What if, you broke up with Fezco?
The neon sign outside the store buzzed faintly, casting that same washed out glow through the window, the kind Fez barely noticed anymore. Nights blurred together lately, same counter, same chair, same quiet, but something about them had shifted. Or maybe something was just missing.
He sat there with his phone in his hand, thumb hovering over your name like it had been every night for the past week. It still felt wrong seeing your contact pinned at the top, like nothing had changed, like you hadnât walked out over something so small it didnât even make sense anymore. That was the worst part, he couldnât even replay the argument properly. It hadnât been loud, hadnât been dramatic. Youâd just wanted him to talk, to explain what he was thinking, what he was feeling. And heâd shut down, like always. Said something short, something careless. You got quiet. Then you left.
He told himself at the time youâd come back. Or heâd fix it later. He always thought there was more time.
Now the silence felt permanent.
He unlocked his phone again, scrolling up through your messages. Dumb stuff. Memes. You complaining about something random, him replying hours later like it was nothing, and you still answering like youâd been waiting. His jaw tightened slightly at that. You had been patient with him, way more than he deserved.
He stared at it for a long moment, then sighed and deleted it. Too casual. Like nothing happened. Like he didnât think about you every five minutes.
He leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand over his face. âManâŠâ he muttered under his breath, the word disappearing into the empty store. Ashtray was asleep in the back, the TV playing something low and irrelevant. Everything felt still in a way that made his chest feel tight.
He picked up the phone again before he could think too much.
The second it went through, he felt it, regret, nerves, something twisting low in his chest. He wasnât good at this. Never had been. But not saying anything was worse now. Waiting felt worse.
Minutes passed. Too many. He checked if the message delivered. It had. No reply.
âYeah⊠aight,â he murmured, more to himself than anything.
He lasted maybe ten minutes before opening the chat again.
i ainât mean what i said
He paused, staring at the words. That wasnât even all of it. It didnât explain anything. It didnât explain him.
He tried again, slower this time.
i just⊠i donât be sayin shit right sometimes
That felt closer. Not perfect. Not enough. But real.
He sent it before he could overthink it.
It stretched, filled the space around him, made everything feel louder, the hum of the fridge, the flicker of the sign, his own breathing. He stood up suddenly, pacing once behind the counter like he needed to shake something off, then sat back down just as quickly.
âDamn,â he muttered, rubbing his jaw.
Before he could stop himself, he hit call.
The ringing felt too loud in his ear. Each second dragged, made him think maybe you wouldnât answer. Maybe you shouldnât. He almost pulled the phone away.
He froze for half a second, like he hadnât actually expected to hear your voice.
âYeah,â he said, quieter now. âHey.â
There was a pause, not empty, just heavy with everything sitting between you.
âI didnât think youâd pick up,â he admitted.
âI almost didnât,â you said, honest, but not cold.
âYeah⊠that make sense.â
Another pause followed, softer this time. He could picture you without trying, where you might be, the way you probably looked down at your phone before answering. It made something in his chest ache.
âWhy you callin, Fez?â you asked, your voice calm but careful.
He exhaled slowly, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. âI been thinkin,â he said. âA lot.â
A faint breath of something like disbelief came from you. âThatâs new.â
He huffed lightly. âYeah, I know.â
Silence again, but it didnât feel as sharp now. More like something waiting.
âI ainât good at that shit,â he continued, quieter. âTalkin. Sayin what I mean. You know that.â
âAnd I know that ainât fair to you.â
Your grip tightened slightly on the phone, though he couldnât see it. That was closer than heâd gotten before.
âI justâŠâ he stopped, frustrated, searching for words he never really learned how to use. âI ainât wanna lose you over somethin stupid.â
Your chest tightened at that, your voice softer when you spoke. âThen why didnât you say anything?â
That question had been sitting there, unanswered, since the moment you left.
He didnât respond right away. When he did, his voice was low, honest in a way that didnât try to dress itself up.
ââCause I thought I had more time.â
That landed heavier than anything else.
You closed your eyes briefly, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. It wouldâve been easier if heâd said something wrong again. Easier to stay mad. But this, this felt real.
âI ainât askin you to just come back,â he added after a moment. âI know it donât work like that.â
You stayed quiet, listening.
âBut I miss you,â he said, simple, steady. âI miss you bein around. Talkin. Even when you on my ass about shit.â
A small breath left you, almost a laugh, but not quite.
âI keep pickin up my phone like you still gonâ text me somethin random,â he went on, softer now. âLike nothin changed.â
You looked down at your screen, thumb brushing the edge of it.
âI donât know if we can fix it,â you said carefully.
âYeah,â he replied. âI know.â
There was a pause, longer this time, but it didnât feel like distance. It felt like something fragile, something forming instead of breaking.
âButâŠâ you started, your voice quieter now.
He didnât interrupt. Didnât rush you.
âBut Iâm still here.â
He let that sit for a second, like he didnât want to push it, didnât want to mess up something small but important.
âYeah,â he said finally, just as soft. âIâm here too.â
And for the first time since that night, the silence between you didnât feel like something final. It felt like space, uncertain, slow, but still open.
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man i miss him:( pls let me know what i should write about, my requests are open!
