whiplash
Rommulas x fem reader
Summary: You knew Rom since highschool. But after a heartbreaking fight everything changed. Years later they finally meet and get their happy ending they deserved. enemies to lovers ????? kindaaaa not rly
word count: 6100
A/N: Guys I love heartbreaking yearning misery sashashahs so here's something close to that. I had this idea for a while and finally got to put it into words :) It turned out to be kinda long soooo Enjoy!!!
Also if yall have ideas for next fics lmk!!
Tokyo looked like it was breathing.
The city hummed under her like static. The sound of a million voices, synths from passing cars, the low-hanging pulse of neon reflections sliding over the hood of her taxi. Y/N leaned her head against the window, half-awake, watching the skyline melt past. Tokyo always did this to her, made her feel both microscopic and infinite at once. She’d been here a dozen times before: shoots, collabs, a one-night set at Vision, an afterparty she barely remembered. But this time it was different. This time it wasn’t about her.
Miku, her wild, half-chaotic, half-genius friend who somehow made industrial glitch-pop sound like church music, called her three weeks ago at two in the morning screaming through the phone. “Babe, you’re coming to Tokyo. I’m serious. I’m throwing this small-ish thing, like a micro-festival, and I need your face on the lineup. Don’t think, just say yes.”
And Y/N, in the middle of half-finished demos and cold coffee, had said yes. No questions. Because that’s what you did when Miku asked you to jump - you jumped.
At the time, it felt impulsive in a good way. A break. Something light. But landing in Tokyo, dragging her suitcase through Haneda Airport with oversized sunglasses and a pounding hangover, she wasn’t so sure.
Now the sky outside was a soft gray, the kind that made the lights look like they were burning through fog. The driver had the radio low, some vintage City Pop humming through the speakers. It felt like the opening to a movie she wasn’t sure she wanted to star in.
She adjusted her sunglasses, checking her reflection. Black eyeliner, black hoodie over a cropped tank, messy jewelry. She looked exactly how she felt: like a dreamer pretending not to care.
The café was tucked between two quiet streets. A minimalist hole-in-the-wall spot that only people like Miku somehow found.
Inside, Miku was already there, short skirt, big boots, hair dyed lavender this week and cigarette dangling from one finger and a laptop open beside an untouched iced coffee. When she saw Y/N, her whole face lit up.
“Holy shit, you actually came!” Miku jumped up, hugging her so hard the cigarette almost fell. “You look… God, you look expensive. Sit, sit!”
Y/N laughed, a little breathless. “You look like a fever dream, as always.”
“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta carry the aesthetic weight around here.” Miku grinned, sliding a fresh cigarette across the table. “You still smoke?”
“Only when the world’s ending.”
“So… basically always.”
They both laughed, that easy, low sound that only happens when you see someone who’s known you too long. The iced coffee clinked against glass, cigarette smoke curled into the air.
Miku started rambling about the event, her new EP she's gonna perform, the collabs, the sponsorship deals, the stage designs. She had this way of talking where it all sounded like organized chaos, and somehow it always worked. Y/N nodded along, half-lost in the rhythm of her friend’s excitement, until something in her chest started to twist at the mention of changes in line up.
“Wait,” Y/N said, interrupting, fingers drumming against her cup. “Who’s on the lineup again? You said there’d be a couple indie guys from Seoul, right?”
Miku froze. Just a second too long knowing where this is going. Her expression flickered, excitement fading into hesitation.
“Oh,” she said softly, looking down. “Yeah. About that.”
Y/N’s stomach dropped. “About that? Miku, what the hell are you not telling me-?”
“Okay, don’t freak out. Please. It’s just… some lineup changes happened. You know.. like i said. Last minute cancellations, you know how it is. So... BoyLiife are coming instead.”
The world around her went quiet. She swore even the hum of the espresso machine paused.
Miku said it too casually. Like it wasn’t a goddamn bomb.
“The boyliife boys,” Y/N repeated, voice flat.
Miku nodded, exhaling smoke like it might soften the blow. “Hollis, Nate, Jonah, Ryan-”
“And Roman,” Y/N finished for her.
Miku winced. “Yeah.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just the faint hiss of the street outside and the sound of a spoon clinking in a cup.
Y/N leaned back, her heart drumming too fast. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I know, I know. But babe, it’s perfect. They fit the sound, they’re free, we gonna perform all like in the good old days and-”
“I haven’t seen him in five years, and things aren't good at all Meeks.”
Miku sighed, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “I know. But maybe it’s time.”
And just like that, the memory cut through her like a blade.
years earlier
It happened behind the convenience store - their spot.The one with the busted vending machine and the cracked pavement where they’d killed a hundred afternoons talking about dreams they were too scared to say out loud.
Y/N was already sitting on the curb when Roman showed up. Hoodie up. Earbuds in. Pretending not to see him even though she felt him the second he turned the corner.
He looked nervous. That alone made her stomach twist. Roman never looked nervous.
She kept her eyes on the gravel. “So,” she said, voice tight, “you and her, huh?”
He froze. “You weren’t supposed to find out like that.”
She laughed, brittle, sharp. “Oh yeah? How was I supposed to find out, Roman? Wait for her to post a picture? Maybe tag you in it for fun?”
He flinched, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “Y/N, it’s not-”
“She made my life hell. For months. You remember that, right?” Her voice cracked around the edges now. “You were there. You saw what she said, what she did. And now you’re- what, making out with her and shit?”
He looked down. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. We were just talking, and- ”
“Don’t you dare say it just happened.”
Her heart was pounding too fast. Anger, yes. But under it, that awful ache, the kind that feels like being hollowed out. Because she liked him. God, she really liked him. The kind of quiet, messy crush that crawls under your skin until it hurts to breathe. She’d spent months pretending it was nothing. Pretending every time he looked at her like that didn’t mean something.
And now he’d gone and chosen another girl.
The girl who had torn Y/N down every chance she got.
“You knew how I felt about her,” Y/N said, quieter now. “You knew.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did.” Her throat burned. “You really fucking did.”
She wanted to yell more, to make him feel what she felt. But the words wouldn’t come. All she could think was you were supposed to be mine. Not in some fairytale way, just... in the real way. The safe way. The one person who didn’t turn on her.
Roman’s voice was barely a whisper. “I fucked up.”
“Yeah,” she said, wiping her cheek before he could see. “You did.”
When he reached out instinctively, like he always did, she stepped back. “Don’t. We’re not doing this.”
And that was it.
No grand goodbye. No closure. Just her walking away, heart splitting open under the buzzing streetlight, his shadow stretching long behind her, and the sound of gravel crunching under her shoes like punctuation on the end of everything.
Back in the café, Y/N blinked, trying to shake off the memory like it was from World war 2.
“So what, I’m supposed to just pretend nothing happened? Smile, wave, maybe collab on a track like we’re besties?” she said bitterly.
“You don’t have to pretend,” Miku said gently. “You just have to show up. For me.”
Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“I know.” Miku’s grin came back, small but triumphant. “Now finish your coffee. You’ve got rehearsals tomorrow.”
—---
Day of the show
Backstage was chaos - cables, bodies, noise, and nerves.
It smelled like heat, hairspray, and cheap coffee; someone was sound-checking a synth in the next room, the same four notes repeating until they drilled into her skull. Technicians shouted across the floor in a mix of English and Japanese, the metallic clatter of mic stands cutting through the air.
Y/N hadn’t slept properly in two nights. Her stomach was tight, her eyeliner perfect, her heartbeat a mess. She’d woken before sunrise and paced the tiny hotel room, staring out at Tokyo glowing blue and pink in the fog, wondering how she was supposed to breathe the same air as him again without combusting.
Now she was here in the thick of it, watching the machinery of the show move like some enormous living thing. LED panels flickered on, off, on again. Assistants darted by with clipboards. Someone’s laughter broke through the noise, too loud, too bright.
She pulled her hoodie tighter around herself, leaning against the wall near the dressing-room door, trying to look like she belonged. The mirror beside her caught the tremor in her hands, so she shoved them in her pockets.
This shouldn’t feel this hard.
It was just another show. Another crowd. Another night where she’d walk out there, lights in her face, pretend her veins weren’t full of static. Except tonight, she wasn’t pretending for strangers… She was pretending for him.
Miku appeared in the reflection behind her, headset askew, a tornado in platform boots. “You alive?” she asked, shouting over the music bleed.
“Barely,” Y/N muttered.
“You’ll be fine. You always are.” Miku pressed a cold can of beer into her hand. “Drink. Smile. Pretend you don’t hate everything for, like, ten minutes.”
Y/N cracked the tab, the fizz loud between them. “You sure this is a good idea?”
Miku grinned, unbothered. “No. But it’s gonna look amazing.”
The stage manager called out times. The crowd outside was already screaming. That pre-show roar that always hit her somewhere between euphoria and nausea.
She followed Miku through the maze of hallways toward the stage entrance. The concrete walls were plastered with posters from past festivals; the floor vibrated faintly with bass from the artists that already started their act. Every sound made her nerves hum louder. It was all motion, all heartbeat, and she was just trying not to fall apart in the middle of it.
She could feel that name Roman. Sitting like a stone in her chest. At any second, he could walk through one of those doors, and she didn’t know if she’d freeze or explode.
When they reached their destination, she caught a glimpse through the half-open door of the main corridor to the stage. Cameras flashing, voices rising. And then a crew member said something about BoyLiife arriving. Her pulse spiked.
For a second she thought about hiding. Crawling under the floor, vanishing into the walls but Miku’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly. “Don’t let him see you nervous.”
Y/N forced a shaky smile. “Who said I’m nervous?”
“Your fucking hands girl,” Miku said simply, and walked off to wrangle the next crisis.
Y/N stared at her reflection in the near by mirror. She threw off her hoodie and smoothed her hair. There was that faint tremor at the corner of her mouth. She drew in a breath and looked in the mirror once again but then she heard a voice shouting, “BoyLiife just pulled up!”
And the noise of the room seemed to tilt. It was happening.
She couldn’t tell if her heart was breaking or starting back up again.
The nearby door to the hall swung open, and everything around her seemed to shift. The noise didn’t stop, but it blurred. like the sound underwater.
The first voice she heard was unmistakable.
“No fucking way!”
Y/N turned her head just as Hollis barreled through the door, laughing, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and sunglasses still on even though the lighting was terrible. Behind him came the rest of the BoyLiife boys. Ryan with his perpetual smirk, Nate glued to his phone, Jonah carrying a camera as if this was just another casual Thursday instead of a reunion with ghosts.
But Y/N’s breath caught before she even saw him. She felt him first. That old, stupid, magnetic pull.
And then there he was.
Roman.
He looked older, sharper, but somehow exactly the same. Same messy curly dark hair falling into his eyes, same jade cross around his neck, same posture that said I don’t care even when he did.
Their eyes met, and for a second, the world folded in on itself.
The years between them.. five of them, five long, angry, silent years, collapsed into nothing.
Hollis clapped a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, grinning wide. “Yo, I told you she’d be here! Pay up, Ryan. You owe me twenty.”
Y/N blinked, trying to ground herself. “You were betting on whether I’d show up?”
“Obviously,” Hollis said. “You’re like a myth, dude. We weren’t sure you were real anymore.”
Ryan laughed, Nate smirked, Jonah snapped a quick picture before she could tell him to stop.
And then the tension hit. A ripple in the air when Roman finally stepped closer.
“Hey,” he said quietly, voice low, careful.
His voice didn’t just enter the hallway - it cut through it. Low, steady, careful in that way someone sounds when they’re not sure if they’re welcome. But it still struck something deep inside her, something she’d sworn had calcified years ago.
She didn’t turn right away. Her shoulders drew tight, breath catching for a split second she hoped he didn’t notice. When she finally looked at him, her eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade sliding from its sheath.
“Roman.”
His name came out flat, cold, precise. No warmth. No softness. Just the echo of everything they’d left undone. And he reacted - barely, but enough. His jaw tightened the way it always did when something actually hit him.
Not a greeting.
A warning.
Hollis clocked the tension instantly. “Okay, we’re gonna… grab drinks. Somewhere far. and get ready” He herded the others down the hall like a group evacuation, leaving them alone with the cables, the hum of distant bass, and five years of unresolved history.
He exhaled slowly, head tilted just a little, studying her like she was a language he used to speak fluently and forgot somewhere along the way. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes to this gig.”
She arched a brow. “Didn’t know you’d still be alive to ruin it.”
That almost drew a smile from him. Almost. “Still funny, huh?”
“Still an asshole, huh?”
That wiped the almost-smile clean off his face. The air tightened, thickening between them like static before a lightning strike. A tech passed them, glanced at the tension, and sped off like they were leaking radiation.
Roman’s eyes softened just a fraction. “It’s been a long time.”
She licked her lips without thinking. Regretted it immediately. Her throat was dry. Her palms a little damp. “Not long enough.”
He let out a short breath that pretended to be a laugh. “You look-”
“Don’t,” she cut in. Fast. Too fast. “ Seriously shut up, don't say shit and stop bothering me”
His mouth clamped shut. Jaw tight. That same old habit - looking down when he didn’t want her to see the truth on his face. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck like it always did when he was nervous, and god, it made her stomach flip in the worst way.
She stood tall, chin high, every cell in her screaming don’t let him in. But beneath it - beneath the perfect winged eyeliner and the cocked hip and hands behind her back - she was shaking.
His eyes flicked up and met hers again - and for a split second, neither of them looked away. That old, dangerous gravity tugged between them, quiet but hungry.
Then Miku’s voice echoed down the hallway like salvation:
“Y/N! 5 minutes! Move your ass!”
Y/N blinked, the spell cracking. Her breath rushed out like she’d been holding it without realizing. She tucked her hair behind her ear, steadying her posture, trying to shut every vulnerable part of herself behind the door she’d built for it.
“Duty calls,” she said, tone smooth and bored even though her pulse was still a riot in her chest.
She walked past him. Didn’t slow. Didn’t glance back. But she couldn’t stop the way her body jolted when she brushed close - close enough to catch the scent she’d spent years trying to forget: smoke, cedar, warm skin, late nights, regret.
It punched the air out of her.
Roman stayed frozen, eyes following her like a shadow made of heat.
And when she rounded the corner and vanished from sight, he let out a breath he looked like he’d been holding since she said his name.
Soft. Raw. Almost broken.
“Still the same hurricane.”
hours later
Y/N’s set ended with a fucking roar.
Lights strobing, bass still rattling her ribcage like a second heartbeat, sweat slicking down her spine. She dropped the mic without thinking, just let it fall with a final crack of static, and the crowd exploded. Screaming like they were trying to shake the whole building loose. She flashed a lopsided grin, threw up a peace sign, and let backstage swallow her.
The minute she stepped off, the noise peeled away in layers. The bass. The crowd. The adrenaline that had been clinging to her ribs like fire - gone. Not suddenly, not violently. Just… drained.
A crew member appeared beside her with a towel and a water bottle. She took them this time. Wordlessly. Pressed the towel to her face, catching the sweat sliding down her temples, and stood there in the low backstage light, chest still rising fast, but slower now.
No one rushed her.
She could hear the crowd still buzzing out front, a leftover pulse that didn’t quite reach her. Around her, stagehands moved like clockwork, resetting, prepping. Another artist’s set was up next - someone from the BoyLiife roster, she vaguely remembered.
She leaned against a metal case, towel still in her hands, and let herself feel the quiet.
And then…
She heard it.
That voice.
Glitched out. Half-filtered through static and bass. But underneath it - unmistakably him.
Roman.
Her stomach dropped before her brain could catch up.
No.
She froze. Let the towel hang limp in her fingers. Her breath hitched. The first note hadn’t even finished unraveling before her feet wanted to move anywhere, anywhere but here.
She told herself to turn around. Walk. Hide. Get air.
She didn’t.
Of course she didn’t.
She drifted forward like something magnetic had her by the collar. Not fast, not dramatic, just a slow, silent pull toward the edge of the curtain. Her pulse spiked, nerves buzzing under her skin.
“It’s one peek,” she told herself. “One quick fucking peek. He won’t even notice.”
She leaned into the shadows and looked.
Roman stood under red lights, leather jacket sticking to his bare chest, chains catching every flash like they had a spotlight of its own. Mic in one hand, eyes half-lidded with focus, his mouth wrapped around every lyric with that same dangerous ease. His voice - gritty, distorted, dipped in reverb slid across the beat in a way that punched something old and stupid in her chest.
And suddenly, she was back on that rooftop at his house.
No cameras. No stage. Just Roman beside her, hoodie half-zipped, passing a joint between them as cheap city lights flickered below. His phone was playing a beat they’d made two nights earlier, both of them nodding along like it was already platinum. He looked over mid-laugh, hair in his face, and for a second, just a second, he stared at her like she was the only real thing in the world. Like maybe they weren’t just friends, even if neither of them ever said it out loud. And she’d looked away first. She always did.
Her hand curled harder into the curtain now, grounding herself.
She told herself she’d made it. She’d gotten her look. He was too locked into performing to ever see her. She’d slip away unnoticed.
But then he turned.
It wasn’t dramatic. No slow-motion movie moment. Just a tiny shift in his stance, a casual glance toward the wings, except his gaze snagged on her like he’d been pulled to it.
His brows twitched up in the smallest flicker of surprise. Confusion. In this moment you could read his thoughts saying something like: why the hell is she here? Didn’t she just tell me to fuck off backstage? And now she’s watching me?
He froze for half a second, not enough for the crowd to notice, but enough for her heart to launch itself into her throat. He didn’t smile. Didn’t gesture. Didn’t break into some dramatic reaction.
But that tiny hit of shock - that split second of him registering her was enough.
More than enough.
Oh fuck.
Her breath clipped. Her stomach flipped. And she panicked violently.
She spun away so fast she nearly ripped the curtain from its hooks, boots slipping slightly on the glossy floor.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Her head was a rush of static. Her chest was tight.
Shit. He noticed me.He fucking noticed me.
She didn’t know where she was going, just away. Away from the stage. Away from that look. Away from whatever the hell that moment had stirred up in both of them.
Her boots smacked against the hallway floor as she pushed herself deeper into the backstage maze. The music faded behind her, but the embarrassment didn’t. The adrenaline didn’t. The warmth of his confused stare didn’t.
Even with miles of concrete between them, she still felt it. Like a spotlight she hadn’t meant to step into.
She hated that she cared.
Y/n rounded another the corner, mind still spinning, barely looking, and slammed chest-first into someone solid.
Her breath caught. “fuck…” She jolted back.
It was Hollis.
He raised both hands like he was warding off a hurricane, but his grin said otherwise. "Damn, girl. You running from demons or what?"
Y/N blinked, trying to gather the scrambled pieces of herself. Her pulse was still spiking. “Just needed air.”
He gave her a once-over. Not in a creepy way. In a I-know-you-too-well-to-buy-that-bullshit way. “Uh-huh. That why you look like you just got hit by a memory?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing.”
"Come on, Y/N." He stepped closer, voice dropping to something gentler, less performative. “Look, I know we haven’t seen each other in a long-ass time. And maybe it’s not my business, but…” He tilted his head. “You’ve got that look. That post-trauma twitch. That 'I just saw my ex and now I need to sprint into the void' expression.”
She huffed. “He’s not my ex.”
Hollis arched a brow, unconvinced. “Right. You two just played each other’s ride-or-die for years, broke up emotionally, and now can’t look each other in the eye without starting World War Three. Got it.”
She gave him a glare that was more tired than angry. “It’s complicated.”
“Most fucked-up things are.”
They stood there for a moment, the noise of the venue muffled behind layers of wall and distance. Hollis looked at her like he wanted to push a little more, but then thought better of it.
“That you are,” he said instead, flashing that signature shit-eating grin.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans, flashing her a look like he was about to do something illegal, which he probably was. He pulled out two pre-rolls tucked into a plastic bag.
“Don’t worry. Dr. Hollis has the cure. Prescription-grade bullshit remover. We spark this after the set, you’ll be levitating.”
Y/N finally laughed, tension breaking just a crack. "You’re an idiot."
“A generous idiot with medicine. Say the word.”
“Say less. I’m in.”
--------
The lounge room was half-lit, the kind of cozy that felt like it had been dragged together out of mismatched couches, thrift-store rugs, and LED strip lights stuck to the ceiling. It smelled like leftover perfume, backstage sweat, and someone’s cherry vape.
Hollis was already sprawled across a bean bag like a prince in exile. Nate and Jonah were arguing over aux, Ryan was sitting on the floor making an abomination out of snacks and energy drinks. Miku danced barefoot to no music. It was warm. Cozy. Familiar. Y/N was curled up on the couch with a half-empty Coke in her hand, finally breathing like her ribs weren’t full of wire.
It felt like being seventeen again. Back when music was just SoundCloud dreams and midnight freestyles. Before stages. Before betrayal. Before all the shit with Roman.
She laughed at something Jonah said -something so stupid it didn’t even make sense and leaned back, letting her head tip against the couch.
Then the door creaked.
Roman stepped in like the air didn’t shift the second he did. Like his presence didn’t send a ripple across the whole room.
Y/N felt it before she saw him. That pull. That pressure.
He was quieter now, hoodie pulled up halfway, curls slightly damp from the shower he had taken. He didn’t look at her right away. Didn’t need to.
Ryan, who’d been halfway through a sentence, looked between them and lifted an eyebrow like he was watching a lit match hover over gasoline.
“Alright,” he said, grabbing the joint Hollis had set on the table earlier. “How about we chill the vibe before someone dies of tension?”
“Medicinal purposes,” Hollis added, flicking the lighter. “Strictly preventative.”
Laughter broke through the room. Y/N shrugged, taking the joint when it was passed to her, letting it calm whatever nerve just got struck when Roman stepped in.
Smoke filled the air like fog, soft and slow. Someone put on a beat in the background. Miku was humming. Nate leaned against Y/N’s shoulder without asking. Everything buzzed in the softest way. Conversation picked back up in fractured jokes, lazy banter, laughter that started to feel real.
Roman hadn’t said a word. Just sat across from her, long legs stretched out, fingers fidgeting with the rings on his hands.
But every so often… she caught him looking.
She told herself not to meet his eyes. That she didn’t care. That the heat crawling up her spine was just the weed. But then she looked.
And there he was. Still watching.
She looked away first. She always did.
Eventually, the high settled low and heavy behind her eyes. She stood, stretching lazily.
“Bathroom,” she muttered to no one in particular. Ignoring the way her pulse spiked when he glanced up.
The hallway to the bathroom was dim and too quiet. One long stretch of flickering light and peeling paint. Her boots clicked with every step.
She ran cold water over her hands. Stared at her reflection.
“You’re fine,” she whispered to herself. “You’re fine. You don’t care. You’re just high.”
But when she opened the door to head back-
She walked straight into him.
Roman was leaning against the opposite wall just outside the bathroom door, one foot propped up behind him, arms crossed, like he’d been waiting there for years. The dim overhead light cast long shadows across his jawline, his chain catching just a glint of it. His head was tilted back slightly, like he’d been staring at the ceiling - but the second he heard her boots, he looked up. Straight at her.
Y/N froze.
“What the fuck,” she muttered.
Roman pushed off the wall, slow, deliberate. “I just wanted to talk.”
Her eyes narrowed, mouth pulling into a scowl. “You couldn’t wait to ambush me in a hallway? What is this, a fucking movie?”
“No,” he said, voice low, “but you’ve been dodging me like one and i’m tired of this Y/n”
“I wonder why.”
His jaw flexed. “Because you’d rather ghost me for five years than say how you really felt.”
“Oh, please,” she snapped, stepping closer, eyes lit with disbelief. “Don’t fucking flip this. You don’t get to play the victim here, Roman. I didn’t ghost you..” Y/n took a breath and continued “And you think I wanted things to end like that? You think I wanted you to throw everything we had away for some bitch who spent all of high school trying to destroy me?”
“I didn’t choose her over you.”
“You sure about that?” she shot back. “Because from where I stood, you picked her. You stayed with her. Like I was just some girl you used to rap with in your basement.”
His hands clenched at his sides. “You mattered. You still do.”
“Don’t,” she warned, voice cracking at the edge. “Don’t say that shit to me now. Not when it’s too fucking late.”
Roman took a step closer, expression sharp. “You watched my set tonight.”
Y/N blinked, thrown. “What the-?”
“I saw you. Backstage. Hiding in the curtain like I couldn’t feel you staring.”
She hesitated a beat too long.
He smirked, humorless. “Exactly.”
“I wasn’t watching you,” she said, too quickly. “Youre tripping” Oh what a bad liar she is..
Roman huffed a short laugh. “You still looked at me like you used to,” he said. “Like you knew every word I hadn’t written yet.”
Y/N’s throat tightened. She tried to scoff but it came out thin. “We were just friends, Roman.” Another lie..
“Were we?” he said, quiet but cutting. “Did it ever feel like just friends to you?”
Her silence was an answer.
“I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing back then,” Roman said, stepping toward her now. His tone wasn’t calm anymore - it was a little desperate, like every word was a lit match. “I was a kid. I was scared. You looked at me like I was everything, and I didn’t know how to carry that. I fucked up. I know I did. But you walked away without letting me fix it.”
Y/N's breathing was shallow, fast. Her fists balled at her sides. “You think I didn’t want to fix it too? You think it didn’t kill me to walk away? I cried every night for a month, Roman. And you know what? You never even tried to find me.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to be found.”
Their words ricocheted like bullets in the hallway. The tension was so thick it was practically vibrating off the walls. Neither of them backed down.
He was in front of her now. Way too close. She could see every small flicker of emotion that passed over his face - regret, anger, longing. The weight of all the years and everything they never said.
Her lip curled. “Why now, huh? You could’ve left it buried. Could’ve walked away again.”
“Because I saw your face today,” he said, voice dropping, “and everything I thought I got over came back and fucking punched me in the throat.”
She didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
And then he did something reckless.
He reached out.
Fingers curling around her wrist, gently but with intent. Like he’d snap if she pulled away.
Her skin burned under his touch.
“Y/N,” he said, almost breathless now. “Just tell me you don’t feel anything anymore. Look me in the eye and say it, and I’ll back off. I’ll disappear. I swear.”
She looked up at him. Really looked. At his eyes, wild with emotion. At his lips, parted like he was holding back everything he wanted to say. At the version of him that was still hers, still waiting in the corners of her memory.
Her heart was a riot. Her breath caught in her throat.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
But it didn’t sound like hate. It sounded like heartache dressed up in anger.
He stepped closer.
“I know.”
His hands were on her in the next second.
And then he kissed her.
Hard.
Their mouths collided like a storm finally breaking, all heat and five years of grief crashing into skin. His hands found her waist, fingers digging in like she was the only thing tethering him to the ground. She shoved him back against the wall, kissing him like she could erase every bruise he left behind—and brand him with new ones.
Her fingers curled into his hoodie, dragging him closer until there was no space between them. His lips were rough, desperate, tasting like apology and hunger. Her legs shifted, parting instinctively, one thigh brushing between his. He cursed into her mouth, low and wrecked.
But the second their mouths broke apart for air, barely, she shoved him back an inch with a breathless, furious whisper:
“And by the way? You sounded high as hell on that stage.”
Roman blinked, chest heaving, lips swollen. “What?”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring. “Don’t play dumb. I heard it. You were floating. Sloppy.”
He huffed out a disbelieving laugh, breath hot against her cheek. “You were listening that closely?”
“Fuck off,” she snapped smiling, but her voice wavered.
He leaned in again, eyes dark. “You were.”
“Roman-”
“You watched me like you used to,” he murmured. “Like you were afraid to blink.”
Her jaw clenched, chest rising fast. “I wasn’t watching you. I was… curious. Nostalgia. Whatever.”
He shook his head, the smallest smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re such a bad liar.”
She grabbed his hoodie, yanking him closer. “And you're stupid, and still addicted to drama. Congratulations.”
His hands slid up her sides, slow, deliberate, making her breath hitch. “You always said I was more fun this way.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Before she could argue, he kissed her again - rougher, deeper, like the accusation had lit something reckless inside him. His tongue slid against hers, slow at first, testing, then hungry when she didn’t pull away.
Her back hit the opposite wall, this time with purpose. She dragged him down by the chain at his neck, kissed him like he belonged to her anger, to her grief, to the ghost she’d carried all these years. His groan vibrated against her mouth as her fingers slid beneath his hoodie, palms skimming hot skin.
“Fuck,” he whispered into her mouth, breath staggering. “I missed you.”
“Shut up,” she breathed back, but her hands didn’t let him go.
He pressed forward, the heat between them sparking wild. One hand cupped the back of her neck, the other gripping her thigh.
She broke the kiss again with a gasp, foreheads colliding, both of them shaking.
“This is stupid,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he breathed, lips brushing hers. “We’re stupid.”
Her eyes flicked to his raw, open, burning. “What the hell are we doing?”
He swallowed, thumb brushing her jaw, voice low and wrecked. “Starting over.”
Her breath caught. “Just like that?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Not clean. Not easy. But… from here. From this.”
She stared at him, lips swollen, chest still rising fast. And something inside her, the locked, rusted thing finally broke loose.
“Okay,” she whispered. “But you don’t get to fuck this up again.”
His grip tightened at her waist. “I won’t.”
“And you gotta stop getting high before sets. You sounded like a malfunctioning robot.”
He laughed, actually laughed and kissed her again, quick, breathless, electric. “Deal.”
She pulled him in by his chain, lips brushing his. “Then we can start over.”
Roman kissed her again like a promise.
Not sweet. Not perfect. But real.
And this time, she didn’t pull away.
