"You pierce my soul. I am half agony. Half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are going for ever." - Jane Austen.
summary: after moving away from your hometown into the city, you hope to settle and live a peaceful life—until a familiar face comes into your cafe.
content: au eric, mutual pining but they're both lowkey annoying and oblivious, family issues, drug abuse, mentions of self harm, shelly doesn't exist in this au, use of y/n, alcoholism, opposites attract plus more cliches, very subtle hints to physical abuse if you squint
a/n: i stopped using italics to indicate flashback scenes so i hope u guys can still tell when its a flashback !! also eeekk im so glad u guys my previous chapter <3
wc: 5.7k
“Do you love him?”
Four words. One answer. Although at the time, you weren't sure. It felt weird to have your parents ask you such a question at seventeen in the middle of dinner “What?” You mumble, cheeks stuffed with potatoes. “Do you love him?” Your father repeats. You look between your parents, taking a sip of your water. “No… that’s an odd question,” you force a hollow laugh while you scrape around the remaining pieces of dinner on your plate. “It’s not. You seem to always be out with him now, you're barely at home in time to even sit down and eat with us,” Dad says, his voice laced with irritation. Rolling your eyes, you set down your glass a little too loudly, crossing your arms while leaning back in your seat. “Yeah, well, it's not like I wanna be home anyway.” You curse under your breath as the quiet sound of clinking silverware comes to a stop. “Y/N.” Your mother scolds with furrowed brows. Sometimes, you'd wish that your parents loved each other long enough to fuck and just make another child to bitch at instead of you; this was one of those moments.
What was the point of living in such a big house if it was only the three of you here? You turn your head over to your father, poking your steak around with your fork. “Sorry,” you murmur. “Excuse me?” He interrupts. “I’m sorry.” You repeat. “I can’t hear you.” Dropping your fork with a loud clatter, you sit up, feeling your face heat up with aggravation. “I said I’m fucking sorry!” Your mother stares at you blankly. Her face showed no emotion–but you could tell that look in her eye meant you were going to get a rough punishment. Your dad lets out a breathy laugh as if he were amused by your antics. He dabs at the corners of his mouth with the cloth napkin before calmly saying, “Fix your attitude and go to bed.”
You sit still, twitching slightly. In an instant, you shoot up from your seat, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor loud enough to make you shiver. You stormed up the stairs to your room, slamming the door shut with a vicious echo that rang throughout the house. Luckily, it was a Friday. If you had to get up and go to school tomorrow, you probably would’ve broken down crying in first period. You throw yourself onto your bed, lying there as you stare up at the ceiling in silence while you pick at your wrinkled duvet. For the next fifteen minutes, you listened in to your parents' inaudible conversation downstairs before they finally came upstairs for the night. Turning over, you reach into your pocket and scroll through your call list before landing on Eric’s name. The line rings for a few seconds before he answers. “Hey.” His voice was a gentle whisper. “Hey, Eric. I’m sorry, I know it’s late.” He abruptly cuts in, “No, no, it’s fine. What’s up?”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Uh, my dad is asleep.”
“Ah, sorry.”
Eric chuckles softly on the other end, “It’s fine. Do you need me? You usually don’t call me this late unless you want something.” He teases. You can hear him smiling through the phone, his voice alone makes your heart skip a beat. “Ugh. No, I don't.” You reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to ask if you could come over?” The question tumbles out timidly. Eric hums, “Uh, huh. So you do need something.” You groan, rolling your eyes with a sigh. “Yes, Eric. I’m afraid I need you here.” The banter was normal for you two, but it felt different this time, it felt flirtatious. You could barely stand it. He laughs, the rustling of his bedsheets prevalent in the background. “Okay, I’ll be there soon.” He assures you. You smile, rolling onto your side in bed. “Could you park down the road? Oh, and come up the balcony stairs in my backyard, please.” He sighs sarcastically, agreeing before he hangs up. You sit up, checking yourself out in the vanity mirror, messing with your hair as seconds turned into minutes. Eventually, you get a chime from your phone, a message from Eric saying that he was outside. Slowly, you creak open your door, poking your head out of the crack and peer down the dark corridor to your parent's room. After a long pause, you quietly tiptoe through the hallway to the door of the balcony, carefully unlocking the glass door. You lean over the railing, spotting Eric climbing over the garden fence. As he jumps down from the tall fence, he stumbles on the landing, almost falling into your pool. “Eric!” You yelp, your hand instinctively slapping over your mouth as your voice echoes throughout the neighborhood. He catches himself about three inches away from the pool, looking up slowly with a sheepish grin. He’s still in his sleepwear, dark grey sweatpants, and a black hoodie zipped up halfway, a black tank top underneath, paired with his usual beaten up vans. Eric steadies himself on his feet, jogging over to you and up the stairs. “Hey.” He says, hair slightly messy. “Hello.” You reply. Something was different about his appearance, you examine him further as he slowly leans away from you. With an awkward laugh, he asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Did you get a haircut?” You reach up to his jaw, gently turning his head. His hair was shorter now, short enough to expose his beautiful bone structure and his sharp eyes. He softly grabs your wrist, letting your hand drop to your side as he shrugs. “I wanted a change,” You nod, crossing your arms. “Hm, it looks good.” Turning around to let him in, you carefully close the door behind you, the cold glow of the moonlight dimly illuminating the space. With a wave, you signal for him to follow you, softening your footsteps while you sneak down the hall. As you turn the corner, a loud thud comes behind you, causing you to whip around, “Shit,” Eric curses under his breath, accidentally bumping into a wall. You bring a finger to your lips with wide eyes. Eric drops his head in embarrassment, sheepishly whispering an apology as he rubs at his head before taking your hand to lead the way. When he finally makes it into your bedroom, he takes off his shoes, watching as you get comfortable under your sheets. Eric stands by the foot of your bed, awkwardly looking around. “What are you doing?” You ask with a soft giggle. He stares down at you, his shoulders rigid with tension. “Why are you acting like this is your first time being here? Get over here, I don’t bite.” Eric tilts his head to the side, a sarcastic smile plastered on his face, “You might.” He quips back before hesitantly sitting down next to you. “Um, you mind if I stay here for the night again?” When you look over at him, he’s fidgeting with his fingers, visibly nervous. “Sure, you can stay as long as you like. I need somebody to distract me from my parents’ constant bitching. Just make sure you hide from my parents in the morning.” You say teasingly in an attempt to ease the tension. Eric laughs, staring down at his lap, tracing an invisible pattern on his pants.
His smile fades before he glances over at you, his eyes dreary from lack of sleep. Cocking your head to the side in concern, you ask, “Is something wrong?” He stays silent for a moment, eyes still fixed on his lap. Sensing his discomfort, you gently nudge him with your foot. “You can talk to me, you know that?” Eric has never been a big talker in your friendship; most of your conversations were usually led by you. Not like he cared, he didn’t have an issue with this. He loved listening to your unhinged rants, finding your stories funny and exhilarating. However, when it came to sharing his thoughts, he had difficulty finding the proper words. A small part of Eric thought that his problems would burden you emotionally. Did you even care? This voice lingered in the back of his mind. He knew that you wouldn’t shame or judge him about anything. Ever. But he couldn’t ignore the pestering feeling that you were only nice to him out of pity. “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”
`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹
Was this a sign? Was this a sign that he should come back into your life? No, no, it would hurt you too much, he thought. Yet, you already saw him. Was he supposed to pretend like you didn’t exist anymore? The city was huge, but if he saw you once, it meant he was bound to run into you again. He had been dodging the coffee shop, changing his route to his apartment completely just so he wouldn’t have to see your face in the window. The memory of your face clouded his thoughts. It had been three days since the last time he saw you, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about your hair, the way you looked so effortlessly beautiful despite the dark shadows under your eyes, which led him to wonder if you were sleeping okay. He knew how you got when you didn’t get enough sleep. Did you still think about him like how he thought about you? Despite those seven long years apart, you never once left his mind, plaguing his thoughts like a persistent spirit. He constantly thought about the night he left you. It haunted him, and he hated himself for leaving like that. He hated that he had decided to shut you out of his life. Although he truly had no clue you were texting his number. At the time of his rehabilitation, all of his stuff was taken away from him, and when he finally got out after four months, he had found that his father had thrown out all of his belongings. “A fresh start,” his dad would claim. Eric went without a phone for the next three months before scraping up enough money to get a new one with a new number. Of course, he thought about reaching out to you–several times. But he was terrified, petrified even. To him, it felt safer to stay out rather than risk opening up an old wound.
Besides, would it be okay? Would you be okay? He would often find himself in bed, typing in your number, writing out a short sentence asking for forgiveness and how he missed you, but just as quickly as the idea came to him, he would delete the message before he could even press send. Then, he’d relapse–falling back into addiction, again, and again, surrendering himself to the familiar euphoric feeling of drugs and alcohol. Each time he thought he’d been able to make it out, committing to his sobriety, something would trip him up, triggering him. When he was twenty, he managed to move out of his father's house, securing a decent apartment a few miles away from your hometown of Blythefield. Things had been going smoothly, things were changing, and Eric was proud of himself. At work, he made friends with the guys there, and for the first time, he genuinely felt a sense of happiness and belonging. Everything fell through when they invited him out on his day off. Somehow, he found himself at a house party, doing lines in the back of the room with a couple of guys he didn’t even know. On top of everything, he was drunk. So drunk that he couldn’t form a single thought. He felt like shit. His friends didn’t bother to help him out either, even after being informed about his issues that Eric openly shared. During those seven years when he was away, he was constantly in and out of rehab. And every time he’d get admitted, it felt less like treatment and more like a way to escape the unfortunate, overwhelming feeling of life–a vacation, sort of. Although when you’re on vacation, you usually don’t have brooding men screaming into your ear while being locked up in a four by four grey room.
It was only recently, at twenty-five, that Eric was sure of it. He wanted a change; he wanted to stick by that for himself, and in a way, for you.
`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹
“I’m not saying anything,” Chance replies sharply. Eric stares at him with wide eyes, desperation written all over his face, lips pressed into a thin line. “You fucking with me, man?” He asks. Chance uncomfortably sinks himself further into the worn leather of his couch as he ashes out his cigarette. “Chance, please, I’ll–I’ll take anything,” Eric’s voice cracks as he frantically waves his hands. Chance blinks, shaking his head. “Do you seriously think I’ll just tell you everything she said? I don’t rat out my friends.”
“Rat out? It’s not ratting out, I know her, we’re friends!” Chance shakes his head, correcting Eric. “Were, you were friends.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You come over here, banging on my door like a lunatic this early in the morning? She talks about you as if you did her dirty.”
Were you still upset with him? He drowns in his own thoughts, zoning out. Chance notices this, taking the opportunity to get up, grabbing Eric’s jacket from his coat rack, and walking over to him, forcefully shoving the jacket into his chest. “Talk to her yourself, Eric. You said you’re friends. I really don’t wanna be in the middle of this.” Eric looks up, confused as he processes Chance’s words. Before he could respond, Chance quickly pushed him out of his apartment, the door closing with a slam behind him. Eric stands there outside the door for a minute, pondering his next move. I should text her, he thought. It felt like everything in Eric’s brain was overcomplicating every little factor. He didn’t want to mess anything up. Six years was a long time, a vast amount of time to change. He’s changed, have you? He swiftly pulls his phone out of his back pocket, the numbers flashing 10:45 AM. Somehow, with a surge of willpower, he leaves Chance’s apartment, making his way down the street to the cafe. The sight of the flickering open sign was enough to make him shiver. Peering through the window, he sees you. In all your glory, you look fully awake today, radiating as you hand a customer their drink. He felt like a teenager again. The swelling feeling in his chest bloomed as he stared at you. He realizes he probably looks like a total creep right now. Eric exhales, holding his breath as he walks inside. Your gaze flickers toward him, a welcoming smile on your face, expecting a customer. Alas, it’s Eric. You pause when he walks up to the counter, clearing his throat with his arms crossed, looking up at the menu above your head as if he were genuinely considering what to get. The silence is painfully loud against the soft jazz and the surrounding conversation around. “An espresso?” You ask, breaking the silence. He looks back down at you, nodding. On the surface, you held a straight face with a soft smile, but under that facade, you were trying to mask the whirlwind of emotions you were experiencing. “$2.25.” Eric fumbles around in his back pocket for the money, sliding it across the counter. When you reach for it, your fingers briefly brush his, and you swear your heart almost drops to your stomach. While putting his money into the register, Eric breaks the silence, “Can we talk?”
Nothing. You say nothing at all. You can see in his eyes that he was begging, but you couldn’t speak. He blinks, shoulders dropping as he slowly backs up from the counter. “Eric,” you manage to make out, “text me.” His eyes widen, a small smile on his lips. He nods, “Okay.” He didn’t need to ask for your number again; he already knew it.
`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹
Unlocking your apartment door, you toss your bag on your chair and quickly undress into your relaxed clothes with a relieved sigh before lying down on your bed. You shift uncomfortably in the twin bed, thinking about your brief conversation with Eric this morning. You swore you were over it, over everything that had happened in the past, but just seeing his face lured you back in. It would’ve been an asshole move if you refused to speak to him, besides, you desperately wanted to catch up. You couldn’t be mad at him, no matter how hard you tried. Out of curiosity, you opened your phone to Chance’s Instagram following, typing in Eric’s name. There he was, his profile picture was set to a blurry polaroid of a cropped group photo. Hesitantly, you click on his most recent post. It looked like he was at a small gathering, spotting Chance in the background with several other people. He looked so happy, and you noticed the light in his eyes. You missed that. Other than a couple of posts, he didn’t have a lot of photos up, his page was mostly empty. You notice that there was a vast time gap between two of his posts. Eric’s first post was in 2020, he would’ve been around twenty at the time. There were a few photos in the first one, a couple of photographs that looked like they were off an actual camera rather than his phone. He was still into photography. You didn’t know why, but the thought of him going out and taking photos with his camera made you smile, just like how he used to walk around and photograph the simplicities of life when you were teenagers. The next slides were more group photos, but instead of looking cheerful like his recent photos, he looked completely drained. He didn’t have all of his tattoos, just a few of his hand and face tattoos. Eric had that same look that he had the night he left, lost, almost like he wasn’t mentally there. His second post was in late 2024, completely tatted out this time, a cigarette in his mouth with an arm thrown around Chance’s shoulder outside by a nearby club. So he’s been here the whole time. Coincidence. You kind of felt like a creep stalking his page like this, but seeing a few aspects of his life was enough to ease your mind. As you close out his account, you get a message from an unsaved number. Eric, you assume. Perfect timing.
hey
hi
its eric.
you still have my number saved?
no, i just memorized it lol
You lay there, staring up at your phone screen as you wait for his next text, a warm flutter from your heart spreads to your face. This felt strange. It felt familiar. Just then, your phone vibrates as your breath hitches, reading Eric’s message: “can i call you?” You sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows, slowly clicking on the call button while the phone rings. After a few seconds, he picks up. Neither of you says anything for a moment, just expectantly waiting for the other.
“Hey, stranger.” He says.
“Hi, Eric.” You scoff, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you.
“How have you been?”
“I’ve been better. What about you?”
“I’m great…” Eric trails off, almost as if he were holding something back. You hear him inhaling on the other line, softly clearing his throat. “I’m–uh, I’m clean.” He stammers. You lean your head onto the palm of your hand, a small smile spreading on your face. “That’s amazing, Eric. I’m glad to know you’re doing better.” If only he could see you now, he imagines your pretty face, hair still tied back from work, dark mascara-coated lashes fluttering as you look out your window. “I miss you, Y/N.” He blurts out. Eric runs his hand through his mullet, leg bouncing as he leans back into his sofa. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss your voice. He missed you so much, it was almost unbearable. Staying silent, you chew on your bottom lip anxiously. “I miss you too.” Eric’s grasp on the phone tightens when he hears those words. Sitting up, he bites the inside of his cheek. For the remainder of the evening, you and Eric catch up, sharing a few laughs and giggles as he cracks a few jokes, his humor still the same as you remembered from school. You learn about when he moved from Blythefield, just a year after you had gone off to college. The thought of Eric still being in town, roaming around somewhere at the same time as you while you still lived there made your heart ache. In your head, you wished he would have reached out sooner, but you couldn’t blame him. He was going through so much at the time, it must have been difficult to even be focused on anything.
“Oh,” Eric says.
You hum out of curiosity.
“We’ve been on the phone for a couple hours,” he says knowingly.
“Oh, yeah. We have.” You sit in silence, waiting for him to say something.
“Uh–yeah, well, I’ll see you soon.”
“Soon?” You repeat, Eric pinches his nose bridge, slightly embarrassed by his words. “Yeah, I hope.” He says sheepishly. You giggle, stretching your arms above your head, “I’m just messing with you. Of course, I’ll see you soon.” Eric sits up, suppressing a smile on his face as he hums in agreement. “Goodnight, Y/N.” Your name rolls off his tongue like velvet, leaving a sweet taste in his mouth. “Goodnight, Eric.”
`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹
“Do you think Eric will show up tonight?” You ask as you apply your cherry lip gloss in the mirror. Leanna, your friend with the pretty blonde hair and pink highlights, glances up from the magazine, her chin propped up in her palm. “Really?” She replies with a deadpan expression. Turning your head around, you shrug. “What? He’s my friend.” Leanna shares a glance with Nicole and Peyton, who are currently connecting their playlists to the speakers for the party on the floor, half-empty beer cans, and open makeup sprawled over your carpet. With a scoff, Leanna brings her cigarette to her rosy lips. “I’d be surprised if Eric even showed up to school.” Nicole chimes in with a loud laugh. Rolling your eyes, you spin around in the chair, pushing yourself over to Leanna on the bed, taking her cigarette between your fingers. “Eric’s chill, seriously. You guys just don’t wanna get to know him.” You mumble through smoke.
“Or,” Nicole starts, “maybe he just doesn’t wanna get to know us.” Leanna nods in agreement. “Whatever. Just help me clean up after the party, please? My parents will actually fucking kill me if they see this place trashed.” At sixteen, you were impulsive and bored; that’s why you decided it was a good idea to throw a party at your house on a school night, inviting the entire school. After all, you only live once, right? As you ruffle up your hair, a sudden bang on the door makes you jump. “Oh shit,” Peyton mutters. The girls quickly get up, rushing down the stairs to greet whoever was at the door. You follow them after, a bottle of vodka in your hand as they swing open the door, a crowd of people rushing in. Recognizing a few familiar faces, you hug and welcome them in with a wide grin. After a couple of minutes, the house was completely filled with people. You find yourself constantly looking over at the front door, expecting a certain someone to walk in.
“What are you looking at?” Nicole asks while sipping her beer.
“Uh–” You stutter.
“Probably for her boyfriend,” Peyton cuts in with a singsong tone as she wiggles her eyebrows, twirling her brown around her manicured nails.
The girls laugh, grabbing your arm to pull you closer when you try to walk away. “He’s not my boyfriend, Peyton.” You exclaim defensively. Your friends exchange a certain look between them, a smirk creeping up on all their faces. Leanna giggles, her head tilted slightly as she teases, “Who?”
“Eric.” You reply, bringing the cold bottle to your lips. Leanna raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes as she asks, “How did you know she was talking about him?” The three girls burst out laughing, playfully nudging your arm. “Speak of the devil,” Nicole mumbles, nodding toward the door. You turn your head as Eric closes the front door behind him, mindlessly looking around like a lost puppy. Clad in a faded black crewneck with loose dark jeans and scuffed vans. His big green eyes scan the area before finally landing on yours, a soft smile forming when he sees you gasp in surprise.
Leanna sighs in annoyance as she glances over at the other girls. Throwing your arms up, you dash over to Eric, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I thought you weren’t going to show up!” You yell over the loud music. “Yeah, maybe I should’ve stayed home.” He replies, gesturing towards the nearly empty vodka bottle in your hands. Blowing a raspberry, you look up at him mischievously before bringing the bottle up to his lips, “C’mon, drink up!” Urging Eric while he shakes his head. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually gives in, taking the bottle and gulping the rest of the liquid down. You laugh, grabbing his arm as you lead him into the kitchen. “Y/N!” Your friends call out from behind you. Eric looks over his shoulder, feeling slightly bad about stealing you away from your friends.
“What about your friends?”
“Shh, come here.” You interject as you open the cooler, pulling a beer, passing it to him. He stares blankly at you, the corners of his lips twitching. “What?” You ask with a giggle. “You’re totally shit faced right now.” Eric laughs as he cracks open his beer with a loud hiss. You roll your eyes dramatically, scoffing. “I’m not, you’re just too sober.” He tenses, shrugging as he drinks his beer, licking his lips as he watches you open your own. “You haven’t been at school recently.” Eric’s eyes slip away from yours to the ground. He gulps, taking another swig of his drink before clicking his teeth. You raise your brows, expecting him to give you an explanation for his absence. Instead, his green eyes trail back up to yours, exhausted with another shrug. “It’s nothing, really. My dad’s been going batshit, that’s all.” You squint, concern riddled over your face as you step closer to him. “I was serious when I said you could talk to me. About anything.” Despite your drunken state, you make it clear that you understood him. He nods, a tight smile on his lips. You reach for his hand, your pinky brushing against his palm. He looks down, letting his hand open up to interlock fingers, vulnerability washing over his expression. You notice how his eyes flutter, almost as if he were blinking back tears with glossy eyes, the way his lip quivers slightly, just a second away from breaking. “Eric,” you gasp softly as you turn him to face you. You place down your beer, glancing around the full room before quickly dragging him to a nearby bathroom. As soon as you lock the door, Eric instantly sinks to the ground, hiccuping as tears suddenly spill from his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry Y/N, I shouldn’t have come.” You shush him, quickly kneeling next to him against the bathtub as your hand touches his grazes his jaw. “No, it’s okay, let it out, it’s fine.” You reassure him as he drops his head to his knees, arms covering himself as he cries, as if he were shielding himself from you. “I can’t do it, I can’t do it.” He babbles through sobs. Your eyes slightly widen. “Can’t do what?” He picks up his head from his arms, sniffling as he slowly turns to look at you. “Eric?” You repeat gently with furrowed brows, “You can’t do what?”
Eric shakes his head, wiping away his tears. “I can’t be here, in this world, in–fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Why the hell are you apologizing?”
You pull him into your arms, letting him bury himself into your shoulder as he hugs you tightly, his body trembling intensely. Overwhelmed by this whole situation, you sit still, trying to get your thoughts straight from the alcohol. You didn’t know what to do. You had no idea how to comfort him, and the loud bass from the music outside the door was only overstimulating you further. Suddenly, a feeling of guilt washes over you as you ask yourself, how could I have been so oblivious to his issues? “Promise me,” he whimpers as he pulls back enough to meet your worried gaze, “promise me, you’ll never change.” You stare up at him, dazed, nodding slowly. “Okay, I promise.” You reply, a calm facade on your face in an attempt to calm his heavy emotions. Your hand goes up to stroke his head as he lets himself go in your warm embrace. The whole night passed by like a blink of an eye. The loud music and flashing lights had consumed you, yet you had no interest in dancing or drinking anymore. You had spent most of the night next to Eric, your hands intertwined in fear of him breaking again. Later on, you insisted that Eric should go home, get some proper rest, but he only shook his head, claiming that he didn’t want to face his father at this hour. When the party came to an end, he stayed the night, offering help to clean up the trash left behind. He didn’t speak as he picked up the litter, only giving you hums of acknowledgement when you’d ask him to do something. When you awoke in the morning, you realized he had slipped away from you without a text or a note, and when you had reached school later that day with a heavy migraine, he was absent. The day felt completely empty without him. Nicole, Leanna, and Peyton would sit with you at lunch, uncomfortably glancing around while trying to get your attention. All you could think about was what Eric had said last night, how he didn’t want to be here. Then, you’d recall a few moments before where he’d roll up his sleeve, only to instantly pull them back down when you’d point out the scars on his arms and hands, he would brush it off with discomfort over his face as he dismissed your worry, claiming that they were scratches from his cat with a playful smile. With uncertain reassurance, he’d tell you not to worry.
`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹
The weather had been shifting rapidly, the cold winter quickly fading away into the soft spring. The warm sun on your skin, the beautiful flowers and trees coming back into bloom. On a whim, you decide to spend your weekend shopping for a more weather-appropriate wardrobe. Unfortunately, you got a little carried away within the shopping districts and ended up emptying your entire wallet in stores. With a satisfied smirk, you look down at the bags around your arms, thinking about all the cute pieces you picked up, but groan when you remember your poor spending habits. Just as you turn the corner to leave the twelfth store of the day, you hear your name being called out from behind you among the bustling crowd.
“Y/N!” Chance waves from afar, a wide grin on his face, as he walks over to you with a cheerful energy. You smile back, greeting him with a quick side hug. Glancing up over his shoulder, you nearly jump when your gaze lands on Eric awkwardly standing behind him, hands in his sweater pockets as he looks at shoppers passing by anxiously. “Eric,” you mumble in surprise. When he finally meets your eyes, he nods with a gentle smile as he waves from his pocket. “Hey.” You pull away from Chance, eyes darting between the two guys as you struggle to hold up the multiple bags hanging from your arms. “What are…you guys up to?” You ask. Chance looks over at Eric, swinging his arm around his shoulder, pulling him down to meet his height. “Just–hanging out with my best friend.” Chance replies, although his words were strung out, almost like he was hesitating to find the right words in your circumstance. You assume he’s aware of your connection with Eric. You slowly nod, eyes narrowing with suspicion as you let out a quiet laugh before quickly catching a bag slipping from your arms. Right as you were about to shuffle it back onto your shoulder, Eric shifts away from Chance’s grasp, tending to you with a careful urgency. “Here,” he mutters while easing a few bags off your arms, looking down at you with sincere eyes. You hold eye contact for a few seconds before letting him slowly take your shopping bags, thanking him under your breath as you instinctively smooth out your top, feeling slightly flustered by his hands grazing your skin. Chance nervously laughs, staring at Eric as the two of you awkwardly stand in silence, a thick tension forming in the air. “So,” Chance cuts in, “Eric and I are going on a little road trip with our friends next week.” As he continues, Eric slowly turns his head around with wide eyes, a silent plea for Chance to stop talking. Regardless of his intense stare, Chance continues with a grin, “You should come. It’ll be cool, invite the girls too!” You notice how Eric closes his eyes, rolling his head back slightly while his brows draw closer. You clear your throat, pursing your lips. “Uh, yeah. I’m not sure if that’s a good idea–”
“Oh, c’mon, Y/N. Why not? You rarely leave your apartment on the weekends anyway.” Chance tilts his head to the side while raising his brows, a persuasive expression on his face as he nods toward the much tenser man in front of you. You glance back over at Eric, currently uneasily shifting on his feet. With an exasperated sigh, you reluctantly shrug your shoulders.
“And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.” - Kiersten White
summary: after moving away from your hometown into the city, you hope to settle and live a peaceful life—until a familiar face comes into your cafe.
content: fluff w some angst, use of y/n, opposites attract kind of trope (yes I'm corny kill me), friends to lovers, wealthy reader, shelly doesn't exist in this au, family issues, drug abuse, alcoholism, a few cliches (again I'm corny so what)
a/n: i have literally read every single eric fic on this app i need more sos also forgive me if there’s a few mistakes in this, i read through it like 30 times but wtv
word count: 4.7k
You loved Eric, that was the truth. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, you couldn't escape the thought of him crying into your arms when you were seventeen, coming to you for any sense of comfort and sensibility at ungodly hours late at night. Although maybe you were foolish for excusing his constant substance abuse, the way he would be so high on life sometimes, but would then disappear for days on end with no phone call or message. It drove you insane. However, despite all the hardships you endured for him, you adored Eric. That admiration would never stop, could never stop. But you had a good life, a privileged life. Eric could see this; the two of you came from completely different worlds. And truthfully? He feared this. He feared the day you would realize he was holding you back from being you at your fullest potential. He saw the way you excelled in school, a bright extrovert with a smile that could light up any room. Eric, on the other hand was the complete opposite. He was behind all of his classes, barely had any friends that stuck around, and frequently missed school. He had no clue how he managed to get so close to you in high school. He was lucky. Eric had even joined the photography club at the beginning of his sophomore year to be closer to you, only if you knew how fast his heart raced when you complimented him on his photos.
“Those are really good,” you say as you look over his shoulder. Eric nearly jumps at the sight of you so close. He eagerly pulls out his earbuds, giving you an awkward smile. “Thank you.” He says while swallowing as you further examine the photos he had taken on the screen of his laptop. A stunning capture of a vast field with a ravine in the back. “Uhm, I’m Eric.” He says as he extends a hand out for you. You look down at his hand, an amused smile creeping up on your lips. He blinks before quietly cursing under his breath, realizing his approach was far too formal. As his hand begins to fall, you quickly catch it in yours, firmly shaking his hand. “I’m Y/N,”
“I know,” Eric blurts out. Your brows raise as he stumbles over his words, pretending he wasn't getting flustered at this conversation. You laugh, “Well, I’m glad I caught your name, you're always lurking in the back here. I’ve seen your other pictures. You're very talented.” You laughed. You were a sight for sore eyes. He felt so enamored by your sweet chuckles, your energy, your presence, everything about you gave him a high no other drug could ever give him. You found it cute, his handsome face was a bonus as well. It fascinated you that a guy who looked so tough on the outside was so shy and soft-spoken. It was stupid, really, the way he could barely speak to you without stammering or looking at the ground. He felt like a fool with you, shamelessly drawn into you even though you were so different from him. However, the day you invited him out after school was the day that he realized maybe the two of you weren't so different at all. You were a little rebellious. He found out you had a habit of sneaking out or staying out past the curfew that your parents had sternly set. You always had a pack of Marlboros hidden away in your makeup bag at school, and you would drink like there was no tomorrow. The first time you had gotten high with him was during the second semester of your sophomore year behind an abandoned building, Eric had told you he “knew a spot.” Honestly, you had your doubts and were worried that he was going to murder you or something, but you trusted him, and God, it was a beautiful view. There was a giant lake behind the building, the sun reflecting off the water, while the green trees encased the two of you in shadows, and the warm sunlight peeked through. This was a pattern for you and Eric. Getting high after school together, just enjoying the simple aspects of life while blabbering about stupid shit. You couldn't do this with your other friends, never with them.
This was a common reoccurrence, meeting up behind this musty building to bask in each other's presence while smoking. It was also the place where you got your first stick and poke. Was it a terrible idea? Yes. Did it sound good when the two of you thought of it? Yes. Late April, a soft, warm breeze blowing past you as you cringed at the feeling of the needle stabbing at your skin. “Hold still,” Eric said through a muffled laugh. He looked cute like this, eyebrows furrowed as his lips pressed into a concentrated thin line. He would look up at you occasionally, watching your face to make sure he wasn't going too far. You got matching tattoos, simple ones, nothing you'd regret too much in the future. It was a small star on your wrist. Unfortunately, when it came to your turn, the lines on Eric’s tattoo were shaky and rigid compared to his clean work on you. Embarrassed, you nervously giggled as you raised your wrist to his, admiring your poor adolescent decision. “I'm totally gonna regret this later.” You admit, “Hey, at least I did a good job.” He says as he lifts up his wrist with a deadpan look.
The moment everything changed for you was probably around the four hundredth time you got high with him in your junior year. Your parents were out of town for a week, so you took the liberty of inviting Eric over. He’d been outside your house before to pick you up, but never inside. You recall the way he looked so uneasy, big eyes like a puppy when you grabbed his arm and dragged him up the grand stairs to your room. “Your house is fucking insane.” He says as you push him through your door while he gawks at the vast corridors. You scoff, closing your door behind you and going over to open your window. “Seriously, what do your parents do for work? I might need to get my dad on that.” He says as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his lighter. “Mm, something with like investments, I guess… Ugh, I don't know and I don't care.” He laughs, sinking into your bed as he leans against the wall. He looks at the plethora of plushies in the corner of your bed, reaching over to grab a mangled-up fluffy bear. He sets it in his lap, toying with the fur of the bear. “Don’t laugh, I've had that thing for like 10 years.” You groan. “Uh-huh, I can tell.” Eric takes a hit from the joint before passing it over to you.
He turns, taking in his surroundings and scanning your bedroom. Your room was plastered with music and film posters, a few polaroids of you with your friends hanging on the wall, a notable one was of you and a guy with his arm around your waist. He didn't look like a friend. It was almost as if Eric was trying to find new things about you that he didn't know already, even though you had been friends for over a year—he still felt so awkward around you. “What’s up?” You cough, “You planning on stealing anything, Draven?” You ask with a quirked brow, your head resting on your knees. He smiles, looking down into his lap as he shakes his head. “No, I’m just trying to figure you out.” There's a pregnant silence that follows this as he stares into your eyes. With a soft hum, you pass him the joint before giggling to yourself. “I should be the one trying to figure you out.”
“Oh yeah? Why is that?” He takes a long drag from the thin roll, lulling his head over to you. You stare at him for what seems to be an eternity, and it makes his stomach churn. He starts to fidget, squirming slightly when he notices your eyes tracing the curves of his features. “Because you’re a mystery, Eric.” You finally reply. The sound of crickets outside and the soft humming of your heater fill the room. He was beautiful. Truly, gorgeous. It made you feel weird, your feelings toward him had changed immensely as you started to hang out with him more. Was it close proximity? Were you desperate? Was it the warm fairy lights in your room making him look even more lovely? No, you were sure of it, it was him. The way he gives his undivided attention to listen to you ramble about your parents or your interests, the way he would notice the smallest changes about you, like when you got a trim, changed up your makeup routine, or tried out a new perfume. He was so raw, so authentic, it made you want to dive further into him. He rarely spoke about his childhood or his life living with his father. You would notice how Eric would shift uncomfortably every time he would mention his life at home. It made you worried, but you didn't want to press in fear of overstepping boundaries.
“What makes me a mystery?” He asks. You blink, shrugging. “It's everything about you.” His breath hitches, emerald eyes dragging all over your face, seeking another emotion that could explain to him what you were feeling. You wanted to know him. You so badly needed to know his life. It would be wrong to dig into him, but you needed more. There would be moments when you'd catch yourself rambling to him, and you would abruptly stop when you realize you might be talking too much. But he urges you, “Go on,” he never made you feel foolish, he never made you stop talking. He would just sit back and listen. But, when would you be there to listen to him? “I really like you, Eric.” You mutter. “I don't feel this way about my other friends.” He could’ve sworn his heart was going to explode. Did you like him as a close friend or a lover? It made his soul ache and his head hurt, but he wanted you. The tension between you was undeniable, he felt it, and he knew you did too. Maybe he was delusional. It was probably just all of the weed and close proximity getting to him, that's all. But, fuck, your parted lips and the soft twinkle in your eye whenever you'd look up at him was killing him. After catching what you had said, you quickly changed the topic elsewhere in hopes of him forgetting about your confession. You pick your head up from your legs, twisting around to reach for your digital camera on your crowded bedside table. “Smile,” snapping a candid photograph of him, low eyes, a small smile on his lips, while smoke clouded parts of the photo. He groans as you laugh to yourself before he reaches out for the camera, taking a few blurry ones of you. For the rest of the night, you laid back and talked about everything shortly before you both slowly drifted off to sleep on your bed. In the morning, you ate together in a peaceful silence, leftovers from a restaurant you and your parents had gone to. He would frequently glance up from his food, catching a glimpse of you with your chin resting in the palm of your hand.
The connection was genuine. It was hard to deny how sparks would fly when you two were together. On the other hand, your friends didn't like him that much, always leaving snarky comments on his appearance, going on about how you “shouldn't be hanging out with the wrong crowd,” just a load of bullshit. Despite your snarky comments back to them, you realized Eric was changing rapidly. He was always a little reserved and quiet with tired eyes, but you would pick up on new things, the way he’d scratch at the back of his neck constantly, picking at the skin around his thumb, nodding off in the middle of class, constantly wiping his nose, missing the photography clubs meetings. Subtle hints, but his demeanor changed as well. He barely spoke anymore, not even to you. When you would ramble, instead of listening, he would just stare, not into your eyes but rather into nothing. There was nothing there. Eric would stop responding to your calls and messages, he’d stop showing up to your house to pick you up for after school joyrides, completely going radio silent before randomly showing back up at school again. When he would show up, he’d be erratic, jumpy, and couldn't sit still. Sometimes when you would speak to him, it was like you were talking to a wall. He was so nonchalant, tired like a zombie. So, when he told you he was being sent to a rehabilitation center, he begged you and pleaded with you to forget about him. You remember his face that night, dark circles under his eyes, and his skin, which was once so bright, was completely dull, he had gotten skinnier, losing his baby face you once would tease him about. He came to your porch, refusing to step inside your house as you tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. “I'm sorry.” You remember him saying. “I know you, and I know you'll be amazing. Just not with me in your life.” He was holding back tears, it was obvious. You didn't understand it, you wanted him in your life, and you could've simply stayed in contact with Eric after he got out, but he just ran his hand down the back of his neck, scratching his skin, eyes fixated on the concrete below him. “I don't even know when I’ll get out. And what if I relapse? I can't let you watch me go through this same bullshit over and over.”
“No,” you protested, “there’s no fucking way you think I’d just drop everything like that, not for you!” Even after your reasoning, Eric just shook his head at everything you said, drowning out your pleas when he left your patio. When you went back inside, you buried yourself under your sheets as you cried and thrashed around your bed. It hurt. Throughout the rest of your senior year following his disappearance, you'd constantly call and text his number, hoping and praying for a response, but nothing came back. It was like he had completely vanished. The worst part was that because Eric never told you about his home life, you had no idea where he had lived, no idea where his father was, so you couldn’t even ask him about Eric. Your motivation in school dropped, your interest in photography slowly disappeared, you stopped going out with your friends, and you kept yourself confined to the walls of your bedroom. Eric leaving shouldn't have made such a huge impact on you, not this big. You let it get to your head, and even after graduation, Eric was all you could think about. As you walked across that stage in front of the cheering crowd, you felt sick. He should be here. Even when you got into college, you continued texting his number until the messages turned green. You were lost without him. You never got the chance to tell him how you felt because you were too much of a coward, afraid that maybe the tension between you translated differently to you. Eric was an anxious person overall, just because he had a hard time keeping eye contact and talking properly when you were around meant nothing, right? You swore to yourself that you’d remember him, that you’d find a way back to him, but it seemed like as you transitioned into adulthood, Eric lingered in the back of your mind instead. You had no idea if he was still out there, sobered up with a steady job, or if he was still an addict, left somewhere in the dark.
And now, at twenty-four, you had moved away from your town and into the city. You've always adored the city more than the quiet town. Everyone was too close back home, everybody knew everything and it was terrifying. When you had told your parents you wanted to move to the city after college, they brushed it off, instantly sending you a giant sum of cash into your bank account as if they were desperate to get rid of you. Although you didn't mind, anything was better than staying near your family. You bought yourself a nice small apartment despite the money in your account, a gorgeous view overlooking the sky, and the bustling city below. It felt real, it felt like home. You found yourself opening up again, your past extrovert self coming back out of your shell as you met new people. You had made a new friend recently, Chance. He owned a tattoo parlor a few blocks down from your cafe, and had an upbeat personality. He often invited you out every time he caught you feeling down, he always knew how to pick you back up.
You were thankful, but couldn't help but think about how Eric would've loved being friends with him. They were so different yet so similar in ways. Then you'd get in your head again about Eric, feeling upset for another week before Chance would cheer you up again. You never told Chance about Eric, you only mentioned him as an old friend from high school and gave him minuscule details. When he’d ask why you were so hung up on him even though it had been seven years, you could only shrug and drop your head. He never pressed you for more information, he’d just nod. Your circle had expanded, and you had a nice group of friends who were like a support group for you: Chance, Niyah, Penelope, Tiffy, and Chloe. Unfortunately for you, you had a hard time saying no to them. It was a terrible idea to go clubbing with your friends the night before you had a morning shift. “Just one drink!” Your girlfriends yell at you over the bass as they drag you to the bar. You playfully roll your eyes before making your way through the crowd. “So…” Niyah starts as she moves her curls out of her face. You look over, “You and Chance, huh?” She probes slyly. You watch as the other girls lean closer while whistling.
“Seriously? He's strictly a friend. He's like a brother to me.” You scoff before downing your gin and tonic, passing your thumb over your faded star tattoo. “Never in a million years would I go for him, I'm serious.” You watch as the girls blink, a look of amusement on their faces as they order their drinks. You can feel Niyah staring at you in your peripheral vision, so you glance over at her. Her arms are crossed, the dim club lights reflecting off her glossy lips. “You need to get drunk and you need to dance.” She says sternly. She wasn’t wrong, the past week hasn't been so good for you. You and your parents got into an argument, now they're adamant on ignoring you until further notice, but that was all. Other than your monthly falling out with your family, you had no idea why you were feeling so complicated. It was like you were a tsunami of emotions, and everything would just come and go. You didn't have any issues, you were sure of it. Niyah slides a glass of whisky down to you, nodding at it with her head. Hesitantly, you down it before letting her guide you over to the dance floor.
As the night went on, everything was a blur, the only thing you could remember was your friends dragging you out of the club and up into your apartment because you could barely walk. When your alarm blared through your room four hours later, you shot up, dragging your hands down your face, realizing you still had your makeup on from last night. With a groan, you stumble over to your desk, scrubbing at the dark shadow and glitter before running over to brush your teeth.
penelope: hey bby, hope you're feeling better you were knocked out last night :((
The notification pings, you read the text, smiling softly as you type in a short confirmation.
i’m fine, tysm for checking up on me i’m definitely gonna be hung over at work and mason’s gonna be on my dick about it, wish me luck. love u
You were lucky that your job was only a five minute walk. If you had taken the train, you would've been two hours late. “Good morning,” you mumble quietly to your coworker. “Morning.” He replies before slowly turning to you. “You’re late.” You hum lazily in response, “Barely.” Mason clicks his tongue, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “It’s 6:20. You were supposed to be here at 6:00.” As you clock in, Mason creeps up behind you, eyes squinted. “We’re not even open yet. Fuck!” You yelp when you turn around. Grabbing your apron off the rack, you raise your brows. “What is it?” He stays silent while examining your dark circles. “Are you hungover right now?” He asks. You pause, looking around anxiously before shaking your head and sliding past him. “Y/N, seriously? This is the third time this week.” You roll your eyes while wiping down the counters that the closing shift didn't clean properly. “Well, it's not like I'm full on drunk. I can function, I’m fine.” You bite back blowing up in his face, but you keep your composure. Mason sighs, shaking his head before flipping the sign at the front to open.
“Try to look a little more lively, okay?” He sets a hand on your shoulder, a look of pity on his face. That was when you realized something: he thought you were an alcoholic. Before you could open your mouth to defend yourself, the door swung open, a regular stepping in. “Just an iced americano, please.” She asks with a polite smile.
`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹
Your headache was only increasing throughout the morning, and Mason's refusal to cut you any slack wasn't helping either. It was only 11:34, just two more hours and you’d be free. You can't recall how many lattes were made today, but you were sure that you wouldn't be able to drink coffee for the next month or so. As you scroll through the orders on your screen, you notice Chance had placed an online order. Two drinks, his usual iced mocha, and an espresso. Huh, you thought to yourself. Chance didn’t like espressos. You shrug it off, going to work on his drinks as the cafe fills up with conversation. The only thing you were looking forward to was getting back home. It was unfortunate that the shop was understaffed, mornings were the worst, solely because it would get so busy, and only two people were working behind the counter. Suddenly, the idea of staying back at your parents' office in town, getting a quiet job of slaving away to fill out paperwork, and attending team meetings with tired businessmen didn't seem too bad to you. “Pick up for Chance,” a voice says behind you. Placing the drinks inside the drink carrier, you turn to hand it over before freezing in your tracks.
A familiar pair of green eyes settles on your face.
Eric. Eric. What the fuck? You recognize him, and he definitely recognizes you. His eyes almost immediately widen as his posture straightens. He looked so different. He had tattoos varying from his face down to his neck, and a tattoo you couldn't make out on his chest underneath his loose, pale yellow shirt. His arms and hands were covered in ink as well. His black hair, once full of waves, was now cut into a mullet, a cross dangling from his right ear, eyes smudged with black liner. Holy shit. It really was him, he looked healthy, stronger, and bigger than you remembered. He was always taller than you in school, but he appeared to be even taller now. It felt like the whole world had stopped, the conversation and soft music around you being drowned out by static. Seven years. It had been seven years since the last time you saw him, convinced he was gone for good, and here he was, in the flesh, perfectly intact. “Y/N,” he rasped, clearing his throat before he stiffly glanced down at his hands. The feelings you had pushed aside when you were teenagers came up again, the warmth from your chest spreading to your face. He was still so beautiful, even more attractive than he was when he left, and his voice. That sweet voice that sounded like music in your ears. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. He blinks, chewing on his bottom lip just as you place the drinks down the counter. Eric doesn't reach out for it, he doesn’t move. There’s a sense of guilt on his face, like he was ashamed that you saw him. Regardless of this silent encounter, he was still so smitten with you. You had matured. In school, you were ravishing, of course, but now you have grown into your features, your hair framing your face like a Renaissance painting. Eric hated that he ran into you like this, if it were up to him, he would’ve planned something more private, more sensitive, but he didn’t. In fact, he never intended to see you again. After staring at each other for what seemed like eons, the sound of the front door opening snapped you back into reality. Hurriedly, you rushed over to help the customer. Eric springs forward to grab the drinks and strides out the door. He felt sick to his stomach as he walked down the street, picking up his pace to get to Chance’s tattoo parlor faster.
Eric swings the glass door open, placing his coffee down on the table. “Do you have anybody today?” He asks with a jittery exhale. Chance looks up, giving him a curious look, shaking his head. “Not until an hour.” He turns off his phone, sensing Eric’s restlessness. “You okay, man?” He inquires, “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost or somethin’.” Eric lets out a short laugh, rubbing at his forehead. “Yeah, I did. Fuck.” He sinks into a chair next to Chance, leaning his head against the back of the cushion. “I’m so fucked.” Chance stares at him dazedly, looking around before slowly rolling his chair closer to Eric. “C’mon, talk to me. What’s goin’ on?” He shakes his head, unable to form words. When he finally drops his hands from his head, he shrugs. “I don’t know, I just saw someone I feel like I shouldn’t have seen.”
“Right, cut the cryptic shit, Eric. Who’d you see?”
“Just–just somebody that I used to know in the coffee shop. Ugh, see? I told you, man, you could’ve just ordered the coffee by yourself in person. Using me as your errand boy–”
“Woah, okay. First of all, you offered to pick up the coffee by yourself, and you can’t be an errand boy if you offered.” Chance scoffs with an eye roll.
“Sure, whatever. I didn’t even know she worked there. I pass by that place every morning. How did I not see that?”
Chance pauses as he takes a sip from his drink, “Huh?” he asks. “Huh?” Eric repeats while biting the insides of his cheek. “She works there?” Eric drops his head again, nodding while passing his hand through his hair. He blinks, the gears in his head turning. “Shit, Y/N?” Eric almost breaks his neck with the speed at how fast he looked up, his jaw clenches. “You know her?”
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