simmering beneath the amber of his eyes—something so intense. His desire for you was humming deep within his bones, his fingers twitching as it yearned to touch you.

Slowly, you leaned in, closing the space between you by millimeters a second. Then, your lips brushed against his chapped ones, soft and testing, wanting to see whether he would pull away. When he didn’t, you fell deeper into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close. The kiss deepened and you could feel the coolness of his fingers against your flushed cheek, hands moving to cup your face.

Viktor hummed in response, his eyes fluttering close as he melted into the kiss. Your head was spinning from the excitement, your heart pounding in your ears. It sent you into a blur of pure want, desperate to feel more of him. Your lips were moving in tandem with his, suddenly feeling something warm prod against your bottom lip. You made a quiet and pitchy sound, almost like a suppressed whine of surprise,

“Mm!”

Viktor hummed and continued his exploration, slipping into your mouth. You could feel his tongue gently moving inside, stirring something deep within your core that made you blush. It was becoming too much for you to handle, your head now dizzy from the sudden rush.

Your breathing became ragged, out of tune with your usual cadence. It was frantic and without pace, sucking in breaths whenever you could. It was only when Viktor broke the kiss did the both of you breathed again, panting heavily like a pair of dogs. Underneath the pale light, you could see his swollen lips glisten and parted while he took in a series of quick and sharp breaths.

“You make me feel things… I never thought possible.” Viktor muttered, his hands still cupping your face. His thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his touch light and tender.

There were no words to describe the feelings you had for him. It was profound, with no words or adjectives to do it justice.

“Viktor…” You whispered his name like it was a prayer, so soft yet reverent. Your voice was shaking, still trying to recover from the last kiss.

Without sparing another moment, his lips crashed into yours. He pulled you even closer, desperate to feel your body pressed against his while he poured his everything into one earth-shattering kiss.

In that moment, nothing else mattered—only you.

His blood was running hot with excitement, his heart blaring in his ears. Viktor felt like he was going insane. All the yearning, all the wanting, has now culminated into one fervent kiss—it was chaotic, overwhelming, like a maelstrom of emotions.

You were sinking into his kiss, completely and utterly ruined from the unrestrained passion he unleashed. You never expected to feel something so fierce from a man like Viktor. He was always controlled and immune to his impulses. Yet, when it came to you, he felt like a crazed man without reservations.

“Miláčku…” He muttered into the kiss, his voice strained and breathless.

You could hear something whistling, something sharp piercing into the quiet night. It took you longer than a minute to realize what it was, not exactly caring for whatever else was happening in the moment—except for Viktor.

Unlike you, the man heard nothing. His frantic movements remained that, fervent in his desire and consumed in the kiss. You muttered something incoherent, trying to catch his attention,

“Viktor… the kettle.”

He only hummed in response, not even stopping to hear you better,

“Viktor… kettle.” You mumbled again, a little louder this time.

His movements stuttered, as if he was beginning to realize that the kettle was indeed piping in the kitchen.

“Let it be.” He replied, his voice scratching deep in his throat. Before he could resume the kiss, you interjected with a more scolding tone,

“Viktor… we have neighbors…”

With a loud and reluctant sigh, Viktor conceded. He pulled away and gathered himself to stand.

“Fine.”

———

#arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane imagine #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x you

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chewingcyanide · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secretly pining over someone is never fun—even less so when they’re your childhood best friend, and dating someone else.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 —all the angst, jealousy, thoughts of inferiority, cursing, big sadness from reader over here, not proofread i got better things to do

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x fem!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — my valentine’s day jhughes special (albeit a day late ☹️), as promised! sorry it took me so long. couldn’t figure out how to end it. this is unapologetically self-indulgent. also not a wip, but i HAD to do it to em. i’m sorry if your name is brooke or bianca. i love you. promise. maybe we’ll make a part two, if yall like it enough!

₊⊹ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — @dancerbailey3, @bellstwd, @kashee-h, @crazycat-ladys-blog, @brucewaynegfreal, @love4dlr, @jackhughesily, @leavethemonsteralive, @loveforaugust, @43hughes, @nathandoe, @choppedlamphandscowboy, @bunting58, @angelayse, @ru-kru, @sleepretreat, @nonsensical-nonsence, @maih23 (if your name is white, i couldn’t tag you!)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Everyone knows the saying you never know what you have until you lose it. Truth was, you knew exactly what you had—you’d just never imagined you’d lose it.

You never imagined you’d lose him.

A shared childhood and mothers’ who found friendship with each other had brought you and Jack Hughes together, kept you glued even as skin stretched and futures diverged—where he’d gone on to be a star hockey player, you’d quietly came into adulthood, trekking through the difficulties of college.

In your younger years, Jack had always been there. Life of the party, a mirrorball everyone gravitated to for its decadent shine—you, contrastingly, felt like a sore thumb at parties, attending them only to see the smile on Jack’s face. Differing personalities and life routes aside, Jack was your person. The first person you called whenever you were sad, or happy, or bored. The one who knew all of your test scores first, who took hours long flights just to visit you during breaks in the season.

Distance nor time had left a lasting mark on your friendship, kept together by constant phone calls and texts. Whilst you remained imbedded in the hustle of Toronto, Jack was trapped in New Jersey—a gap that you closed every summer, when mutual desire to see one another (as well as his brothers) brought you and him to Michigan for a few months.

From childhood, to high school, to now—it had always been you two. Jokes passed in the years, swirling around with assumptions of the two of you ending up together, finally realizing it after years of proclaimed friendship. For Jack, it’d never been romantic. Loving and caring, a relationship he’d never trade for the world, but the intimacy ended there. Memories of him outwardly flirting with girls in front of you at bars or parties flashed in your mind any time you figured maybe; he’d never given any indicator that you were or would ever be more to him than his best friend.

For you? It was an embarrassingly different story.

College had stolen much of your time—left none for a love life. But truthfully, that didn’t much phase you.

Hookups, flings, boyfriends—all of them paled in comparison to Jack. A childhood crush perpetuated by maturation without loss of contact, Jack had just… always been there. Always a best friend, never a lover; the hanging axe of rejection was too dire a outcome for you to ever consider telling him. Killing a friendship you’d grown with would kill you. And maybe he felt the same way, maybe the kisses he reserved for the crown of your head and the guiding hand he kept on the small of your back meant something, but you couldn’t continue existing if they didn’t.

So, a dutiful friend, you kept quiet, spared the connection and suffered in unrequited love.

And it hadn’t really changed until Jack had gotten a girlfriend. In all your years of knowing him, he’d had a few—though they rarely lasted more than a handful of months, and a selfish and bitter part of you liked that. Sometimes they overstepped, viewed themselves above you in the ranking of Jack’s life; he made painfully clear they never would be.

And it felt good, to be that cherished. But then you remembered he didn’t actually love you and it felt a whole lot less impactful.

Not Brooke.

Brooke, a box-dye blonde with a less-than-stellar reaction to your friendship with her boyfriend, was unarguably beautiful—unapproachably so, someone you’d picture whenever thinking of the girl Jack would end up with. You knew it would never be you, but you hated that it was her, hated that it was finally cemented, the coffin wheeled out.

A friendship you’d cherished for years had been weathered down by the abrasive actions of his girlfriend. It left a bitter taste in your mouth; Jack never seemed privy to Brooke’s nonverbal dislike of you, and you never made comment of it. If Jack was happy, what did it matter? If you said anything, all you’d appear to be was a child throwing a tantrum, the attention torn from them. You refused to jeopardize Jack’s happiness, even if it meant shredding your own.

Brooke tolerated you; that was the best word you could think of. There was surely no excess of love, but you didn’t think she flat out despised you, either. Passive aggressive to the point of just being aggressive, snide looks whenever she didn’t think you could see, intentionally separating you from Jack whenever the two of you were talking—it all made you hate being around her, and by extension, him.

So when he’d invited you to dinner with him—and some of his teammates, a monthly ritual at his house—the knee jerk reaction had been to decline, lie, run while you were still free from the piercing glare of Brooke; because you knew she’d be there, clung to his side, as if you had any intention of taking him away.

… Well, you’d did have the intention. Never the will, so then again maybe she was right to hate you. Feelings you’d never act on, words you’d never say—none of it mattered. She had him. Not you. Never you.

You should’ve said no.

Pouting eyes and pleading lips caved you. As soon as you’d agreed, you’d regretted it—knew in your bones it would only serve to wedge the knife in your heart deeper, solidify the loss of a what you thought would be a lifelong partnership. Your platonic soulmate, twin flame pinched out by hateful fingers.

Getting ready for the dinner felt like preparing for a cage fight, where all night you’d have do endure blow after blow—them kissing, them touching, him loving her in a way you wished he’d love you.

Night blanketed the sky by the time you’d arrived to Jack’s home, shadows slipping by the window, shapes of people telling you that you were likely late—the stone in your stomach had slowed you monumentally. The torture was self-inflicted, you knew. There would be no pity when your heart finally gave out.

She did this to herself, they’d say. Hearts can only endure so much before they break.

Voices coalesced into one as you pushed open the door, welcomed by the familiar atmosphere of friendship and loud laughter. You’d completely forgotten to text Jack that you’d gotten here—and for some reason, as you crossed the threshold into the gaping space of his living room, you felt like an outsider. Sudden eyes landed on you like bullets, and all you saw was Jack—his side taken dutifully by Brooke, always beautiful, striking in a way you didn’t think you’d ever been.

Looking at her, it made sense why she was the one Jack chose. Why you hadn’t been. A best friend. Childhood acquaintance. Faded t-shirt he’d strung along for too many years, even as the design weathered away and the fabric weakened. He’d gotten a shiny new one, the novelty still in tact, yet he hadn’t let you go.

Some part of you, deep in the caves of your wounded heart, wished Brooke would ban him from your presence. Maybe then your hurt would lessen. You knew you’d never be able to let go on your own.

Jack’s eyes caught you, stood awkwardly in the mouth of the hallway. He attempted to stand, only for Brooke to tug him down by his t-shirt—the shirt you’d bought him for his birthday last year, impressed with two hearts holding hands. She said something to him, something low and hissed between clenched teeth. Before you could see his reaction, Nico was invading your space, arms winding around you.

“There she is!” he announced, the ground leaving your feet as he lifted you playfully. “We were waiting on you to eat. Sure do like to take your time.”

Residual bitterness faded at Nico’s words—Jack may have been your best friend, but years of being attached to him introduced you to his teammates; they were always kind, if a little overbearing. A big brother that toed the line of overprotective and well-wishing.

Grateful for the attention distractor, you allowed your shoulders to relax and lungs to decompress. The first cut at seeing Jack, still happily in love with Brooke, was already dealt; you just needed to get through the dinner, and not look like a hostage while doing so.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed, shoving Nico’s shoulder as he brought you towards where the others were gathered in the living room. “Make fun of me for driving like a grandma all you want, at least I’m safe.”

Not looking at Jack took more self control than you’d care to admit. Blurring in your peripheral, a mess of colors stacked atop one another, you knew if you glanced—saw the claim Brooke was staking for all to see—it would only make you want to leave. So you didn’t.

Luke was next to greet you, offering a pity-imbued smile. Despite never mentioning your affections for his older brother, you knew he knew; saw it in the way he would look at you, the frowns offered. In times when Brooke inadvertently talked you down, it was Luke who told her off, put balm on the wound.

A side hug and a soft smile—you barely were able to muster one yourself. “How have classes been?”

You graced Luke with an exasperated groan. “Terrible, thanks for reminding me. Economics is kicking my ass.”

Luke sat. You remained standing. A loose thread peeking from your sweatshirt seemed far more intriguing than eyes you were trying desperately not to meet.

“Tough luck,” remarked Luke, conversations reviving after the novelty of your arrival wore off. You recognized a couple of faces around you—Dawson, Jesper, Alexander, and John. Faces you’d become acquainted with in your years of being Jack’s friend.

The title felt a bitter reminder of your ceiling, never surpassing Jack’s best friend. Loved and cherished, a desired presence, just not how you wanted. Who were you to complain? It was better to be his friend than nothing at all; to have a little piece of him, proof that at one point, you’d mattered enough to get it.

You just weren’t sure if you did anymore.

Where once Jack’s name was a regular occurrence, flashing on your phone screen—texts, calls, FaceTimes, they all faded once Brooke came into his life. Movie nights on his couch, reruns of old films that you could quote down to the last line, stopped. You knew Jack cared enough to extend invites, but at this point, you figured it was more out of pity and shame than actual want of your company.

Beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

Eventually, everyone made their way into the dining room. Chairs lined a large wooden table, one chosen and haphazardly assembled by you and Jack when he’d first bought this house. Scratches imbedded in the finish sent flashes of dropped hammers and clumsy feet into your mind, memories that felt too far to touch.

Mind far afield, you sat down—somewhere between Luke and Nico, far enough from Jack to be inconspicuous but close enough to feel the sharp burn of his eyes. It was petty, you knew, to have still not greeted him. Not that Brooke would’ve likely even let you. A sadistic part of you wanted him to feel even a modicum of the agony that rattled you whenever you were forced to watch him and Brooke, wanted to wonder and question why you were so cold.

Then again, maybe he didn’t care.

Body detached from your mind, the last thing you expected was to be spoken to—least of all by Brooke. But there her grating voice was, verging on overuse, but you knew that was just how she talked. Chafing and annoying and awful—

“Still no boyfriend?” A venomous smile curled her lips; friendly to the untrained eye. You knew better.

Your fingers twitched. The food in front of you spoiled, appetite evaporated. Of course she asked that—both a jab and a reassurance; if you had a boyfriend, her relationship with Jack would be safe. Not that it wasn’t, regardless.

You wished you could scream at her, leap across the table and force her to hear your words: you’d never have Jack. Want him, yes. Spend years pining over a boy who looked to you like the sister he never had, absolutely. But actually have him, feel his love in every touch and kiss? No. That wasn’t on the cards for you; you’d folded long ago.

“Nope,” you drawled. The pressure of Jack’s stare caved you—you caught his eyes, eyebrows creased, the wrinkle of his forehead that made itself prominent whenever he was annoyed.

What did he possibly have to be annoyed about?

Catching Luke’s gaze only irked you further, alit the urge to push out of your chair and flee Jack’s home. Pity swelled in his eyes, the beginnings of a frown quirking down his lips. You didn’t want pity; didn’t want to feel like the entire world was in on some inside joke you’d never understand. Everyone saw it, your love for Jack. Saw the lovestruck comedy that was your life—girl loves boy, boy isn’t even aware of it, hilarity ensues.

Everyone but Jack. And honestly, that was for the best.

You didn’t think you’d be able to handle the frown when he found out. Jack Hughes, always kind, never malignant, searching for a way to politely turn down his best friend without taking an axe to the connection. Really, there would be no bloodless way to let it die—so you lived in moments between, where nothing felt impactful or important or real.

When Jack was without Brooke, you could almost imagine he was your Jack—the one who turned down every girl so that he’d be free to go to prom with you, the one who got banned from a restaurant for life for pouring a drink over your cheating ex-boyfriend’s head. The Jack who always protected you, always cared, even when all of his friends couldn’t understand it.

That Jack who currently hand his arm around the back of Brooke’s chair, shoulders touching—a casual thing, something you’d done with countless strangers, yet it felt impactful enough to make bile swim in your throat.

“Probably for the best,” Luke interjected after the conversation—if it even was that—between you and Brooke came to an awkward stalemate. “Guys are dicks.”

A tension somehow always existed whenever you were in a room with Brooke. One you never wanted, never fed into. Like a shadow, the morning mist, it hung thick as smog. Choking you, nearly forcing you from the room.

“You’re a guy,” you laughed weakly, offering Luke a pointed look.

“No one at college, then?” Nico piped up. You felt bad for not looking at him, but he was too close to Jack and Brooke—you didn’t want to see them.

Cozy, warm in a way you thought only you’d ever be with Jack. Familiar, united. Their relationship didn’t seem as superficial as his past ones had, woven together under the pretense of good sex and no real connection. Watching Jack love his new, perfect girlfriend made you physically ill; and maybe that was dramatic, maybe it made you a backwards person with failing morals—you couldn’t care anymore.

Years of hiding your love, months of watching his own be poured into a girl that wanted you out of his life—it wore you down to your bones, dangerously close to burning to ash.

“Most of them are… strange, to say the least,” you responded with a wince. And that was true; your major seemed to just attract men whose one quality was making women uncomfortable. “Plus, having a boyfriend would just distract me. Finals are coming up and I’m already worried about how I’m going to do on them.”

Luke scoffed. “Hookups exist.”

A wince followed Luke’s words. Eyes fell to where Jessica was rubbing her hand—Jack apologized, albeit half-heartedly. Confusion overcame you; had he squeezed her hand too tightly?

In the past, you’d had boyfriends. Not that they lasted very long. Somehow, there was always something wrong with them—something only Jack could see; he’d endlessly nitpick, nag, explain why your newest boyfriend wasn’t good enough for you.

They were too old, too uptight, not nice enough. Always something. And without fail, Jack was right—scarcely did they make it past the first date before some measly excuse fell from their lips. But maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was you. So, with an aching heart refusing to connect with any other but Jack’s, you gave up. Delved headfirst into college work and stayed below the waves, even as they began to drown you.

All you offered in response to Luke was a shrug.

Conversation picked up then, thankfully fell away from you. Limelight sufficiently dimmed, you allowed yourself to watch Jack; a habit you’d never quite shaken, even in the embarrassing moments when he caught your peering gaze.

You weren’t sure exactly when you’d fallen in love with Jack—just that you had, and now you couldn’t touch the bottom of him. Water filled your lungs, suffocated you, but if drowning meant being near him, you’d happily do it. Dying in his platonic embrace seemed better than dying all alone.

Ruffled brown hair, the sort of charm that every boy-next-door seemed to possess, and clear blue eyes that shone every emotion like a transparent window to his soul—all of it made Jack Jack, the boy you loved, would admire even in moments he didn’t think he deserved reverence.

You’d seen it all: the self-deprecation after his failure of a rookie year, dwindling confidence, tears imbued with hurt and disappointment, frustration of someone who knew they were better. It was you who’d been by his side, proved an anchor to a person you couldn’t live without.

Yet he’d still chosen Brooke.

For most people, that would be the last step off the cliff, boneless body breaking against the canyon. Not you—so full of hope and dreams, undeterred by every sign the universe gave you. You weren’t his only, but at least you were one.

Jack’s lips parted into a smile, one you could tell was real—his kissed Brooke’s temple, pinched her on the side. An intimate moment in a crowded room. You felt almost as if you were trespassing, a stranger watching two people in love. Part of you didn’t even associate that boy as Jack, because you couldn’t understand how he could love someone so averse to you, so… mean. But then again, it wasn’t about you.

It was about him. Accommodations had been made for years—leaving parties early because you were uncomfortable, blowing off his guy friends to comfort you after a bad date, scrapping his wants and his plans because of something to do with you.

He was probably sick of it. Sick of you, dictating what he could and couldn’t do. Who he could and couldn’t date. Because who cared if Brooke hated you; Jack loved her, despite it all. And that was what made dread swirl into a storm in your heart, ribs nearly cracking under the rate it was thundering at.

Abruptly, you stood. Felt the chair nearly topple. Eyes came to you—Jack’s friends. Yours, yes, but Jack’s foremost. You were just intruding, butting into a life that no longer fit you. Time had passed, the wishful minds of children grown into adulthood. He didn’t owe you anything anymore, especially when all you were was a storm cloud over his parade.

Just as soon as you had, Jack stood, concern clear in his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Your tongue felt like lead. “Nothing—nothing, sorry. I’m—I need to use the restroom.”

You didn’t wait much longer before leaving the room.

Air felt scarce, lungs punctured and deflating quicker than you could patch the holes. Clumsily, you pushed open the door to the bathroom, steadied your shaking hands on the edge of the sink. Looking at yourself, reflection marred by the onset of tears, all you could do was compare—compare to Brooke, to every girl Jack had ever wanted, ever liked, ever loved.

Was it their features, doughy lips that worshipped him in a way you didn’t? Was it their bodies, womanly and free in a way you didn’t like to be? Or was it deeper, were their souls crafted from the same light, in a way you’d always thought your own had been with Jack’s?

Idiot, fool, dreamer—you were all of it. Like a lap dog, bird in its teeth, you always returned, remained dutifully at Jack’s side for the moment he might open the screen door and finally let you in.

Brooke had every right to hate you. Perceptive in a way Jack wasn’t, she saw what everyone else did—the lovesick eyes, foolish faith chaining you to him, an unrealized desire that would never be acted on. Had you been in Brooke’s place, you would’ve hated yourself as well.

Water poured from the faucet, gathered in your cupped palms. Attempting to desecrate any evidence of tears, you gently splashed the water in your face—went to dry it when you heard the sound of the front door creaking open.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Bee.”

Cold crept up your spine. Eavesdropping was wrong—you knew that, yet still found yourself leaning against the bathroom door to catch Brooke’s words.

“What’s going on?” came the response, likely the voice of Bianca, Brooke’s best friend. You’d met her once at a game (met was a loose word; she’d given you a snide look and taken to ignoring you the entire time).

Brooke’s voice lowered to the point where you were forced to strain to hear her speak. “You know Jack’s little pet?”

A lapse. Your heart seized, taken by some concoction of shame and surprise.

“No.”

“Yes!” responded Brooke. “She’s fucking everywhere. I asked Jack not to invite her tonight, and lo and behold—”

“Wait, I thought you talked to Jack?”

“I did.” Vexation laced every letter. “I told him it made me uncomfortable how close they were, how she was always around, blah blah. He got defensive, but he said he’d talk to her.”

“Clearly not,” Bianca muttered. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re childhood friends, yeah? He probably feels like he has to stay her friend, or something. I mean, Jack’s a good guy, he wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone; if he dropped her, he’d look like a douche. I’m sure she’ll get the hint eventually.”

Footsteps began, voices fading along with them. “I fucking hope. It’s honestly pathetic.”

Blood roared in your ears, drowned out the sound of your beating heart—if it was even beating anymore. Something bitter and hot invaded your airways, lashed like whips against your flesh. It was no secret Brooke disliked you, disliked the closeness of you and Jack, but to hear it, the vicious way it fell from her lips—it made your gut twist and constrict, pushing bile towards your throat.

Pathetic. They thought you were pathetic, hopelessly waiting, like a dead plant praying for flowers that would never come. Lovelorn, seeking affection that only came by way of friendship and never more; they were right, and it became evident with a strike of lightning to your body.

Is that truly how Jack felt? Was he waiting for you to give up, so to spare you the hurt of being let down? Had you become baggage? Chained to him, the memory of childhood the only thing keeping you relevant, when times were less impactful and his life didn’t center around being a professional athlete. The stain of youth, remaining only for its joyful memory; that’s all you were now—a memory.

Just like your love, it seemed everyone saw Jack’s hints but you. Rose-colored lenses blurred everything but what you wished to see; of course you missed them, ignored them so your narrative remained intact.

God, you were an idiot. A fucking idiot.

Head pounding, the squeeze of an oncoming migraine rattling your brain, you opened the bathroom door. Felt like a trapped bird all the way back to the table—you just had to get through dinner, only an hour or two, so as to not raise any suspicion, and then you could fade from Jack’s life.

Not that he’d notice. He hadn’t even spoken to you tonight, though no fault of his own; Brooke kept her claws deep, and it was clear he didn’t want to risk an argument. Not that you could blame him—she was his girlfriend. Her. Not you. He didn’t owe you anything.

Conversations filled your ears, ostracized you—every time you had opened your mouth before, it had felt wrong, the scratch on a vinyl everyone skipped over. You saw him first—noticeably tense, chair a bit further away from Brooke that it had been earlier. Tensed forehead, hands balled on the table; you longed to ask what was wrong, as you were used to doing. But you imagined talking to him, and it somehow felt wrong, a peasant addressing a king.

Then, your eyes fell to your seat.

No longer empty, occupied now by Bianca, who was talking casually with Brooke, as if her actions hadn’t changed your entire perception of the situation. There were no more seats. No more room. The metaphor wasn’t lost on you, hit with the same sting of antiseptic on a wound—there wasn’t any more room for you at the table, just as there was no room for you in Jack’s life.

Maybe this was always meant to happen. Childhood didn’t remain forever, and it seemed, neither was your friendship. You’d always wondered why Jack had chosen you, someone so dissimilar to himself and his friends. Eventually, you made peace with it. His friendship was a balm to everything negative. Now… here you were again, more ostracized than ever.

What were you supposed to do? The long haul wasn’t meant to have an end.

Everyone was looking at you now. Stage fright, you lost your speech, thousands of eyes from a crowd looking at you, spotlight centered on your face, and you couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—

Blue eyes found you, stood stonily at the entrance of the dining room. Jack’s eyebrows knitted, confused as to why you were still stood. When he saw Bianca, his lip curled. Frustration sparked, bemusement painted over. Once more that protective streak flared, something you were so used to—it had once felt the greatest trophy, proof that the Jack Hughes cared enough to stand up for you. It felt a sore consolation now, a reminder that, as always, you’d be the meek girl from his childhood he was forced to drag along, defend, shield from his new life that he fit into perfectly, that you spilled out from.

“Get up.”

Then, the attention went to him.

Brooke glanced at her boyfriend, annoyance flashing on her face. Their conversation paused. “What?”

Jack nodded towards Bianca. “She took her seat,” he explained in a clipped voice. “Get up.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Jack, it’s not a big—”

“It is,” he interrupted. Tension sparked in the air like a misfired firework. “She needs to sit and Bianca took her place, so—”

“It’s fine!” The words spilled out before you could second guess them. They came out raw and pained and everything you didn’t want to appear as; pity pooled from everyone, that sort of second-hand pity you saw on strangers faces when you’d lose your footing and fall.

It was too much. Pins dug into your skin, all of a sudden too tight. You needed to leave. Now, before your bones crumbled and heart gave out and finally everything burst.

“I—um, I should probably get going, anyway,” you said, nodding as if trying to be convincing. “With finals comin’ up I should get in as much studying as I can.”

Determination was something you’d always admired about Jack; it only irked you now. He stood, shrugged off Brooke’s outstretched hand and came to stand before you, and God—it was a disservice to not admire him, even as annoyance creased his eyes and drew inwards his lips. Beauty, in such a raw form, it startled you. Growing up, he’d always been the center of everyones attention. The hockey prodigy, the first overall draft pick, the franchise player for the Devils.

You? You’d been nothing special. Yet he’d still chosen you. And here he was, apparently doing it again—but why? Why when he had a beautiful girlfriend and a perfect life and fun friends did he always come back, when clearly you were no more than a burden?

You tried not to seem spiteful. You did. But it was so hard to hide your wounds and ignore their pain. He may not have seen them, but they were unfortunately still there. And it seemed they always would be.

“You can’t,” he said, searched your gaze—he’d always been able to see straight through you, with such simplicity it frightened you. You tried to shuttered your expression, hide your pain. It wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have. “Dinner’s just started—”

“Really, J, it’s fine.” Heat bored into your face where you knew Brooke was staring, daring you to express any deeper connection with Jack past the sheltered friendliness you were currently forcing.

You weren’t going to budge. Jack saw that, and so he sighed and glanced out the window. “I’ll drive you home.”

Oh, God. Nothing was ever easy. Pushing and pushing and pushing until you weren’t sure you even wanted to get up anymore, to even try. Every time you did, right back down you went, encapsulated by everything Jack.

Freedom felt a forgotten thing. You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t love Jack, when he wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, main star of the play.

And honestly, you were tired. Tired of wishing for something that would never happen. Tired of being viewed as the shackle around Jack’s wrist. Just tired.

“No need,” you muttered noncommittally, saw the way Jack’s face twisted with concern and confusion and everything you didn’t want to see. “It’s your dinner, J. With my grandma driving, I’ll get home safe.”

The attempt at a joke didn’t land. Smile didn’t even begin to twitch his lips. “It’s dark outside,” he stated, an obvious fact that held no weight for anyone but you and him. “I always drive you when it’s dark.”

That was true enough; your inability to see properly at night meant Jack became your chauffeur, not that he ever complained—even still, it was another thing he did for you, time sacrificed to accommodate you. Prepared to leave his own dinner, his own girlfriend, just to make sure you didn’t have to do something you were uncomfortable with. Conceptually, it was sweet, a sort of gesture that would’ve normally made your heart soar. Now? It made you feel like a burden, an incapable little girl still hiding in the shadow of her protector, afraid of the sting of daylight.

No more.

“I’m going to be fine,” you reassured. Jack didn’t appear convinced—he never was satisfied when it came to you, to your safety, unless he was directly involved. “Stay and have fun.”

“What if—”

“Let her go, babe.”

Brooke’s voice proved the nail in the coffin; a part of you heard the undertone of excitement shot through her words, the possibility of your leave alleviating any annoyance your presence had brought. Without you, Jack’s attention would be fully on her. Without you, he wouldn’t have to concern himself on whether you were having fun and if you were okay.

You. You. You.

You’d considered yourself Jack’s anchor, the grounding of his mind—unfortunately, you’d forgotten an anchor also keeps a thing in place, forcing inactivity.

Let her go.

It rang like a death knell, struck sharp as a poisoned dart, invisible but so unmistakably fatal.

Gathering what remained of your dignity, you grabbed your purse off of your—Bianca’s—chair, caught the commiseration shining in Luke’s eyes like a tarnished trophy. It only stung, reminded you that you needed pity.

Before you could flee the room like a scolded dog, Jack caught your wrist. Heat bloomed, a fever rushing to your head—his simple touch made you sick with want and need and something deeper that would never be realized or fostered. Something you had to let die.

“Text me when you’re home,” he said softly. Fingers gently squeezed your wrist. Where once you’d feel comforted, you just felt trapped. “Please.”

Not trusting your words, all you did was nod.

Honestly, you’d expected some dark cloud to cover you when finally you decided to move on. A procession of funeral goers flocking like crows, unable to understand why you’d abandoned a years-long friendship over something insignificant. Over words spewed from hateful lips.

But it wasn’t what you’d overheard. Deeper, a more sharp knowledge that even if Jack loved you, held you closer than anyone in his circle of friends, he’d never want you in the way you desired. And for a while, that was okay. Because he existed separate of everything—and then came Brooke, and it all crumbled.

You could handle him not loving you. You couldn’t, however, handle him loving someone else so openly.

Street lights blurred behind tears, a mess of streaky lights like a watercolor canvas. Flashes of nights when Jack would drive you home, insisting on taking the wheel so that you didn’t have to toe out of your comfort zone, they haunted you like a inescapable film reel on repeat in your mind. Memories fogged by lost youth, angry words from Jack’s lips as he’d stand up for you—never a party person, denounced for draining the fun. Jack never let those insults slip lip before he was barking at whoever said it.

A responsibility. A burden. The lines had become blurred in recent years.

The latter seemed more fitting.

Through a barrier of tears, you were able to send Jack a text as your car rolled to a stop in the parking lot.

at my dorm

j :)

ok good. u ok? u seemed off @ dinner

Fingers hovered over your screen. Make movements to draft a text. Nothing seemed sufficient.

You let the text stale. Sit stagnant on your phone. Jack would likely worry, eventually call—you just wanted to fall into a void and never return. Not after the mess you’d made of dinner.

The mess you’d made of your life.

Making a ghost of yourself was far more difficult than you’d thought it would be.

Incessantly, Jack had texted you, called you—you didn’t answer any of them. Silence felt a balm to your shame. Selfish, you knew, to just ghost Jack without offering any explanation, but nothing would be sufficient, not without souring the connection you were hoping would die without pain.

Cowardice, craven, pathetic—you knew you were all of it. To you, you were giving Jack a chance to pull back, to fizzle the friendship of his own accord. Maybe then it would’ve stung less, if the desire of its end was reciprocated, mutual. As it were, it was not.

Even with your withdrawal, Jack still tried. Shot texts, called and punctuated them with voicemails, sent you TikToks and Snaps and everything he would normally do if everything was fine; but it wasn’t. And you knew he knew, could sense the urgency in his attempts at communication.

You felt dirty, filthy with shame and guilt.

Despite your best efforts, you didn’t appear as unaffected as you hoped. While your insides were shredding themselves, you tried valiantly to paint over your visage with the normal happy-go-lucky smile you always wore. Most people, if they noticed, didn’t comment on it.

Unfortunately, Kaylen did notice.

Since your freshman year of college, Kaylen had been your roommate—low maintenance, intelligent to the point of making you stupid without even trying. As such, she was far more perceptive than you gave her credit for.

There’d been times you confided in her about your feeling for Jack, sought out advice that never seemed good enough. Because no one but yourself could fix the valley that had split between Jack and you. You could seek outward help all you wanted, but nothing would change unless you did something—and, really, you weren’t sure that was even a good idea anymore.

Two days of moping resulted in Kaylen’s intervention.

“Get up.”

Sunlight bled through your shut eyes, forced a wince. Hands rolled you onto your back, the somewhat stiff mattress of your bed providing a measly cushion. Sleep intruded on, your hands extended, attempted to push away the figure you knew what trying to rile you.

“Go away,” you grunted, throat thickened by sleep and other terrible emotions.

“No,” Kaylen hissed. When finally you opened your eyes, her squinted expression invaded your vision. “Look, I’ve let you be miserable for two days, but it’s getting ridiculous. What the hell happened with you and loverboy?”

A jolt nearly paused your heart mid-beat. Thinking about Jack stung in a way you didn’t like to admit, mainly due to the fact that it was painfully embarrassing that he had such a control over you.

“Don’t call him that,” you muttered, bit your tongue to stop anything else from spilling out.

Kaylen’s eyebrows quirked. “So it is about him?”

Nails scraped your lungs. “No—yes—fuck,” you moaned, sitting up and balancing your forehead on bent knees. “It’s… all fucked up, K. I don’t know what to do.”

A sigh left her lips. You felt the bed dip as she climbed beside you. “I can help if you tell me.”

And so you did, started at the beginning of dinner to the end, as you left like a dog defeating in a cage match, heart crying blood. Comforting circles were rubbed into your thigh, but all they did was remind you how Jack used to trace shapes onto your leg, or arm, or back—how he touched you, just to know you were there, with him. He said it placated him.

It was shameful, how bile teased your throat even imagining it.

Rationally, you knew everything was your doing. Loving Jack, torturing yourself by being in his presence whilst he focused his attention on his girlfriend. Expecting any semblance of affection or intimacy even as another held his heart, branded her name over your own. It was always going to happen—knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

When finally you finished, the conclusion of your mournful, self-pitying tale followed by the sting of unwanted tears, Kaylen’s thoughtful silence waned. Her lips pursed, fingers twitching. You expected her to berate you; what had you expected, stupid girl? He has a girlfriend!

Instead, Kaylen hugged you. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulled back with that pitiful smile you’d seen one too many times—one you’d be fine with if you never saw again. “He cares about you—”

“Not how I care about him, though,” you finished, and Kaylen gave a weak nod.

“I mean, if you told him what Brooke and her little bitch of a friend said, I’m sure he’d leave her. He’s done more for less.” That much was true. Regardless of whose lips it came from, Jack didn’t tolerate disrespect towards you—cut long time friends off for assuming they had any authority to speak poorly of you.

And you knew—knew with the same certainty that you knew your own name—that Jack would break up with Brooke if he knew how she’d spoken of you.

That should’ve made you giddy. Bursted bright light in your chest at the prospect of having Jack to yourself once more. Instead, it made you feel heavy, sand packed into your bones. Who were you to invade his happiness? If he’d chosen Brooke, so be it.

Sure, she’d disparaged you, but Jack’s life wasn’t yours to dictate anymore. If he wanted Brooke, he’d have her, until he decided to leave—not because you decided for him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Eyelids heavy, the residue of late-night tears remaining on the skin, you felt the fight leave you. Kaylen frowned. “I just want it all to be over.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Seriously? You’re giving up on an eight year friendship because of something some dickface said about you? I thought Jack meant more to you than that.”

Kaylen’s words stung. Made you defensive, because she was right—you were giving up and you did care about Jack, but the pain had become too much. “It’s not—it’s harder to explain than that. He’s outgrown me, K. Everyone can see it but him. I’m an obligation, a burden, and yeah, maybe he loves me as a friend and maybe he wants me around, but his friends never have—his fucking girlfriend doesn’t. And at this point, I just want it to end, I want him to be happy without the conditions of making me happy.”

Silence followed. Contemplation showed clear on Kaylen’s face. You could tell, even without her words, that she didn’t agree—but, she didn’t comment on that. Rather, she placed a hand on your leg and squeezed.

Just like Jack always did.

“It’s your life, babe,” she conceded. “And if you want to do this, I’m not going to stop you—but you have to be content with it.” She gestured to you, the nest of blankets and red-rimmed eyes. “Because this? This isn’t happiness over a good choice. You’re miserable without him, and it’s been barely two days. Think about what you’re doing before it’s irreversible.”

With that, Kaylen got up and went to her own bed, and neither of you made comment of it for the rest of the day.

Her words came again and again like a fractured turntable. Of course you were miserable—Jack had been a constant in your life for eight years, consistently preserving your peace, including you when you’d never felt more like an outsider. Happiness was synonymous with Jack, his smile, his presence, him.

Did you regret your decision? Yes, and no. You regretted the way you’d gone about it. The petty silence, ignoring a person who’d made your younger years bearable. Your friendship deserved a better death than that, a reason rather than just… fading from existence, as if it never mattered in the first place.

That wasn’t the message you wanted conveyed, and so with fingers unsteadied by aftershocks, you texted Jack.

You weren’t sure how you’d explain, if you could tiptoe around the actual reason. Maybe you couldn’t, and maybe that was okay.

i’m so sorry for everything. i’ll explain in person. can we meet up?

Your response came half a second later. As if he were waiting. That selfish part of you prayed he had been.

j :)

ofc. my place tn?

yeah. that’s good. brooke won’t be upset?

Asking after her made you want to puke, but you knew it was necessary—she didn’t like Jack even breathing near you, having an entire sit down conversation with him was certainly out of the question.

Thrice, the little text bubble appeared and disappeared on your phone screen. You could sense the apprehension without any background knowledge.

j :)

not a problem. we broke up.

It was shameful, the backwards type of pleasure that brought you.

Maybe you were a terrible person. A terrible friend. You tried to reason that it wasn’t wrong to love someone, to wish they were yours.

shit j. i’m sorry

j :)

i’m not. i’ll see u tn. 7:30 work? have dinner w the guys.

yeah, that’s fine. see you soon, j.

j :)

be safe. i’ll text you when i’m home.

The hard part wasn’t even over, and your heart was already breaking in two.

Sweat beaded at your palms, the cold claws of apprehension raking down your spine. Countless times you’d been stood here, facing the lifeless beige of Jack’s apartment door. This time, however, you stood here knowing it was the last time. A silent farewell to familiarity, the ties finally cut. Jack would fight, you would cry, and maybe he’d be able to change your mind—it seemed such an unlikely outcome that it calcified every inhale in your throat.

Shaking hands rapped the wooden door, where behind would come the execution of a friendship you’d held like a crutch for years upon years. Your childhood had died, and maybe it would’ve been better had it been left there as well, so as to spare you this heart-rending pain.

Even still, you wouldn’t have traded those years for the world—everything they taught you, through pain and happiness. It made you who you were, brought you to his doorstep with melancholy eyes and a failing heart.

Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door, urgent in a way that picked up your heart rate. The next moments you imagined with brutal clarity—Jack’s hopeful gaze, blue in a way no one else’s ever had been, the soft slope of his nose you teased him for, scrunched whenever he was particularly concerned. How he’d usher you in, hear your words, plead for a moment to explain, and then admit his love for you.

That was how you dreamt it. Unsurprisingly, it was not how it went.

Instead of the door opening to reveal the man you’d love for a lifetime, the squealing hinges were followed by a face that nearly knocked you backwards. Previous indifference smeared into flat-out disdain as Brooke’s eyes caught your figure, engulfed in one of Jack’s faded hoodies and likely disheveled in a way she’d never experienced herself.

Arrows punctured your lungs, sole your breath and defaulted your barely beating heart. Brooke was here. At Jack’s apartment. After they’d supposedly broken up. Had he lied? Was he tricking you, making you the fool? He never would, you knew that, but your wounded mind spun falsities to perpetuate your pain, as if punishment for trusting him in the first place.

“What do you want?” Brooke grunted, leant against the doorframe. Lips twitched into a smirk, the smile of the victorious.

You’d never considered yourself a violent person, but the urge to punch her in the teeth itched your fists. “Is Jack here?”

Her face fell. Something dark flashed in her face—she hesitated a moment, tossed a look over her shoulder. “Yes.”

The curt response was better than nothing, you supposed. “Right, well, can you tell—”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair. Adjusted the clasp of her necklace. “We were kind of in the middle of something. Come back later?”

The axe struck down.

Gravel filled your throat. Suffocated you. If Brooke knew the affect of her words, for once it didn’t show on her face. Years of life had taught you many things, drug you through agonies you wouldn’t relive for anything, yet somehow, this was the worst pain.

To be betrayed, trust snapped by a single action, it stung. Wormed venom in your veins and contaminated your bloodstream, poisoning your heart. Realistically, Jack hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He was allowed to hook up with other girls, to love them—he had, for years.

That wasn’t the issue.

No, it was the fact that he’d set a time, invited you over, and somehow forgot? Or had he set it all up, just to rub it in your face, get his lick-back for your prolonged silence towards him? Either way, it hurt, hurt like a bitch.

Made stone, all you did for a moment was blink at Brooke before a voice called from the background, “Who is it?”

Jack.

Fright found you then, broke away your shell of stone. You couldn’t let him see you, the dog wishing once more to come in from the cold. If he’d planned it, and saw you, he knew he’d won. If he hadn’t planned it, then he realized that—irrecoverably—he fucked up. Both choices felt like a criminal trial you didn’t want any part of.

“I—um—have a good night,” you rushed out, feet stumbling over themselves as you practically ran away from Jack’s door.

So much for closure.

So much for being broken up.

Maybe this was your sign. The one you needed to finally pull away.

Because Jack Hughes didn’t love you. Not past platonic soulmates—a relationship stained with past memories, ones that made both of you incapable of letting go, even as you outgrew it.

You were done being second best. Done trying to squeeze into a place you didn’t fit anymore.

If Brooke was Jack’s choice, so be it. You didn’t want any part of it anymore.

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