so why isn't there any xylo fics like omg feed me already pleaseeee we bout to be on ep 5. i spent like 1-2 hours writing this when i should be studying...sigh. this is based on the idea i have for a fic (second chance romance type beat).
word count: 0.734
contents: modern au ' xylo's grandma being the accidental matchmaker ' lots of unsaid shit ' xylo's your ex ' forced proximity if you squint ' military xylo
His grandma still invited you for dinner. She’d prepare a home-cooked meal, usually a soup or stew that you knew was Xylo’s favorite. She’d done this ever since he went off to the military, three years ago. You’ve had dinner with her each night of the week, because she claimed she’d be lonely without you.
You didn’t mind coming over. It beats eating at your parents' house, where home-cooked meals have become a rarity ever since you went off to college. It was nice to come back each break and eat something warm every once in a while.
“Soup’s good, Mrs. Forbartz.” You say, holding the bowl to your mouth and slurping from it for emphasis. She chuckled at your goofiness and sat across from you. The warmth of the bowl was enough to keep your entire body warm and immune to the winter breeze from the windows.
A knock on the door startled the both of you.
Mrs. Forbartz giggled again, still tickled from earlier as she scoots out her chair and waddles her way to the door. You would’ve gotten it if she hadn’t shot up so quickly. Your head turned, looking back at the door, waiting to hear a voice or have an indication of who it could be.
Mrs. Forbartz never had any visitors.
Unless…
He walked into the house, dipping his head below the dangling winter crafts you made for her years ago. He was still in his military uniform, the hat snug on his head and dusted with snow. Tattoos peeked from his collar and sleeves, especially the tattoo he’d recklessly gotten when you both were younger. Your initials.
How foolishly in love you’d both been then.
He says something quiet in response to his grandmother who was gushing over him, before his honey-brown eyes land on you. Your stomach drops. Your heart nearly pumps out your chest.
The two of you have not talked since he left. Three years ago.
Really, you should be over it by now.
But seeing him come back every winter, never so much as checking in, maddened you.
“H-Hey.” You stammer out, too quick and too softly for anyone to hear, not knowing what else to say. What else were you supposed to say? Your fists clench at your sides because why were you the one trying to come up with something to say when it was him who was avoiding you all these years.
“Hey,” he says back. You hate how easily your anger dissipates from that.
Mrs. Forbartz starts to talk as if it were the most normal thing in the world for the two of you to be in the same room.
He takes off his hat, brushing some of the snow on the floor before sitting in the chair one spot away from you. His grandmother can’t wipe the smile off her face as she mentions something about it passing her mind that he’d return today. How could that possibly pass her mind? Then, she says something about you keeping her company all these years, something you’d expect Xylo already knows.
Of course he knew, his grandmother told him everything.
Just like she told you.
His eyes find yours then flick away.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You whisper, letting your eyes slide away. His gaze shifts back to you and lingers, just a moment too long. It’s almost suffocating being so close to him, seeing him in the corner of your eye. You’re about to excuse yourself and thank his grandmother for the meal before she reaches over the table and takes both of your hands, affectionately.
She says your name and your eyes widen.
“Tell him about that professor you told me about,” she says. “The one that made you turn in three essays in one…”
She rambles, telling the story to him herself.
“...she stayed up all night. Studying for the test, Xylo.”
You give her a small, nervous smile, offering the occasional hum as she told him all the stories you’d shared with her—like it was something he missed. Something he wanted to hear.
His gaze rests on you the same way it used to, like the room has narrowed to just the two of you. You fixate on his grandmother’s laugh, keeping yourself still.
Because if you let yourself look at him, you’d start believing things you have no right to believe anymore.
sorry for teasing y'all with these half-baked ass ideas, a full one will come soon. and i swear i'll write something happy after this
