the quiet kind of brave (sophia laforteza x fem!reader)
summary: you ran away a year ago — from home, from the noise of people who called love a mistake. now you’re here, in a college that promises freedom but whispers its conditions.
you learn to live quietly, to stay small. then you meet sophia — steady, warm, unafraid. she makes you feel seen, and that terrifies you more than being invisible ever did.
genre: slowburn, angst with comfort, college au
warnings: talks of homophobia and running away
wc: 11k
a/n: this one hits a bit too close to home, but i just want you all to know that you are loved and seen <3
the smell of stale air hits your nose, like dust and old paint left to settle in the corners. it isn’t unpleasant — just the unfamiliar scent of a place that hasn’t been touched in a while. you stand there for a moment, boxes in your arms, letting the silence stretch. the room smells empty — not bad, just hollow. when you set the boxes down, the sound feels too loud, like you’ve startled the air itself awake.
you wipe your palms on your jeans and breathe in again. the scent of cardboard and detergent mixes with that empty-room smell — something human trying to make space inside something hollow. your hands tremble a little, maybe from carrying too much, maybe from the thought that this is the first room that’s truly yours.
outside, the courtyard is a blur of movement. students hugging their parents, some crying, others laughing too loudly. orientation banners flap from the lampposts, their corners curling from heat. someone plays music from a portable speaker, offbeat and slightly too cheerful. the sound seeps through the open window, a reminder that life is happening just outside your reach.
you close the window halfway. the noise dulls to a murmur. it’s not that you don’t want to belong — you just don’t know how to start without feeling like you’re pretending.
you unpack slowly, because there’s not much to unpack. a stack of secondhand textbooks, a thrifted kettle, two mismatched mugs. you line your pens neatly on the desk, fold your shirts in the narrow drawer, fill the silence with small sounds until it feels less heavy.
a photo frame catches on the edge of your hand, and before you think, you’ve turned it facedown. your throat tightens. there’s no one here to ask why.
your phone buzzes — a welcome message from the dorm group chat. you read it but don’t reply. names blur together: megan, lara, intak, a dozen others. their emojis blink up at you like confetti. you almost type hi everyone, but the words feel foreign, like wearing someone else’s shoes. you lock the screen instead.
you sit on the edge of the bed. the mattress groans softly beneath you. it’s strange, how freedom feels both light and terrifying. a year ago, you would’ve done anything for this — your own space, your own choices. but now that you have it, the quiet feels like a test.
you glance toward the door. the hallway outside hums faintly — voices, footsteps, laughter echoing off linoleum. you half expect someone to knock, maybe a roommate, maybe an ra checking in.
then, the door swings open.
a girl stands there, a suitcase dragging behind her, a bright smile fixed on her face. “hi! sorry — are you my roommate?”
her voice is soft but confident, the kind that doesn’t have to fight to be heard. you nod before your brain catches up.
she steps in, setting her suitcase down with a relieved sigh. “god, no elevator? fourth floor? i swear they’re testing us.” she laughs — a quick, light sound that bounces off the bare walls and makes them seem less empty.
she wipes her hands on her shorts and offers one to you. “i’m megan.”
you hesitate for a beat before taking it. “yn.”
“yn,” she repeats, like she’s trying the sound out. “cool name.”
you shrug, unsure what to say to that. megan doesn’t seem to notice your awkwardness — or maybe she does but chooses not to make it weird. she turns toward the beds, hands on her hips. “so, which one’s yours?”
you gesture vaguely. “uh, that one.”
“great. i’ll take this one.” she points to the bed near the window. “i like the light in the mornings.”
you nod. it’s an easy choice for her. you’ve already learned not to reach for things first.
as megan unpacks, the room shifts around her. she hums under her breath, filling the air with something that feels alive. a pile of pastel shirts appears on her bed. a corkboard with polaroids, her friends smiling at beaches and parties. she moves like she’s done this before — arriving somewhere new and making it hers in minutes.
you watch quietly.
at some point, she catches your gaze. “you’ve been here long?”
“just an hour, maybe.”
“ah.” she smiles, softening. “settling in okay?”
you nod, though you don’t know if you mean it.
megan tilts her head, studying you. not in a rude way, more like she’s curious. “you from around here?”
you hesitate. “not really.”
she doesn’t press. just says, “cool. i’m from palawan. it’s way quieter than this. this—” she gestures to the window, where the sound of laughter filters in, “—feels like chaos. fun chaos, though.”
her ease unsettles you a little. you wonder what it’s like to walk into a room and immediately belong.
when she unzips her last bag, something falls out — a small rainbow pin. you see it before she does, a tiny flash of color on the floor. she picks it up quickly, thumb brushing over it, then pins it to her tote like it’s a reflex.
you look away before she notices you noticing.
the air feels different now. not colder, not warmer — just sharper somehow. you swallow the thought down.
“so,” megan says, breaking the silence. “there’s a mixer tonight for freshmen. you going?”
“i don’t know.”
“you should,” she says brightly. “it’s not as awkward as it sounds. free food, music, people pretending they’re not terrified.”
you smile despite yourself. “you’re going?”
“absolutely. i’m terrible at being alone.”
you don’t answer that.
megan flops onto her bed, grinning up at the ceiling. “i’ll drag you there if i have to.”
“i don’t really—”
“yep. dragging confirmed.”
you huff a laugh. it’s small, but it’s real.
for a while, the two of you settle into a comfortable quiet. the sun has started to dip lower, painting the walls in honey light. megan scrolls on her phone; you finish stacking your books. the room looks lived in now, just a little — two people’s edges starting to blur into one space.
your eyes drift to the photo frame still lying facedown on the desk. you reach for it, then stop halfway. instead, you tuck it into the drawer. out of sight. out of reach.
“hey, yn,” megan says suddenly. “you good?”
you blink. “yeah. why?”
she shrugs. “you just looked like you were somewhere else.”
“maybe i was.”
she hums, like she understands more than you said. “you’ll like it here. i can tell.”
you don’t answer. you hope she’s right.
outside, a group of students walks past, their laughter spilling into the hallway. megan gets up to close the door, locking out the noise. when she turns back to you, she grins. “you’ll come tonight, right?”
“maybe.”
“i’ll take that as a yes.”
you watch her for a moment — the way she moves so easily through space, the way she makes the room feel less hollow without trying. and you think, maybe this year will be different. maybe.
but in the quiet that follows, you feel the familiar weight settle back into your chest. the one that whispers be careful. the one that remembers why you ran.
you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.
freedom, you remind yourself, isn’t the same as safety.
the morning air feels too clean, too bright. sunlight glints off the windows of the main building like someone’s showing off. you squint, adjusting the strap of your bag as you try to follow the campus map on your phone. every path looks the same — concrete, trimmed hedges, posters taped to lampposts about club fairs and student elections you don’t care about yet.
you’ve been awake since six. megan tried to convince you to go to breakfast with her, but you told her you weren’t hungry. truth was, you didn’t want to sit at a table surrounded by strangers pretending to know where they belong.
now, halfway to your first class, you’re already regretting skipping it. your stomach growls faintly.
the crowd thickens near the building. students laugh, waving to each other, comparing schedules. someone brushes past you and apologizes too quickly. you nod, clutching your phone tighter.
then you hear it — a voice just behind you, too close.
“hey,” he says, and you turn automatically.
he’s tall, wearing a lanyard that says student mentor, his grin wide and too sure of itself. “you new here?”
you nod once.
“figured. you’ve got that lost look.” he chuckles, like it’s meant to be charming. “i can show you around if you want. i know all the best spots. coffee shops, study corners, that kind of thing.”
you force a polite smile. “thanks, but i think i’ll manage.”
he steps closer, not enough to touch, but enough that you can smell the sharp mix of cologne and mint gum. “come on, it’s no big deal. i’m just trying to help. freshmen always get overwhelmed.”
“i’ll be fine,” you repeat, firmer this time.
he laughs softly. “don’t be shy. what’s your name?”
“yn.” you shouldn’t have said that.
“pretty name.” his eyes flicker down for a moment, then back up. “so, yn, you got any plans after class? i could take you to this diner near the gym. they’ve got killer fries.”
the way he says take you makes your stomach twist. you take a step back. “no, thank you.”
his grin falters, replaced by a flash of something mean. “hey, i’m just being nice.”
you don’t answer. you shift your bag on your shoulder and turn slightly, ready to walk off. but his hand lifts, not touching you, just hanging in the air like he’s about to.
and then —
“babe!”
the voice cuts sharp through the air, bright and sudden. a hand slides around your arm before you can react.
you turn, startled, and see her — a girl with copper-red hair pulled into a messy braid, dark eyeliner that looks deliberate, and a confidence that hums like static. she steps between you and the guy, smiling too wide to be polite.
“there you are,” she says, her tone playful but edged. “i was wondering where you went. thanks for keeping my girlfriend company, but we’ve got class.”
for a second, your brain blanks out. girlfriend?
the guy blinks. “oh—uh. sorry. i didn’t know.”
“yeah, you wouldn’t.” she tilts her head, smile not fading. “but now you do.”
there’s a beat where no one moves. then he mutters something under his breath and walks off, the sound of his shoes too loud against the pavement.
you stand frozen for a moment, heart hammering. the girl drops her arm from yours, her expression softening instantly.
“you okay?” she asks.
you nod, though your voice catches when you try to say thank you.
she waves it off. “guys like that are everywhere. i hate when they think ‘no’ is a challenge.”
you exhale shakily. “yeah. thanks for… that.”
she grins. “no problem. sorry for calling you my girlfriend out of nowhere. didn’t think you’d mind if it got him to back off.”
“no, i— it’s fine.”
she sticks out her hand. “lara.”
you blink. “yn.”
“nice to meet you, yn-not-my-girlfriend.” she smirks, and something about the way she says it makes you laugh before you can stop yourself.
the tension eases a little. you glance at her — red hair catching the sun, chipped nail polish, sharp eyes that seem to see more than you want to show.
“you’re new too?” she asks.
“yeah. first day.”
“same.” she slings her bag over one shoulder. “first day and already saving damsels. i should get extra credit for that.”
you laugh again, quieter this time. “i wouldn’t call myself a damsel.”
“fair. maybe just a girl who looked like she needed an excuse to walk away.”
you meet her gaze and find no judgment there. just honesty.
“thank you,” you say again, softer.
she shrugs. “don’t mention it. i’m sure you’d do the same.”
you’re not sure you would’ve.
lara glances at your phone. “what class you got first?”
you check. “intro to sociology.”
her eyes light up. “no way. same.”
you blink. “really?”
“yep. come on. i’ll show you which room’s ours before another creep tries to help.”
she starts walking, and you fall into step beside her. she’s easy to match pace with — unhurried, confident in the way she moves through crowds.
as you walk, she talks. about how weirdly humid the dorm bathrooms are, about her roommate who hasn’t shown up yet, about how she spent half an hour trying to find the campus café only to realize it was closed for renovations. she speaks like she’s narrating her own chaos, and you find yourself smiling more than once.
“so,” she says eventually, “where’re you from?”
you hesitate. “a few hours away.”
she glances sideways at you. “that’s not an answer.”
you huff a small laugh. “maybe i like keeping it vague.”
“mysterious. i respect that.” she grins. “me, i’m from cali. but my family's from south india."
you nod, letting her words fill the space.
when you reach the building, she pushes the door open for you with a mock bow. “after you, my almost-girlfriend.”
you shake your head, biting back another laugh. “please stop calling me that.”
“no promises.”
the classroom smells faintly of whiteboard markers and new paper. rows of empty chairs stretch out in neat lines. lara picks two near the back and drops into one.
you sit beside her, still half unsure how this happened.
“don’t look so tense,” she says, resting her chin on her hand. “no one bites here. well, except maybe that guy from earlier.”
“you’re not helping.”
“i’m hilarious,” she insists.
the professor walks in, saving you from having to reply.
the lecture begins, but your mind drifts. lara’s presence beside you is strangely grounding. every time you glance her way, she’s doodling something in her notebook — messy flowers, stars, random words. she catches you looking once and grins, unbothered.
when class ends, she stands, stretching. “hey, there’s an orientation fair later, right? you going?”
you hesitate. “maybe.”
“cool. me too. maybe i’ll see you there.”
you nod, but she doesn’t wait for a proper answer. she waves once before disappearing into the hallway crowd, her red hair bright against the sea of uniforms.
you watch her go, realizing you never asked for her number, or if she was serious about seeing you again.
still, as you walk out of the building, there’s a strange warmth sitting in your chest — the kind that feels new and fragile.
for the first time all morning, you don’t feel completely alone.
but the warmth is followed by something else, quieter and heavier.
because when she called you her girlfriend, even if it was just a lie — your heart had skipped in a way you didn’t expect.
and you’re not sure if that scares you or comforts you more.
—
mornings fall into rhythm before you realize they have. the sound of megan’s alarm, her soft groan, the creak of her bedframe when she rolls out. she hums while she brushes her teeth, always off-key, always cheerful. you don’t say anything about it. sometimes, you almost hum along.
you wake earlier than you need to. it’s easier that way — to shower before the hallway fills with voices, to make coffee before the communal kitchen starts to buzz. you like the quiet hours when the building still feels asleep.
megan always finds you at the desk when she wakes. “you’re such a morning person,” she teases one day, tying her hair up messily.
“not really,” you say. “i just don’t like crowds.”
“same thing,” she says with a grin, and you don’t argue.
you learn her patterns quickly. she leaves her shoes just slightly crooked by the door, keeps snacks hidden in the bottom drawer, talks in her sleep sometimes. she has this habit of narrating her life out loud — “okay, bag, keys, sanity, let’s go” — like she’s afraid of losing pieces of herself in the rush.
sometimes you envy how easy she makes it look. existing.
classes start to blur into something routine, too. professors with voices that drone and flicker. the smell of new notebooks, the hum of air conditioning that’s too cold. people start remembering your face — you’re yn, right? megan’s roommate? — and you learn to smile when they say your name, even when you don’t know what else to give them.
at lunch, megan always waves you over, patting the seat beside her whether you want it or not. “you need to eat,” she says. “starving isn’t a personality.”
you roll your eyes, but you sit. she talks enough for both of you. you listen, nodding at the right moments, laughing when she expects you to.
it’s not hard, not really. but it’s not easy either.
you’ve forgotten how to do this — how to exist in shared spaces without shrinking. how to make small talk without measuring every word for weight and danger. the muscle memory comes back in pieces.
one afternoon, you’re in the common room when lara spots you from across the couches. her hair is up today, wild curls catching the light, her nails painted the color of rust. she grins like you’re an old friend instead of someone she saved from an awkward scene a few days ago.
“yn! i was just talking about you.”
you blink. “should i be worried?”
she laughs, loud enough that people glance over. “nah. i was telling megan you’re cooler than you look.”
you look at megan, who’s trying and failing not to laugh. “wow. thanks, i think.”
lara drops onto the couch beside you, uninvited but comfortable. “we’re going out later — just a group from class, nothing fancy. wanna come?”
you hesitate, your chest tightening the way it always does when someone offers inclusion. “i don’t know.”
“hey,” megan protests lightly. “i’m an excellent shield.”
“yeah,” lara says, smirking. “that’s the problem.”
their banter fills the air easily. you watch them, how they trade words without thought. there’s no edge of caution in them, no fear that something said too plainly might turn the room against them. you envy that ease — the way they take space without apology.
“just think about it,” lara says, softer this time. “no pressure.”
you nod, which seems to satisfy her. she leans back, stretching her legs, her bracelets clinking faintly.
later, when she leaves, megan nudges your shoulder. “you should go, you know.”
“i’m not really the type.”
“what type is that?”
“the type who fits in.”
megan frowns a little. “you don’t have to fit in to show up.”
you don’t know how to answer that, so you don’t.
in the evenings, you and megan fall into quieter patterns. you study while she scrolls through playlists, switching songs halfway through because “it doesn’t feel like the right vibe.” she asks questions sometimes — casual things, gentle things. what do you like to do? do you have any hobbies? why sociology? you answer what you can, leave blanks where the truth feels too sharp.
she doesn’t push. maybe she senses it — the invisible fence around what you’re willing to share.
one night, she looks over from her bed and says, “you know, you don’t have to be so careful with me.”
you glance up from your laptop. “i’m not.”
“you are.” her voice is quiet, not accusing. “you talk like you’re worried about saying the wrong thing.”
you swallow. “i just don’t talk much.”
“that’s okay,” she says, smiling faintly. “just don’t hide.”
the words linger long after the lights go out.
you lie awake, staring at the ceiling, tracing cracks in the paint with your eyes. she doesn’t know — she can’t know — how deep the habit of hiding runs. it’s not something you can unlearn overnight. it’s muscle and memory and fear stitched together.
the next day, you find yourself in the cafeteria again, sitting across from megan and lara. lara is halfway through an animated rant about her history professor, waving a fry like a sword. megan’s laughing, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
you listen, smiling when you should, feeling something like warmth tug at the edges of you.
“you’re quiet today,” lara says suddenly, looking at you.
“i’m always quiet.”
“yeah, but today it’s thoughtful quiet, not awkward quiet.”
you raise an eyebrow. “there’s a difference?”
“huge difference,” she says, grinning. “thoughtful means you’re actually here.”
you don’t know what to say to that. maybe she’s right. maybe, for the first time, you are.
after lunch, you walk with them to class. lara talks about a movie screening happening over the weekend. “you should come,” she says. “we’ll make it a thing.”
“maybe,” you answer, and for once, it’s not just an excuse.
as the day fades, you realize the air around you feels lighter. not safe, not yet, but something close to it. like standing near a door that’s cracked open, just enough to let the light in.
back in your dorm, megan’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone. she looks up when you come in. “you went out,” she says, smiling.
“yeah.”
“and?”
you shrug. “it wasn’t terrible.”
“that’s high praise coming from you.”
you grin, dropping your bag. “don’t push it.”
she laughs, and for a moment, the room feels less like borrowed space and more like something you might be able to belong to.
later, when the lights are off and megan’s breathing has evened out, you lie awake again. your mind drifts — to lara’s laughter, to megan’s warmth, to the way it felt to sit at a table and not feel like a ghost.
you’re still careful. still cautious. still carrying pieces of the life you left behind.
but tonight, for the first time, the quiet doesn’t feel empty. it feels like space.
—
the afternoon sun is the color of dust and honey, spilling unevenly across the cafeteria floor. it’s the kind of light that makes everything look softer than it is — like the world’s pretending to be gentle. you’re sitting at a table near the window, half-listening to lara complain about an upcoming sociology project that she hasn’t even started yet.
“i swear, if this professor gives us one more group assignment, i’m dropping out and becoming a barista,” she says, stabbing her fork into a pile of fries.
megan snorts. “you’d burn milk and start three arguments before lunch.”
lara grins. “probably. but i’d make damn good conversation.”
you smile, pushing your tray aside. you haven’t said much, but they don’t seem to mind. they fill the air easily — megan’s laugh like a bell, lara’s words sharp and fast. you let their noise settle around you like background music.
that’s when she appears — sophia.
lara spots her first, waving her over with a bright gesture. “soph! over here!”
you look up. sophia hesitates for half a second, then walks toward you. she moves like someone who knows where she’s going, but isn’t in a hurry to get there. there’s something calm about her, something grounded — like she’s not trying to take up space, just exists in it fully.
her hair is dark and tied loosely, a few strands falling over her face. she’s wearing a soft, oversized sweater, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hands inked faintly with pen marks. when she smiles, it’s small, real.
“hey,” she says, sliding into the empty seat beside lara. “you called?”
“yeah,” lara says. “we were talking about that sociology project — professor hamid’s thing? we’re all dying. thought maybe you could save us.”
sophia laughs quietly. “save you? i barely understand the readings.”
megan leans forward. “don’t be modest. you literally explained the assignment better than the professor did last week.”
lara turns to you. “yn, you’re in the same class too, right?”
you nod, startled that she remembered. “yeah.”
“perfect,” lara says. “then maybe the three of you can work together. i’ll just… cheer from the sidelines.”
“you mean copy our notes,” megan says.
“same thing.”
sophia’s looking at you now — not in a way that pries, just noticing. “you’re yn?”
you nod again. “yeah.”
“i’ve seen you in class. you sit near the window.”
you blink, caught off guard by the specificity. “yeah, i— i like the light.”
“me too,” she says simply.
it’s a small thing, but the words settle somewhere deep. megan and lara keep talking — about deadlines, about coffee shops near campus, about anything and everything — but sophia doesn’t rush to fill the silence between you. she lets it exist, and somehow, that feels like kindness.
when the others get up to grab more food, sophia stays behind. she pulls out her notebook, flipping to a page filled with messy handwriting and half-drawn diagrams.
“so,” she says, glancing at you, “what part of the project do you want to do?”
“i can handle the research part,” you say automatically. “i’m better with reading than presenting.”
she nods like she understands completely. “i get that. i hate presenting. my hands shake every time.”
you look at her — really look — and she’s smiling faintly, no embarrassment, no apology. it’s rare, seeing someone so at ease with their own vulnerability.
you relax a little. “then maybe we make a deal. i do the reading. you handle the graphs. lara can pretend she helped.”
sophia laughs softly. “deal.”
you start talking about the topic — social identity and performance — and the words start coming easier than you expect. she listens the way few people do, like she’s not waiting for her turn to speak. when she adds something, it’s thoughtful, never overbearing.
you find yourself saying things you didn’t mean to say — about how people shape themselves depending on who’s watching, about how sometimes, pretending feels safer than being seen.
she hums quietly, eyes thoughtful. “yeah,” she says. “it’s exhausting, isn’t it? the pretending.”
your heart stutters, like she’s peeled back something without realizing it.
“yeah,” you say softly. “it is.”
you don’t talk about it more than that, but something shifts. she smiles, small and knowing, like she understands more than you’ve said.
when megan and lara return, sophia’s showing you something on her notebook — a messy doodle of a flowchart labeled people who fake it vs. people who survive it. it makes you laugh, a real one, sharp and unexpected.
lara gasps dramatically. “oh my god, she laughs!”
“shut up,” you say, but you’re still smiling.
sophia grins. “that’s a good sound.”
you look down at your hands, embarrassed by how warm your chest feels.
later, when the table empties and the sun has dipped low enough to paint the room gold, sophia packs up her things and says, “see you in class tomorrow?”
“yeah,” you manage.
“cool.” she tucks her hair behind her ear, her fingers stained faintly blue from ink. “don’t forget to breathe between readings, okay? hamid’s papers are brutal.”
you smile. “i’ll try.”
she waves, and then she’s gone — her steps light but unhurried, like she knows she doesn’t need to rush her presence out of the room.
lara sighs dramatically beside you. “you like her.”
you nearly choke. “what?”
“come on,” she says, smirking. “you had that look. the oh no, someone interesting just ruined my peace look.”
megan chuckles. “she’s not wrong.”
“i don’t—” you stop, pressing your lips together. “she’s just… easy to talk to.”
lara leans back. “yeah. that’s how it starts.”
you roll your eyes, but your heart hasn’t quite slowed down.
that night, you lie in bed, laptop open but untouched. megan’s already asleep, her soft breathing filling the room.
you should be reading for class. instead, you keep thinking about sophia’s hands, the faint ink smudges, the way she looked at you when she said it’s exhausting, isn’t it?
you turn off the light.
the room settles into darkness, soft and familiar. you can still feel it, though — the strange warmth that meeting left behind, the quiet ease that felt like sunlight through water.
it scares you, how good it felt. because good things, in your experience, always came with a price.
and yet, as you drift to sleep, the thought repeats in your mind — soft, stubborn, unstoppable — she felt safe.
—
you start seeing sophia everywhere after that. not in the obsessive kind of way — more like she has this quiet gravity that pulls you into her orbit without meaning to. you find her in the library, tucked between shelves with her laptop open and her headphones half on. you find her at the campus café, sleeves rolled up, sketching diagrams in her notebook with that same absent-minded focus. sometimes she finds you first. she waves, smiles, sits across from you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
you tell yourself it’s friendship.
it feels easier to believe that.
the days start to fall into a rhythm — class, lunch, walking back together. you talk about small things: the weird smell of the dorm hallways, the food that never tastes right, how the vending machine eats coins. it’s ordinary. grounding. sometimes she brushes your arm when she laughs. sometimes you forget to breathe for a second too long.
you notice the details that shouldn’t matter. the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s thinking. the soft rasp in her voice when she reads something out loud. the warmth of her when she leans too close to show you something on her screen. it’s dangerous, how easy she makes the world feel.
and still, you tell yourself it’s friendship.
one afternoon, you’re walking together past the student bulletin board. it’s cluttered with posters — club announcements, tutoring ads, rainbow flyers for the queer alliance. you glance at one, bright colors and careful words: safe space meeting, all identities welcome. you barely have time to read before you see the sharp edge of reality — someone’s scrawled over it in black marker, the word “safe” crossed out. another flyer nearby is half torn.
sophia doesn’t see it, or maybe she pretends not to. she’s telling you about a film screening next week, something artsy and slow. her voice is soft, her hands moving as she talks, like she’s sculpting the air itself.
you nod, but your eyes keep slipping back to that torn corner.
later, in class, the professor makes an offhand joke about pronouns — something quick, disguised as harmless — and a few people laugh. sophia doesn’t. neither do you. the sound grates, like static against your skin.
you don’t say anything. you never do.
that night, sophia texts you a photo of her cat from home, mid-yawn, its paw stretched out like it’s reaching for the camera. his name’s fig. he’s dramatic, she writes.
you laugh quietly to yourself. you type back, you look alike. she sends back a row of laughing emojis. you like the soundless ease of it — conversation that doesn’t demand too much, that feels like it belongs only to you two.
but then you open your campus group chat — the one lara added you to — and your stomach twists. there’s a screenshot of the torn poster, followed by a string of jokes. “guess the safe space wasn’t safe enough lol.” “those people need to chill.” it spirals quickly, cruel and casual.
you close the chat. you don’t say anything there either.
you sit in the dark for a while, the glow of your phone screen still painting your hands blue. the silence feels heavier tonight.
when you finally check your camera roll, you see the photo from earlier — sophia had leaned in close at lunch, insisting you take a selfie because “we actually look alive for once.” she’s laughing in it, sunlight catching in her eyes. you look... content. almost unrecognizable.
you stare at it for too long. your thumb hovers over the upload button — it’s instinct, muscle memory, the way people mark belonging now.
but then you remember the torn flyers. the laughter in class. the words that stay unsaid.
you remember your father’s voice, sharp and certain, saying things he believed were right.
you remember running.
your chest tightens, and before you can think too hard about it, you press delete.
the photo disappears. the silence remains.
you set your phone down and stare at the wall across the room — bare, pale, waiting.
you tell yourself it’s not fear. it’s just caution. safety. logic.
you tell yourself she doesn’t need to know.
and still, when you close your eyes, all you can see is the way her laughter had felt like sunlight — warm enough to make you forget, for one second, how much it burns.
—
it’s past midnight when the rain starts. not loud, not heavy — just the kind that whispers against the window like it’s trying not to wake anyone. megan’s already asleep, curled under her blanket, her soft breathing blending with the hum of the air conditioner.
you can’t sleep. your mind keeps running, looping through small, ordinary moments — sophia laughing, sophia talking about a book you haven’t read, sophia’s hand brushing yours when you passed her a pen. the memories replay like they’re waiting for you to figure something out.
a message lights your phone screen: you awake?
it’s sophia.
you stare at it for a few seconds before typing back: yeah. can’t sleep.
she replies almost immediately. me too. wanna go for a walk?
you hesitate — it’s late, and the campus will be nearly empty. but you’re already pulling on your hoodie before you can talk yourself out of it.
the dorm halls are quiet, just the faint squeak of your shoes against the floor and the occasional flicker of old fluorescent lights. when you step outside, the air smells like wet concrete and something clean, like fresh soap. sophia’s waiting near the benches under the awning, her hair damp at the ends, her hoodie zipped up to her chin.
“hey,” she says softly.
you nod. “hey.”
you sit beside her. for a while, neither of you says anything. the rain keeps its rhythm, soft and constant. it fills the silence in a way that feels safe.
“couldn’t sleep?” she asks after a while.
you shake your head. “just… thinking.”
“about?”
you pause. the easy answer — class, assignments, anything — sits on your tongue. but you don’t say it. not this time.
“about home,” you say instead. the words come out quieter than you mean.
she looks at you, not surprised, not pushing. “you never talk about it.”
you swallow. “there’s not much to talk about.”
the rain fills the pause. she waits — really waits — the way someone does when they care enough to let silence make room for truth.
you take a breath. “they found out. about me.”
her voice is gentle. “your parents?”
you nod. “i was seventeen. my mom found messages — just… small things. texts with a girl i liked. she wasn’t even my girlfriend. but it was enough.”
you pick at the edge of your sleeve. the fabric is damp and fraying.
“my dad didn’t talk to me for two days. and when he did… he didn’t call me his daughter anymore. he called me a disappointment.”
the word still feels sharp, even now.
“he said i’d ruin myself. that no one would love me. that i was sick.” you take another breath, shaky this time. “so i left. one night, i just… left. i didn’t even take everything. just what i could fit in a backpack.”
sophia doesn’t interrupt. she doesn’t try to fill the air with comfort. she just listens. her hands are in her lap, fingers loosely clasped. her breathing steady.
“i thought it’d feel like freedom,” you say after a while. “but it didn’t. it just felt empty. like i’d stepped into a version of the world where i didn’t exist.”
her voice is quiet. “you survived it.”
you nod, though it doesn’t feel like enough. “yeah. i did. but sometimes it feels like i broke something in the process. like i left behind the part of me that could feel safe anywhere.”
the rain shifts, picking up slightly — a thousand tiny hands tapping at the roof.
you look at her. she’s not smiling, but there’s warmth in her eyes — something steady, something kind.
“you talk like you’ve never been scared,” you say, half-accusing, half-curious.
she laughs softly. “that’s not true. i’m scared all the time. just… for different things.”
“like what?”
“like not being enough. like taking safety for granted.” she looks down at her hands. “my parents — they’ve always been supportive. i came out when i was fifteen. they hugged me. told me they loved me no matter what. i didn’t realize until later how rare that was.”
you can hear the guilt in her voice — soft but real.
“sometimes i feel like i don’t have the right to talk about it,” she says. “like i didn’t earn the fear. you know?”
you frown. “that’s not how it works.”
“maybe. but it feels like that.” she glances at you, a small, sad smile forming. “i think i carry their love like a shield. and you… you’ve been fighting without one.”
the words hit deeper than you expect.
you exhale slowly. “i don’t want to be scared anymore.”
“you will be,” she says, quiet and certain. “but that doesn’t make you broken.”
something in you cracks — not in a bad way, but like pressure releasing. you lean back, looking at the rain dripping from the awning, thin lines of water catching the faint orange glow from the streetlights.
“i hate that it still affects me,” you whisper. “that i still look over my shoulder before i say something. that i can’t even post a photo with you without thinking twice.”
she doesn’t move closer, but her presence feels like warmth anyway.
“maybe that’s what surviving looks like for now,” she says. “it’s not fair. it’s not brave all the time. but it’s real.”
you laugh weakly. “you sound like a therapist.”
she shrugs. “occupational hazard of being emotionally literate.”
you snort, and she smiles — that small, quiet smile that always feels like a secret.
the rain slows to a drizzle. you both sit in the soft quiet that follows, the kind that feels like the world’s exhale.
“thank you,” you say. it’s simple, but it carries everything — the weight, the ache, the strange comfort.
she nods. “you don’t have to thank me.”
“still.”
her hand moves slightly — not reaching, just resting close enough that you could close the space if you wanted to. you don’t, but the possibility hums there, steady and alive.
“you’re not broken,” she says again, like she needs you to believe it.
you want to.
you look at her, and for the first time, the fear and the longing feel like two sides of the same truth.
“can i tell you something?” you ask.
she nods.
“sometimes i think about going back. not to stay, but just to show them i’m still here. still me.”
she studies you for a moment, then says, “you already do that. every day you live like yourself — even quietly — that’s you showing them.”
you let the words sink in. the rain has stopped completely now. everything smells clean, new, washed out.
you stand together, slow and wordless. when she walks you back to your dorm, she doesn’t try to hold your hand, doesn’t say goodnight too loudly. she just looks at you one last time before turning away, her face calm, eyes soft.
you watch her go, a lump in your throat you can’t quite name.
when you finally crawl into bed, the room feels different — still small, still quiet, but not hollow anymore.
you close your eyes and think, maybe healing doesn’t feel like warmth. maybe it just feels like being heard.
and for the first time in a long time, you sleep without dreaming of running.
the courtyard is alive in that dizzy, sunlit way the first big campus events always are — too many colors, too many sounds, everything slightly overbright. it’s the student organization fair, banners hung from trees, tables stacked with flyers and half-deflated balloons. someone’s blasting music from a bluetooth speaker; somewhere else, a group’s giving out iced coffee samples that taste mostly like milk.
you and sophia walk side by side, cups in hand, still a little sleepy from staying up late the night before. the rain’s gone, replaced by clean sunlight that makes the pavement shimmer. she’s talking about joining the literature society, and you’re pretending to listen, but mostly you’re just watching how she keeps tucking her hair behind her ear when the wind hits.
you stop near a booth advertising an lgbt+ alliance — bright tablecloth, pins shaped like tiny flags, a handwritten poster that says “everyone deserves to feel safe here.” sophia’s eyes light up.
“we should sign up,” she says.
you nod, but there’s a flicker of something small and tight in your stomach. the crowd, the noise, the attention — it’s too much. still, you let her lead you forward.
a few tables down, voices rise — sharp, fast.
you glance over. a group of students are gathered near the debate club booth. one of them, a tall guy with a camera slung across his chest, says loudly, “i just think people make everything political these days. like, can’t we just… exist without turning sexuality or gender into some kind of statement?”
another student fires back, “existing is political when people still get harassed for who they are.”
the crowd hums with tension — that uncomfortable mix of curiosity and the need to pick sides. sophia stops walking. you can see it in her face — the shift, the way her posture straightens, how her eyes narrow like she’s steadying herself.
“what’s your name?” she asks, stepping closer. her voice isn’t loud, but it carries.
the guy blinks. “excuse me?”
“you said people make identity political. but you’re the one deciding who gets to exist quietly. that’s not neutrality — that’s privilege.”
murmurs ripple through the group. the guy scoffs. “oh, come on. i’m just saying i don’t care who people sleep with. why does it have to be a whole parade?”
you feel it — that heat rising in your chest, that old instinct to disappear when voices sharpen. sophia doesn’t flinch.
“because silence doesn’t protect us,” she says. “it just keeps you comfortable.”
a few people clap softly. others shift away, pretending not to listen. you stand a step behind her, every muscle locked. you want to speak, to back her up, to say she’s right, but the words stay trapped in your throat.
the guy rolls his eyes. “whatever. enjoy your victim points.”
someone laughs, too loud. sophia’s face tightens, but she doesn’t bite back. she just exhales, steady, and turns away.
you follow her, heart still racing, guilt already prickling at the edges.
she doesn’t say anything for a while — just walks, jaw set, the rhythm of her steps sharp against the pavement.
“you okay?” you ask softly.
she gives a small, practiced smile. “yeah. i’m used to it.”
but you can tell she’s not. not really.
later, after she joins a few friends at the literature booth, you wander off to grab another drink. the fair’s noise feels heavier now, like everyone’s voices blur into one long, meaningless hum.
you’re half-distracted, waiting in line, when you hear it — two guys standing behind you, laughing under their breath.
“that girl from earlier,” one says. “the one preaching about silence and comfort? bet she’s just trying to get attention.”
“yeah,” the other snickers. “probably one of those performative lesbians who think being loud makes them interesting.”
your stomach twists. your first instinct is to turn, to say something — anything — but your body freezes. it’s the same paralysis from years ago, the one that kept you silent when your father shouted, when your mother said we didn’t raise you for this.
you stand there, pretending not to hear. you pay for your drink and walk away.
your hands are shaking.
across the courtyard, sophia’s laughing with someone at another booth, her smile easy, her guard down again. she doesn’t know.
you want to tell her. you want to say you didn’t mean to freeze. but the truth is you did. you froze because it felt safer — because somewhere deep inside, you still believe silence can save you.
that night, you can’t stop replaying it. the sound of their laughter. sophia’s steady voice from earlier. your own absence in that moment.
you lie in bed, the darkness pressing against your chest, and think about how your parents’ words built a reflex in you — to hide, to survive, to stay small.
but tonight, it feels like that reflex cost you something else.
you remember sophia saying, silence doesn’t protect us. it just keeps you comfortable.
you turn onto your side, eyes burning.
comfort feels like betrayal now.
—
the week after the fair feels quieter, like the air’s been scraped clean of color. the campus hums on as usual — lectures, group projects, late-night study sessions in the library — but for you, everything moves at a distance, muffled.
you start walking a different route to class, one that doesn’t pass the courtyard. you leave early, sit in the back rows, avoid the cafeteria when it’s full. megan asks if you’re okay once, and you tell her you’re just tired. she doesn’t push, though her eyes linger a little longer than usual.
sophia texts you twice that week. coffee after class? then later, everything okay? you’ve been quiet.
you type, yeah just busy, then stare at it for a long time before deleting the message altogether.
the truth is, you don’t know what to say. every time you picture her — her voice steady at the fair, her face when she said i’m used to it — something inside you folds in on itself. it’s not that you don’t want to see her. it’s that you don’t trust yourself not to break again.
the guilt doesn’t leave; it just hums under your skin, a quiet, constant ache.
by friday, you’ve run out of excuses. sophia corners you outside the library, her expression caught somewhere between concern and frustration.
“hey,” she says, stepping into your path. her tone is soft, but there’s an edge to it, the kind that only comes from caring too much. “did i do something?”
you blink, startled. “what?”
“you’ve been avoiding me,” she says. “if i said something wrong—”
“no,” you cut in too quickly. “it’s not you.”
“then what is it?”
you open your mouth, then close it again. there’s a pause, the kind that stretches too long, makes the air go stiff. she watches you, eyes steady, patient in that infuriatingly gentle way she has.
“i just—” your throat tightens. “i don’t know how to explain it.”
“try me,” she says quietly.
the words tumble out before you can stop them. “i’m tired of being afraid.”
it’s a confession that tastes like a wound.
sophia blinks, her expression softening. “afraid of what?”
you hesitate. “of being seen. of saying the wrong thing. of... what happens when people find out.” you shake your head, eyes fixed on the ground. “you don’t get it. i ran away from that once. i barely made it out.”
there’s a silence, heavy but not cold. when you finally look up, she’s watching you with that same quiet steadiness.
“you think being around me makes it worse,” she says.
you don’t answer, but the look on your face is enough.
sophia exhales, steps closer. “i can’t promise it’ll be easy. i can’t promise people will be kind.” she pauses. “but i can promise i won’t let you go through it alone.”
the words sink in slow, hesitant. you want to believe them, but belief feels like a door that locks behind you once you step through.
“i’m not brave like you,” you whisper.
her mouth curves in a faint, tired smile. “you don’t have to be. we can be scared together.”
you stare at her, the ache in your chest cracking open, something fragile and raw pushing through.
“that’s not fair,” you say quietly. “you shouldn’t have to carry that.”
“it’s not carrying,” she replies. “it’s just... not letting fear win.”
neither of you speaks after that. the sounds of campus drift faintly around you — a bike bell, someone laughing too loud, the low hum of conversation — but it all feels far away.
she reaches out, like she might touch your hand, but stops halfway. the air between you feels charged, unspoken, trembling with all the things you still can’t say.
“just—” she exhales. “don’t disappear again, okay?”
you nod, barely.
“okay,” you whisper.
she nods back, then gives you a small, hesitant smile before walking off, leaving you standing there, heart beating too fast, too loud.
for the first time in days, you don’t feel numb. you feel scared — but it’s a different kind of scared. one that feels almost like hope trying to surface.
the wall isn’t gone. but it’s cracked. and light is starting to leak through.
—
it starts like a coincidence — megan asking if you and sophia could help her and lara with a group project. something about comparative media studies, something vague enough that you don’t question it. you’ve both been avoiding eye contact in lectures since that talk outside the library, and the idea of being in the same room again makes your chest feel tight. but you say yes anyway. it feels rude not to.
the study room they booked is one of those small, glass-walled boxes near the back of the library — quiet, sealed, the kind of place where sound barely travels. megan and lara are already there when you arrive, pretending to be scrolling through notes. lara’s got her hair up in a messy twist, her nails tapping idly on her phone screen. megan glances between you and sophia with a little too much brightness in her smile.
“you’re here! perfect.” she closes her laptop. “i just need to print the article references. lara, wanna come?”
lara looks up, pretending to be surprised. “oh. sure. but the printer’s on the other side of the building, right?”
megan nods like it’s a long, inconvenient trek. “yeah, it’ll take a bit.”
you frown. “should we wait?”
“no, no, you two can start organizing the slides,” megan says, already gathering her things. “we’ll be back in a bit.”
before you can protest, they’re gone — the sound of lara’s laughter fading down the hallway. the door clicks shut. silence settles, thick and uneven.
sophia sits across from you, her laptop closed, hands resting on her knees. for a long minute, neither of you says anything. the hum of the air conditioner fills the space, a low, constant noise that makes the silence heavier.
you open your mouth. close it again. look at your notebook like it might rescue you.
“so,” she says finally, voice soft. “was this really about a project?”
you sigh, a small, helpless sound. “i don’t think so.”
her mouth curves — not quite a smile, but close. “figured.”
you trace the edge of your notebook with your thumb, eyes fixed on the table. the silence stretches again, thinner this time. it feels fragile, like it might snap if either of you breathe too loud.
“i didn’t mean to disappear,” you say finally. your voice comes out smaller than you want. “i just—”
“—got scared?” sophia finishes gently.
you nod.
she leans back in her chair, watching you carefully. “i’m not mad,” she says after a moment. “i just... wish you’d let me in.”
the words land heavier than they sound. you swallow. “i don’t know how.”
she studies you, and the quiet between you sharpens again. then she says, almost simply, “i won’t apologize for being myself.”
you look up. her expression isn’t angry — just steady, unflinching. “i know some people think it’s safer to stay quiet. i used to think that, too. but pretending doesn’t make the world less cruel. it just makes it lonelier.”
your throat tightens. “you make it sound easy.”
“it’s not.” she pauses. “it’s just... necessary.”
you stare down at your hands. they’re trembling, faintly. “i don’t think i can do that.”
“do what?”
“be like you,” you say, barely above a whisper. “you walk through crowds and people know. you don’t hide, and you still smile. i don’t know how to live like that. i ran away to be free, but i still live like i’m hiding.”
sophia’s eyes soften, the kind of softness that hurts more than kindness. “you think hiding keeps you safe?”
“it does,” you snap, then immediately flinch at your own voice. “it has to. because if people find out, they’ll look at me the way my parents did. like i’m something they lost. something they can’t fix.”
the room feels smaller suddenly, like the walls are closing in. your breathing’s uneven. sophia doesn’t interrupt. she lets the words spill, quiet and messy.
“i thought leaving them would make it stop. the fear, the shame, the way i flinch every time someone says the word ‘gay’ too loud.” you press your palms together to keep them from shaking. “but it’s still in me. i walk around campus and i see people like you — brave, open — and i feel like i’m still back in that house, still twelve years old, still wishing i could disappear before anyone noticed.”
the silence that follows is unbearable. you can’t look at her.
then, softly: “you don’t have to be brave to deserve peace.”
you look up, startled. sophia’s voice is low, even, but her eyes shine with something raw — not pity, but understanding.
“you think i never get scared?” she says. “i do. all the time. when i speak up, when people stare, when someone laughs behind me. but i decided i’d rather be afraid and alive than safe and invisible.”
you blink hard, because it sounds too close to the thing you’ve never let yourself admit — that maybe survival isn’t the same as living.
“i wish i could do that,” you whisper.
“you can,” she says, leaning forward. “not all at once. not in the way you think. you can start small. like not deleting photos. like saying yes when someone asks if you want to go to the queer book club, even if you only stay ten minutes.” she smiles faintly. “it’s not about being fearless. it’s about being tired of pretending you’re not already yourself.”
something in you cracks open — not like breaking, but like breathing.
you stare at her for a long time, searching for the right thing to say, but all that comes out is, “i’m sorry.”
“for what?”
“for freezing,” you say. “at the fair. when people laughed at you. i heard it. i didn’t say anything.”
her expression softens again. “you don’t owe me an apology for being scared.”
“then what do i owe you?”
“the truth,” she says quietly.
the words hang between you. the truth: that you like her. that she makes you feel seen in ways that terrify you. that every time she smiles at you, you think maybe you could stop running.
but the words don’t come yet. they hover at the edge of your tongue, trembling.
instead, you say, “thank you.”
she smiles — a real one this time, tired but warm. “you’re welcome.”
the door creaks. footsteps echo down the hall. megan’s voice calls, “hey, we’re back!” followed by lara’s unmistakable laugh.
you both look toward the sound, then back at each other.
“guess our captors are returning,” sophia says, trying to sound casual, but her voice wavers a little.
you nod, and for once, you don’t look away.
when lara and megan step back into the room, pretending not to notice the shift in the air, they find you and sophia sitting closer than before — still not touching, still wrapped in silence, but softer now. like the room’s learned how to breathe again.
—
the night air is thick with that quiet hum the campus gets after midnight — not silence, exactly, but the sound of everything winding down. far-off laughter from another dorm, the echo of footsteps across the courtyard, the soft drone of cicadas somewhere behind the trees.
you and sophia are sitting on the steps outside the library, sharing a single cup of tea that’s gone lukewarm. it’s the first time you’ve been alone together since that strange study-room trap, but the tension from before has dissolved into something gentler, looser around the edges.
you’re both tired, but it’s the good kind of tired — the kind that comes after too many words and not enough walls.
sophia leans forward, elbows on her knees, watching the steam fade from the cup. “you know,” she says quietly, “i used to think being brave meant not being scared.”
you glance at her, but she’s not looking at you. her voice is calm, thoughtful.
“but i think bravery’s just... showing up anyway. even if your hands shake.” she looks at you now, eyes soft. “you don’t have to be fearless, yn. you just have to be honest.”
the words linger, warm and heavy. you swallow hard. it feels like there’s something caught in your throat, like all the air you’ve kept in for years is pressing to get out.
“honest,” you repeat, half under your breath.
“yeah,” she says. “start there.”
you stare down at your hands, then at the empty cup between you. it’s trembling slightly in your grip.
“i’m not good at this,” you admit.
“at what?”
“saying things that matter.”
“you don’t have to say them perfectly.”
you laugh — a small, shaky sound. “that’s good, because this is probably going to sound terrible.”
she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. she just waits. and that patience — that quiet, steady presence — makes something inside you finally give.
you take a breath. then another.
“i like you,” you say.
it comes out soft, cracked, almost too quiet to hear. but it’s real. it’s the kind of confession that doesn’t feel like a beginning or an ending — just an exhale after years of holding your breath.
you expect the world to shift, to spin or explode, but it doesn’t. it just settles — like everything’s been waiting for you to catch up.
sophia blinks once, her lips parting like she’s absorbing the sound of it. then she smiles — not wide, not bright, but slow, certain.
“you don’t sound terrible,” she says. “you sound like someone telling the truth.”
your throat tightens. “i don’t know what to do with it.”
“you don’t have to do anything,” she says. “just don’t run from it.”
you nod, tears prickling behind your eyes before you can stop them.
“i’ve spent so long hiding,” you whisper. “from my family, from the people here, from myself. i thought if i stayed small enough, the world wouldn’t notice me.” you pause, voice breaking slightly. “but you did. and it scared me so much that i almost pushed you away for it.”
sophia’s eyes glisten in the dim light. she reaches out, slow, deliberate, like she’s asking permission. when her fingers brush yours, you don’t flinch.
the contact is small — barely there — but it feels like the bravest thing you’ve ever done.
you turn your hand over, let your fingers intertwine. her hand is warm. steady. real.
she shifts closer, and for a heartbeat, neither of you move. then she leans in, just enough that your foreheads touch.
you can feel her breath, soft against your skin, and then her lips — tentative, trembling — meet yours.
it’s not a cinematic kiss. it’s quiet, fragile, almost clumsy. but it’s full of relief, not hunger; a promise, not a claim.
when you pull back, she’s still close enough that her voice is barely a whisper. “see? that wasn’t so scary.”
you laugh through a shaky breath. “maybe a little.”
“a little’s okay.”
you sit there together, the night breathing around you, your hands still linked between your knees. the fear doesn’t vanish — it never does — but it feels smaller now, like it’s finally sharing space with something else.
for the first time in years, you don’t feel like you’re running. you feel like you’ve stopped. like you’ve chosen to stay.
and maybe that’s what freedom really is — not the absence of fear, but the decision to live anyway.
sophia squeezes your hand once before resting her head against your shoulder.
“we’ll figure it out,” she murmurs.
you nod, smiling into the dark. “yeah,” you whisper. “we will.”
and the night, quiet and full, feels like it believes you.
—
the campus looks different in the morning light. not because anything’s changed, but because you have. it’s subtle — the way you walk slower now, the way you don’t shrink when people pass by, the way you laugh a little louder without flinching at the sound.
it’s saturday. the air smells like wet grass and coffee from the student café. sophia’s beside you, hair tucked under a cap, scarf hanging loosely around her neck. you’re holding her hand. it’s not something you planned. it just… happened. one moment her fingers brushed yours, and the next they were linked, easy, like they’d always known how.
you’re walking across the quad — the same one that used to make your chest tighten, the same open stretch of space you always avoided when it got too crowded. now you’re right in the middle of it, palms pressed together, steps in sync.
the world doesn’t stop. students still rush past, arms full of books, laughter bouncing off the pavement. somewhere nearby, someone’s playing music from a speaker, soft and crackling.
but then — a pair of eyes. a whisper. a small, sharp pause in the air, like the moment before a storm.
you feel it instantly. your fingers tense. your first instinct — always your first instinct — is to pull away.
but sophia doesn’t.
she keeps walking. her thumb presses lightly against your knuckles, a silent question, a quiet anchor.
you take a breath. one heartbeat. two. and you don’t let go.
the whisper fades behind you. maybe it’s just in your head. maybe not. either way, the sky stays blue, the music keeps playing, and your hand stays in hers.
for a long time, you thought bravery had to look like shouting — like standing on a stage and declaring yourself without fear. but this — walking across the quad, holding sophia’s hand, the sound of your shoes against the path — this feels braver.
you pass the lgbt+ alliance booth, the one from the fair months ago. the banner’s brighter now, new flags pinned along the edge. someone waves from behind the table — a girl you vaguely recognize from class. she grins at you both, not surprised, just warm.
you smile back, small but real.
sophia squeezes your hand once. “you okay?”
you nod. “yeah. i think i am.”
it’s not freedom in the way you used to imagine it — loud, dazzling, cinematic. it’s quieter than that. it’s the warmth of her palm against yours, the steadiness in your chest, the sunlight catching on the windows ahead.
and for the first time, you believe that being seen doesn’t have to mean being hurt. sometimes it just means being here.
—
your dorm room smells like laundry and light. not the stale, dusty air from that first day, but something lived-in — warmth, detergent, faint traces of tea and notebook paper. the curtains are half open, sunlight spilling across the desk.
your boxes are gone. the walls have photos now — some of friends, some of places, some of nothing in particular. one of them is a blurry shot of you and sophia at the café, mid-laugh, faces half cut off. you never deleted it.
megan’s left a note on the desk — went out with lara. don’t wait up. :) with a doodle of a heart.
you smile, shaking your head. it’s strange, how these people — these accidental connections — have become something like a home.
sophia’s curled up on the bed, reading something on her tablet. her hair’s still damp from a shower, the ends brushing against her collar. she looks up when you move closer.
“hey,” she says softly.
“hey.”
you sit beside her, your knees touching. the quiet between you feels different now — not a wall, but a kind of language.
on the desk, beside the lamp, is the photo frame you turned face down your first day here. the one you couldn’t bear to look at.
you stand, pick it up.
it’s a picture of you — younger, smiling, standing in a park near your old home. someone else’s arm rests across your shoulders, cropped out of the frame, but you remember whose it was. you remember everything that came after.
for a long time, you thought you’d never be able to face that version of yourself again — the girl who hadn’t yet learned what it meant to be afraid.
but now, as you look at it, you don’t feel the ache of loss. you feel something gentler — grief, maybe, but also grace.
you turn the photo face up. leave it on the desk.
sophia watches you, silent, then reaches out a hand. you take it without hesitation.
the room fills with the soft hum of the afternoon — distant voices from the hallway, the rhythmic click of a keyboard from next door, the whisper of wind through the open window.
you exhale, slow and steady.
“when i first came here,” you say quietly, “i thought this room would swallow me whole.”
sophia tilts her head. “and now?”
“now it feels... full.”
she smiles, small and knowing. “that’s because you finally let it.”
you nod, and the simplicity of that truth makes your chest ache.
the sunlight shifts, sliding across the floorboards, touching the edge of your hand. sophia leans her head on your shoulder. you close your eyes for a moment and just breathe.
the world outside is still the same — some people whisper, some don’t. some places are still unsafe. but here, in this small, borrowed corner of the world, you are not hiding anymore.
you are seen. you are held. and for the first time since you ran away, you are home.
the light stays soft. the air feels clean. the silence is no longer hollow — it’s alive.
you sit there, hand in hers, the photo turned up toward the sun.
✏️: Katseye x 7th member reader, Crime, Heists, Katseye x Louvre heist, Relationships can be seen as either platonic or polyamorous idgaf, Daniela’s mustang is in this along with 5x Sophia’s scooter, Breaking and entering, Acting, Thievery, Crack, Robbery, French, this is so dumb i don’t even want to post it, not proof read i cbb
Synopsis: Seven girls. One plan. Zero patience. Katseye is tired of bad press and boring interviews- so when Sophia gets a mysterious coded message about a “performance opportunity” at the Louvre, things spiral very quickly from “artistic expression” to “international larceny.” Interpol calls it a crime. Twitter calls it performance art. You call it Tuesday.
Robbery wasn’t exactly on your Katseye contract, but to be honest- this might have just been the funnest project you’d ever been a part of. Excluding the film you had to make on abortions back in high-school.
“Are you happy to be in Paree?” Manon repeats for what might be the fiftieth time today, tugging on her gloves as you all huddle together in Daniela’s Mustang. The noon sun reflected off of the tinted windows, painting the interior with a lie: midnight in a museum courtyard. The light makes everyone look like they’ve been filtered through bad decisions and Instagram presets.
Echoes of “Oui oui!” (you, Megan, Lara) and “Shut the fuck up!” (Sophia, Daniela, Yoonchae) ricochet off the cramped space like a chorus from hell.
The Mustang, god bless its oily soul, was definitely not built for seven people. Maybe 5, at most. That leaves you half-seated on Megan’s knee, Lara’s elbow somewhere in your spleen, and Yoonchae perched on the dashboard like a gargoyle, face lit with the blue glow from Manon’s tablet.
Sophia pinches the bridge of her nose for what might have been the 20th time in that hour alone. “We are minutes away from committing an international crime, and you’re all doing Duolingo impressions.”
Lara, digging her elbow into you like she’s trying to assert dominance, shrugs, “It’s called manifesting, babe. Positive vibes make for clean getaways.”
“Positive vibes don’t jam security cameras,” Manon mutters, clicking away on her tablet. “Do you know how hard it is to hack the Louvre? Their firewall is in French.”
“That’s hot,” you say absently. “Like cyber-French foreplay. Also, don’t you know french?”
“Oui.”
Sophia turns slowly to glare at you. “Do you want to get arrested before or after we start?”
“Dealer’s choice.”
Megan snorts, trying not to laugh. “Honestly, she has a point. We’re already suspicious. Seven girls in black leather loitering outside the Louvre at noon? Totally inconspicuous.”
Yoonchae, the only one who actually looks anything but guilty, blinks, “We could say we’re filming a music video.”
Lara hums, “How do you say Gnarly in french?”
“Noueux.”
Daniela grins. “Yeah, and the chorus hits right when the alarm goes off.”
There’s a groan, followed by a, “Please don’t jinx it.”
You frown, glancing at Sophia in a mixture of confusion and dumbassery, “Wait, what’s the plan again?”
“Plan A,” Sophia snaps, voice clipped and fed the fuck up, “Daniela is the getaway driver, Manon the hacker, and I’ll be waiting outside with the scooters. You and Lara are runners. You’re both fast, balanced and have tall legs, brush right past the guards and into the main room. Manon will trigger the fire alarms to get all the rooms evacuated in case of an emergency, and she’ll also unlock the safe doors. All you two have to do is grab and go,” she gestures with her fingers as if sewing up the scenario, “-in and out.”
You lift your ankle slightly, feeling the sour sting of old injury. “I dunno,” you drawl, “My ankle says no. Bruised. Swelled. Physically incapable of running like a gazelle. Tragic.”
Lara snorts, whirling around in her seat in a way that presses her elbow even deeper into your ribcage. Her face was a mixture of amusement, disbelief, and mockery. “In what world have you ever ran like a Gazelle?”
“I was on the track team in highschool, bitch.”
Daniela, who had been silently admiring her own photo on her drivers license, pipes up, “By track team you mean you sat on the benches and handed out water bottles?”
“Fuck you! You wouldn’t even know-” You pause as Manon shoots you a look that’s dripping with pity. You decide to just shut up.
Sophia’s eyes flick to your foot like a seasoned doctor, then back to your face. “Fine. We adapt.”
“Plan B?” Manon asks, lips thin with determination.
“Plan B puts Yoonchae as a decoy,” Sophia nods to Yoonchae. “She walks in, looks lost, tears come to her eyes- classic sympathy ploy- someone helps her- security distracted.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Lara’s mouth falls open in the way it always does when she’s about to either spout some bullshit or wisdom. “Are you fucking serious? Yoonchae can’t even order a croissant without Mime-acting it. She’ll cry in three languages and none of them will be French.”
Yoonchae looks affronted. “I can say ‘bonjour’ and ‘merci’ and ‘where is the bathroom?’” Her voice is the epitome of indigence, and she looks seconds away from yanking the tablet out of Manons hands and hurling it into Lara’s face.
Megan snorts, half-laugh half-hiccup. The car is collectively silent for a moment- everyone weighing the pros and cons while Sophia contemplates jumping off the Eiffel tower- when you speak up. “Plan C?” you prompt, because this is how these things go- two terrible ideas and then something dangerously genius. Third times always the charm, right?
“Plan C-” Sophia starts, and then she almost laughs. “-Megan as a thief.” The car erupts. You laugh because it’s the only sound sane enough to break the tension. Lara nearly chokes on her own elbow.
“Absolutely not,” Daniela declares, a hand slamming the steering wheel for emphasis. “Megan with jewellery? She’d stop halfway through the heist to take a selfie with the tiara and the caption, #cunt.”
Megan protests, pink with shame and hair dye. “I won’t!- I mean, I can distract. I can be dramatic. But actually steal? No. I’d have a panic attack from just looking at a display case.”
“Also,” Manon adds, “you’re dyslexic. You’d read the alarm manual backwards and then we’d all be in a synchronised jailbreak of idiocy.”
Megan sticks her tongue out at Manon, which if anything is an insult in multiple languages.
Sophia exhales, long and precise, like someone letting air out of a balloon they’d been holding for weeks. “Fine. Plan D.”
“D for Daniela?” you ask, cause you just have to.
“D for determined,” Sophia snaps, which is her way of saying ‘please shut up.’ She flips a small notebook open and taps each name as if checking off sins. “Yoonchae and Lara are runners- fast in small spaces, able to slip through crowd control. You and Megan are decoys. Draw attention, be loud, look fabulous, and for the love of God, don’t touch anything you can’t return. Everyone else is the same- Manon and Daniela will stay in the getaway car, and I’ll be outside the Louvre with our scooters. Finish the heist, get on the scooter, drive to the lake- where Dani and Manon are waiting- abandon the scooters in the lake, and get in the fucking car.”
The Mustang hums around Sophia’s words, the engine a low purr that sounds suspiciously like a cat plotting. The Louvre’s glass pyramid gleams in the distance- a jewel in an already ostentatious city- and your heart does a small, traitorous flip.
“You mean,” you start, because sarcasm is a reflex and honesty is a hobby. “I have to walk in, bat my eyes, pretend I’m lost, then distract a hundred security guards using only my face and the single tear I reserve for particularly moving reels?”
Sophia smirks. “Precisely. You’re theatrics. Megan, time to pull out your failed disney career. Start a scene near the main hall- make it look like an influencer meltdown. Use props. Use perfume. Use whatever you need.”
Megan’s eyes light up like she’s been handed a lighter and a firework. “I do love a good meltdown.”
Daniela leans forward, voice going low and practical. “Timing. We have ninety seconds from Manon’s loop to-” she makes a slicing motion with her hand, “-in and out. Don’t be greedy. One tiara max per runner. If Yoonchae grabs both tiaras because they look cute together, she’s buying us dinner for a year.”
Yoonchae grips the dash, affronted. “I will not grab both tiaras. I will be precise.”
Lara snorts, glancing up from her nails, “Babe, stop letting them ragebait you.”
There’s a groan before Manon looks up from her screen, eyes sharp. “If any of you deviate from the plan- if you improvise without telling me- I will remotely lock your phones to ‘idiot mode.’ You won’t be able to post anything for a week.”
A chorus of faux-horror. “No Instagram?!”
“Fear motivates,” Manon shrugs, satisfied.
Sophia closes the notebook and flicks the lid shut like finality. Light spills through the Mustang’s cracked sunroof and paints gold bars across her cheekbones. “We move in ten. Keep your faces neutral, your attitudes in check, and your shoes actually on for once.”
You swivel slightly and glance at your reflection in the tinted window: lip gloss, eyeliner smudged in all the right places, ankle wrapped in athletic tape that looks suspiciously like last night’s styling choice. This is ridiculous. This is brilliant. This is absolutely something you will put on your résumé under ‘skills.’
Daniela pulls the Mustang out of the curb with a pop and a wheeze. The city unspools around you- sidewalk cafés, tourists with badges that scream ‘I’m lost,’ pigeons with more architectural sense than half the planning committees you’d encountered this week.
You lean back in your seat- another question burning in your head. You’re sure Sophia already answered this, but you can’t help but ask again, “What if we’re recognised?”
Silence. Then a simple, “Just deny it.”
That was a good enough answer for you. You lean back, watching as the Louvre’s courtyard grows bigger in the windshield, your chest does a small, happy flip. You lean into Megan, who smells like citrus and panic, and whisper, “If we get arrested, can someone at least tell my PR team to frame it as performance art?”
Megan grins wolfishly. “Girl, they’ll call it avant-garde.”
Sophia’s voice, crisp in your ear and your earpiece: “Positions.”
You take one last look at your ankle, flex the tape uselessly, and straighten your shoulders. The plan is stupid. The plan is perfect. The plan is on-brand. You grip Lara’s knee and mutter, mostly to yourself, “This is so stupid.”
“Oui oui,” Megan chirps cheerfully beside you.
The Louvre is prettier when you’re about to rob it. It shines in a way that screams expensive mistake, and honestly? you kind of respect it for that.
From where you’re crouched behind a marble pillar, you can see Sophia’s reflection in the glass pyramid-head tilted, one gloved hand pressed to her earpiece like a secret agent who got drafted into a pop group by accident. Daniela’s Mustang purrs in the distance, engine running like an impatient growl.
Manon’s voice crackles softly through the comms, clipped and focused: “Camera feed loop engaged. You’ve got ninety seconds before Louvre security realises the Mona Lisa’s smiling for the wrong reason.”
You grin. “Copy that, French foreplay engaged.”
“If you say that again, I will personally report you to Interpol,” Daniela hisses.
You don’t respond. You’re too busy watching Megan practice her meltdown routine beside you. She’s clutching her phone dramatically, muttering under her breath, “No, I said Valencia filter, not Hudson! Do I look like someone who uses Hudson?!”
“Ten out of ten,” you whisper. “Emmy-worthy. Cry a little more though. Maybe smear the lip gloss for that tragic influencer aesthetic.”
Megan gives you a mock salute and adjusts her sunglasses. “Don’t worry, darling. I was born to waste time and cry in public.”
Sophia’s voice cuts through, sharp as a whip. “Decoys, move.”
And just like that, you’re walking through the Louvre’s grand entrance like you belong there- black leather, fake credentials, and the confidence of seven women who clearly don’t understand the definition of felony.
The marble floors gleam like they’re mocking you. Security guards linger near the entrances, chatting about something that definitely isn’t the girl group currently infiltrating their workspace.
Yoonchae and Lara peel off to the west wing- silent, sleek, purposeful. The “runners.”
You and Megan head straight toward the main exhibit hall, the so-called “decoys.”
The job is simple: look distracting enough that no one notices two women sprinting out with literal royal jewels.
“Remember,” Sophia’s voice hums through the comm, “confidence. Blend in. Be beautiful. Be-”
Megan trips over a velvet rope and nearly eats marble.
“…Be dramatic,” Sophia finishes flatly.
You grab her arm, pulling her upright before the guard can notice. “Smooth,” you hiss. “You’re like a flamingo having an aneurysm.”
“Bite me,” she mutters, straightening her jacket.
You step into the center of the gallery, where a priceless Roman statue stares down at you like it knows this is a bad idea. And maybe it is. But bad ideas make great headlines.
You catch sight of a security guard approaching from the corner of your eye- tall, broad, with the slow suspicion of a man who’s seen too many TikToks in the gift shop.
You fake a gasp. “Oh my God! Is that the Venus de Milo?” you chirp, a little too loud.
The guard frowns, eyes drawn towards you. He seems simultaneously taken aback by your tone, yet drawn in by your look. “Uh, oui?”
“That’s insane,” you continue, stepping closer and lowering your voice. “She’s so brave for having no arms.”
The guard blinks, visibly recalibrating his brain.
Meanwhile, Megan dramatically flings her phone onto the floor. “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS! No service?! In PARIS?!” she wails, collapsing near the statue like a dead swan with a black card.
People look around in confusion, someone even mutters- “typical coloured hair freaks.” You lean toward the guard, whispering conspiratorially, “She’s an influencer. Emotional support service shortage.”
The guard, visibly terrified of involvement, backs away. “Bon… bonne chance.”
“Merci,” you beam.
Sophia’s voice returns in your ear, tight and low. “Perfect. You’ve got their attention. Runners, status?”
Static hums in your ear before Lara’s voice cuts in, breathless and annoyed. “We’re trying to get in, but Yoonchae just complimented a guard’s shoes and now he’s following us like we’re influencers too!”
“Was I supposed to ignore him?” Yoonchae hisses in the background. “He looked nice!”
Sophia’s exhale is pure murder. “Abort charm. Go silent entry, left corridor.”
“Left?” Lara mutters. “We’re on the right-”
Manon’s voice interrupts, flat and professional. “Correction. You were on the right. Now you’re wrong. Louvre blueprints are a mess, and I’m not playing tourist guide.” Her keyboard clicks fill the silence like gunfire. “Switching to Plan D.5-emergency evac protocol.”
You freeze mid-fake swoon. “Wait- D.5?”
“Means chaos,” Daniela murmurs in your comm, her voice lazy and calm from the Mustang. “You’re about to make headlines, sweetheart.”
Before you can even process that, a shrill beep fills your ear, followed by the sudden blare of sirens overhead.
The Louvre’s fire alarms explode to life- red strobes flash across the marble, loudspeakers crackle with urgent French, and the crowd erupts in a confused yet somehow elegant panic.
“Evacuation! Tout le monde dehors!” Guards shout over the din, waving people toward the exits.
Megan grabs your wrist, eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of adrenaline that only comes from getting away with something you absolutely shouldn’t. “Manon really did it!”
“Of course she did,” you mutter, heart pounding as the museum dissolves into chaos around you. The polished, sacred calm of art and silence fractures into noise- heels clattering, cameras flashing, tourists shouting.
Through the blur, you catch a glimpse of Lara’s reflection in a glass case across the hall- black leather, determined, dragging Yoonchae by the wrist as they dart between two fleeing families.
The runners are in.
“Runners to north corridor,” Sophia orders, her voice clipped but shaking slightly with tension. “Two tiaras, and the jewels- no more. Loop window’s down to seventy seconds.”
“Copy,” Lara replies, already vanishing into the maze of galleries.
Manon’s voice is the calm in the storm. “All systems stable. Cameras looping. Guards rerouting. You’ve got time- but not mercy. Make it count.”
Megan squeezes your arm and whispers, “Should we still-?”
You nod, scanning the chaos. “Decoys never rest.”
So you both throw yourselves into the theater of distraction- running opposite directions, shouting nonsense in broken French about “lost passports” and “influencer contracts gone wrong.” You knock into a display rope, Megan fakes tears, and for one wild second, the guards are too busy trying to calm you down to notice the two shadows slipping deeper into the heart of the museum.
You and Megan go full theatre- no half measures, just peak melodrama and blatant performative nonsense.
Megan plants herself under the grand chandelier like it’s a stage spotlight, phone held aloft. She flings open her jacket to reveal a ludicrously branded tote bag- “NOT A SPONSOR” scrawled on it in Sharpie-and screams, “WHO LET THE FIRE DEPARTMENT DO THIS TO ME?!” with the kind of wounded ferocity usually reserved for exes and cancelled tours.
You step forward, clutching a crumpled boarding pass like it’s your identity, and wail, “My PR manager booked me a museum visit and then ghosted me! I don’t even have an agenda for this content!” You hit your best wide-eyed, vulnerable look, the one that gets free drinks and forgiveness from everyone on Instagram.
A guard who’d been eyeing the chaos approaches with the weary patience of someone who’s seen three weddings and two protests before lunch. He jots something on his notepad.
Megan sobs into a handkerchief like it’s couture and then, in a move so on-brand it hurts, pulls out a tiny fart spray she’s hoarded for an emergency-“Eau de toilette.” She sprays a tasteful cloud into the air, the scent blooming like a tiny scandal.
Two tourists cough, clutching their throats. One very earnest grandmother fans herself and beams like this is the highlight of her day. The guard sniffs, confused. “C’est… poo?”
“Merci!” Megan shrieks. “It’s boutique, it’s artisanal, it’s-” she searches for the adjective that will clinch it-“-supportive!” She flings herself onto a low bench and begins an impassioned speech about micro-influencer rights, gesturing wildly. Her words tumble over one another, a frenzied mix of English, mangled French, and shocking sincerity.
You, refusing to be out-acted, take the next beat. You shimmy over to a display rope and, with the solemnity of a woman giving a TED Talk on chaos theory, narrate your whole life story to an increasingly captive audience: first heartbreak at age twelve, a brief but meaningful flirtation with ceramics, your ankle injury (to justify why you won’t be sprinting), and your undying love for croissants. People lean in; a child tugs at his mother’s sleeve. Your performance is shockingly relatable.
A guard mid-approach stops, puzzled, then visibly softens. “They’re… human,” he tells his colleague, who shrugs and mutters something in French about “celebrity things.” The two of them start shepherding an elderly couple out, far away from the west wing, which- coincidence?- is the exact direction your runners need.
You grin, pretending to sob louder just as a guard kneels beside you with visible exhaustion. “Mademoiselle, please- outside, s’il vous plaît-”
“I dropped my dignity!” you wail. “Somewhere near the Mona Lisa!”
Daniela snorts in your ear. “You’re too committed to this bit.”
Manon’s doesn’t sound as amused as her voice snaps through your earpiece: “25 seconds on the loop. You’re burning daylight, decoys. Can we not have an existential crisis inside the Hall of Antiquities?”
You pant a breathless laugh into the mic. “Manon, art demands suffering.”
“Art also demands punctuality,” she says. “Now move.”
Megan immediately does the thing she does best: she escalates. She stands, straightens imaginary crown, and points accusingly at a random security camera like a detective unmasking a culprit. “You there! With the camera face! How dare you record my essence without consent? I demand a manager. Where is your manager? Bring him here and I will duel with him outside!”
A young guard, shoved into the role of crisis manager by happenstance, approaches with that blank, too-polite smile everyone wears when they don’t want to be fired. Megan grabs his jacket sleeve, eyes wide and theatrical. “Please sir, tell me, am I trending?” she asks, voice all honey and hurt.
He blinks, flummoxed. “Je- I am not sure, mademoiselle.”
You smile at him, sudden and disarming. “Well, you will be.” You drop a line about the transformative power of kindness and, because the universe loves irony, he believes you. He begins shepherding the growing crowd through a different exit entirely- the one that skirts the west wing like a polite rumor.
A muffled, stunned “We’re almost out,” comes from Lara. “We got the tiaras, and the jewels.”
“Also the shiny blue thing. It was heavy but I put it in my bag very carefully,” Yoonchae’s tiny triumphant voice adds.
“The sapphire necklace,” Sophia corrects. “Good. 10 seconds left. Grab the emerald set and get out.”
“Green light,” Manon breathes. “Loop sustaining. Head to scooters in sixty seconds.”
You feel the earpiece vibrate: Daniela hums through the comm like she’s on a Sunday drive. “Car’s hot and ready, ladies. But like… literally hot. It’s overheating again.”
“Then turn off the damn A/C!” Manon snaps.
“Bitch, I’m in leather!” Daniela shoots back.
You’re trying not to laugh, because now two guards have started whispering about Megan’s meltdown, and one is reaching for a walkie-talkie. You can hear running footsteps echoing from the west wing- Lara’s sharp breaths, Yoonchae’s light ones. Then-
“Done,” Lara gasps. “We’re out.”
“Go, go, go,” Sophia orders. “Decoys, disengage.”
“Disengage?” you repeat, confused. “Sophia, we’re in the middle of a one-woman Broadway debut!”
“Exit stage left, genius.”
You grab Megan’s wrist and bolt. The guards, already confused, barely react as you duck under a rope, sprint down a side corridor, and push through the glass doors into blinding daylight.
You and Megan bolt into the sun-drenched courtyard, lungs burning, skirts and leather flapping like banners. The Louvre’s alarms still wail behind you, a dramatic soundtrack for your exit. In the distance, you see Lara and Yoonchae sprinting toward the scooters, small velvet pouches clutched tight. They’re both laughing, breathless and ridiculous.
Sophia is waiting by the scooters- five sleek pink machines lined up like murder-ready flamingos. She tosses you a helmet without looking up. “How’d it go?”
You strap it on. “We caused emotional damage and mild property concern.”
“Good enough.”
Behind you, Yoonchae and Lara emerge, breathless and triumphant, clutching a small velvet pouch like it contains the meaning of life.
“Did you get everything?” Sophia asks.
Lara nods, grinning. “Everything except the single earring. Yoonchae couldn’t find it.”
Yoonchae shrugs. “It was ugly.”
Sophia’s eye twitches. “We’ll discuss your aesthetic standards later. Mount up.”
You swing onto your scooter, wheels rumbling beneath you like a cat that’s done something criminal and wants praise for it. Daniela’s Mustang waits across the block, hazard lights blinking like applause. Megan slides up beside you, hair flying wildly in the breeze. “This is so stupid.”
You grin under your helmet. “Oui oui.”
You zip out of the Louvre courtyard in a blur of black leather and questionable judgment, weaving through startled tourists and honking taxis as the Parisian skyline stretches around you like it’s in on the joke.
Wind bites at your face, perfume and adrenaline tangling together in the air. Yoonchae’s shriek echoes somewhere ahead of you- pure delight mixed with panic. “I think mine’s faster than Lara’s!”
“That’s because you’re going down the ramps!” Lara yells back, her scooter briefly airborne over a cobblestone bump.
“Graceful landing!” Yoonchae shouts.
“Delusional!” Lara counters.
Sophia’s voice crackles over the comm, clipped but composed, which is impressive given the situation. “No detours, no heroics. Straight to the lake, dump the scooters, get in the car. We’re not adding vehicular manslaughter to the list.”
You swerve around a delivery van, laughing so hard your chest hurts. “You say that like this isn’t already a felony buffet.”
Megan speeds up beside you, her helmet slightly askew. “If we die, I want my mum to know we went out in style.”
“She’ll see a photo of you running away on a scooter!” you shout back.
“Good,” she grins. “That’s branding.”
Ahead, Sophia glances over her shoulder, her expression unreadable beneath her visor. But there’s the tiniest curve to her mouth- the rarest of Katseye miracles- joy.
The city blurs into softer edges: trees, side streets, the glitter of the Seine sliding by like molten silver. The sound of sirens grows faint, replaced by the buzzing chorus of scooter tires and your collective screaming.
By the time the lake comes into view- still, serene, completely undeserving of your arrival- the chaos has softened into a giddy hum. Daniela’s Mustang sits parked under a cluster of trees, hazard lights pulsing like a heartbeat. Manon is in the passenger seat, tablet balanced on her knees, still typing even as you all skid to a stop beside the water.
Daniela leans an elbow out the window, sunglasses reflecting the mess you’ve all become. “Well, well, well,” she drawls. “Paris’s finest criminals. How’s the adrenaline?”
“Too high to feel fear,” you pant, yanking off your helmet. “Also, I think I hit a mime.”
Manon doesn’t look up from her screen. “Statistically, that’s fine.”
Sophia stops her scooter and kicks down the stand, the picture of calm insanity. “Dump them.”
You and the girls exchange looks- the unspoken acknowledgment that this, right here, is both the dumbest and coolest thing you’ve ever done. One by one, the scooters are rolled to the edge of the dock and pushed into the lake.
“Rest in peace,” Megan murmurs solemnly, and you find yourself sharing in her grief. “You carried us far, and somewhat illegally.”
Yoonchae salutes. “They were fast. And pink.”
Sophia gives her a flat look. “Please never write an epitaph.”
Daniela honks the horn once, impatient. “Alright, Picasso gang, in the car. Let’s go before we end up in a Netflix documentary.”
Sophia climbs into the passenger seat- somewhat on-top of Manon’s lap. You climb into the back seat, sliding between Lara and Megan. Yoonchae tumbles in after, clutching the velvet pouch like it’s a baby bird and ending up lying on-top of all three of you. Daniela peels out the moment the doors slam shut, tires kicking gravel as the Mustang merges back onto the narrow Paris roads.
For a moment, no one says anything- you all just relish in the sound of the engine, the city fading behind you, and the steady pounding of your heart syncing with the wheels.
Then Manon, still typing, drawls calmly, “You know, you’ve all just committed international grand larceny.”
You lean back, breathless and grinning. “Yeah, but we did it with style.”
Daniela laughs, the sound low and victorious. “Vive la crime.”
Sophia exhales, finally- finally- letting the corners of her mouth turn up. “Alright. Let’s go home.”
The city glitters behind you like a secret you’re never giving back.
Three days later- Somewhere in California
You’re pretty sure international law enforcement just gave up somewhere over the Atlantic.
The Mustang hums down a dusty backroad like it’s earned its freedom, a little scratched, smelling faintly of French cigarette smoke and stolen luxury. The backseat is a chaos of limbs, empty coffee cups, and the velvet pouch now riding shotgun like an honored guest.
Manon’s tablet is open again, sunglasses perched on her head as she scrolls through news headlines with the detachment of someone checking the weather.
“Breaking news,” she reads aloud, voice deadpan. “‘Seven masked women escape Louvre jewel heist. Police baffled by pink scooter getaway.’” She pauses, glancing at you. “Baffled? you left them baffled.”
“Honestly, flattering,” you say, chewing on a fry you stole from a diner twenty miles back. “It means we’re mysterious. And French.”
Sophia’s in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window like she’s meditating on how much she regrets her life choices. “It means they don’t know how we got out of the country,” she mutters.
Daniela grins, glancing to the side to blow a kiss in Sophia’s direction. “That’s ‘cause my Mustang is basically a teleportation device. She’s magic.”
“Your magic car,” Manon adds flatly, “was loaded into a cargo plane in the dead of night and declared as ‘props for an indie film.’”
Daniela shrugs, unbothered. “Exactly. Movie magic.”
From the backseat, Megan groans. She’s got her phone out, scrolling through her feed. “Guys, look-someone on TikTok thinks we’re part of a viral marketing campaign. ‘#LouvreGirlsRealOrFake?’ has, like, three million views.”
Yoonchae, half-asleep with her head in Lara’s lap, mumbles, “Can we sell the jewels and buy a house? Or, like, a better group name?”
Lara scoffs. “Katseye is iconic. We’re infamous now.”
Sophia turns in her seat, one brow arching. “Infamous is not the same as iconic, Raj.”
Lara smirks. “Depends on the lighting.”
You prop your chin on your hand, staring at the pouch sitting innocently between Manon and Sophia. Then, you lean forward, resting your head against Daniela’s shoulder. “So… what do we do with the loot?”
Daniela’s hums, leaning her head on-top of yours. “Pawn it?”
Megan gasps. “Absolutely not! We didn’t risk international prison for some sleazy pawn shop guy named Gary to touch those tiaras with his Cheeto fingers.”
Manon hums thoughtfully. “There’s a collector in New York who’d pay six figures for one of those brooches.”
Sophia cuts her off. “We’re not selling stolen art, Manon.”
There’s a long, heavy silence. Then you raise a hand. “Okay, but hypothetically- if we were selling stolen art, would we, like, get matching outfits for the deal? Or would that be too much?”
Megan perks up instantly. “Ooh, matching trench coats! Like film noir meets K-pop!”
Lara grins. “And sunglasses. Obviously.”
Sophia pinches the bridge of her nose. “I hate that I’m having this conversation.”
Daniela laughs, low and lazy, turning up the radio. “You love it.”
The car hums with warmth and exhaustion- the kind that settles after a perfect storm. Outside, the California hills roll by in golden waves, endless and calm. Inside, it’s just seven girls, a red Mustang, and the collective realisation that they’ve somehow pulled off the dumbest, most brilliant crime in modern history.
You glance at the pouch again. The emerald necklace glints faintly from inside, catching the sunlight like it’s laughing with you.
You grin and say, “So, when’s our next job?”
Sophia doesn’t even look at you. “When hell freezes over.”
“When Missy calls us,” Manon sighs, finally glancing up from her tablet.
Megan leans in, smiling slyly. “So… next Tuesday?”
Daniela whoops, the Mustang speeds up, and the laughter that fills the car is loud enough to drown out every siren in Paris.
Yeah, you could do this again if it meant you’d be doing it with your girls.
yooo can we have more werewolf!r x vampires!poly!plastics??? Them meeting for the first time and Regina immediately establishing that vampires are better and mutts should just listen to them… jokes on her bc werewolf!r is already whipped for them 💀😭
Admiring Royalty
|| vampire!poly!plastics x werewolf!reader
|| Warnings; Regina being Regina, vampire/werewolf au, reader referred to as "mutt", short drabble
|| Summary; when reader gets caught staring, Regina calls reader over.
Requests open!
Started; October 14th
Finished; October 23rd
Tag List; @queriaumpastelagora @wreathedinantlers (if you would like to be added, comment and i'll add you!)
~~~
Safe to say, you'd fallen pretty hard for the Plastics. All it took was your eyes landing on them once and then you were whipped.
Regina noticed you first. Having seen you staring at them from across the cafeteria. She shared a smirk with Gretchen and Karen before calling you over to their table.
"Hey, mutt. C'mere," she beckoned you over with her finger. Your eyes lit up, not even caring that they just called you a mutt. Being a werewolf, you were pretty used to hearing that. For some reason though, it felt different hearing it from Regina. Gretchen giggled next to her, finding your immediate obedience amusing.
You walked over to their table, head tilted slightly with curiosity," yes-?"
"You were staring," Regina's eyes trailed your form. Seeming to almost study you.
Karen looked over at you when you joined them, a little confused by your presence.
"Uh- well-" your words fumbled over each other. Mind racing to find some lame excuse. Nothing came out.
Regina's smirk only widened as she watched you fumble, God it was just the funniest thing to her. You were whipped for them, weren't you? It didn't take a genius to tell.
"Ugh, whatever. You do know that vampires are better than mutts, don't you? Is that why you were staring? Admiring the royalty you'll never be?" Regina leaned forwards slightly, her arms folded on the table in front of her.
You swallowed, she was even more intimidating up close. But honestly? It kinda just turned you on more than anything. You opened your mouth to speak, Regina raised a hand to silence you instead.
"Go back to rolling in the dirt or whatever you do," she waved you off.
Once again, you found yourself listening to her every word. Little did you know, it wouldn't be the last time you interacted with the Plastics.
synopsis ; daniela invites you and sophia to be featured in a new video on her youtube, where the two of you play a game of 'never have i ever'. simple enough, right?
except that sophia is your ex.
warnings/contains ; fluff, some angst, good ending (we cheered) second chance, reader's an actress, sophia is a soloist, oh and she's lowkey kind of possessive... everyone's aged up a few years btw
word count ; 11.3k 🤯 🤯
a/n ; holy shucks this is almost double the w/c of the megan fic 😭 anyhow props to my friend for suggesting these questions 😝🤞 one of my fav pieces of work i've written my entire life give it some love
daniela avanzini is an all-rounded performer. as a talented singer and dancer, she decided to share her many talents with the rest of the world, launching her youtube channel, latina mami. it racked up over four million subscribers in the past five years, uploading weekly content, mostly dance and song covers. however, she occasionally posts vlogs and videos with some of her friends.
when daniela isn't caught up with her hectic schedule, she loves to spend her free time with her two best friends—that is, you and sophia laforteza.
you and daniela go way back. you used to be neighbors and the two of you had gone to the same middle and high schools together in atlanta. daniela was the head cheerleader, and participated in numerous dance contests and won almost all of them. you were an incredible student, brilliant in every single one of your classes, and you were an even better actress. you partook in almost every major school play since freshman year, always ending up with the lead role.
but while you were more than proficient in your studies, you lacked horribly in promptness.
you always missed your first class. every. single. day. by the time you get to school, you were already expecting to receive a note that says that you'd have to serve detention straight after school.
daniela, on the other hand, had always been a troublemaker. she never meant any harm, but sometimes she may get way too overboard with her pranks, causing her to get a slip of paper from one of the teachers (and that's when she's lucky. when daniela isn't, she gets screamed down in the principal's office) that says she has to stay in school for detention.
you and daniela were almost permanent fixtures in detention. every once in a while, you'd acknowledge each other with a nod of the head or a small smile, but that was it.
until there was this one day that daniela couldn't sit still in her seat and decided to disturb you. she sat behind you and kicked the back of your chair. you had turned back to face her, going into a full-blown yelling match before the teacher overseeing detention had enough and asked you both to leave, which kind of defeats the whole purpose of why you were there, but you couldn't be any happier. after you were dismissed, though, daniela walked up and apologized profusely.
and before you know it, you were regularly hanging out with daniela, eating lunch together in the cafeteria, walking home together after detention, and even going to each other's houses for dinner a couple times a month. who would have known that the persistence of daniela avanzini could get you a best friend for life?
daniela decided to take performing arts in college, and you took drama. you were supposed to go to the same university together, but when you received a full-ride scholarship to the nyu tisch school of the arts, one of the best institutions in the world for drama, you couldn't pass the chance up, even if you really wanted to attend the same college as daniela.
upon hearing the news, however, daniela almost literally pushed you out the door and into the next flight that would bring you to the other side of the country.
"but dani! i would leave you alone!"
"who the hell cares? you can't pass this golden opportunity up just because i'd be alone for a few years!"
and that was it.
a few weeks after graduation, you were sitting on the plane to new york city for higher education, to fulfill your lifelong dream of becoming a renowned actress.
you and daniela constantly kept in touch, of course, regularly messaging and calling each other whenever you can. daniela would talk about the professors that pissed her off to no end, the horrible dining hall menu options, and how her roommate, yoonchae, always looked like she wanted to break her nose.
you would talk to her about the mountain of projects you had to do, your visit to the empire state building, and this one filipina girl in your mandatory general education course who had the most stunning bright eyes and slim waist and a smile that had you weak in the knees.
it took some time for you to get to know the girl's name, but when you did, you couldn't stop thinking about how such a beautiful name could only suit such a beautiful girl.
sophia laforteza.
you and sophia end up dating in college. the two of you kept dating even when you moved back to atlanta, but it didn't take long before you and daniela decided to move to nyc where opportunities for two young fresh graduates are plenty.
for you, of course, that was only one other reason. the main reason you wanted to move back to nyc was to be closer with sophia.
so suddenly, they were 3. when daniela and you moved into the city, sophia decided to move in with you in the 2-bedroom apartment along the upper east side, overlooking central park. of course, you and sophia shared a room while daniela enjoyed having one all to herself.
living with each other caused daniela to become not only your best friend, but sophia's as well.
you started out as working as a small role in the devil wears prada 2, portions of it filmed in manhattan, and sophia started out as a back-up singer for a rising soloist.
it didn't take too long before the both of you practically transcended in your respective careers. soon enough, sophia was awaiting to be signed to a major record label that would promote her as a soloist, and you had made yourself a name in hollywood, starring in three blockbuster movies already.
however, it was the same success that became your downfall. you and sophia had no more time to spend with each other, and the little time that you did spend together was spent arguing over the stupidest things. before you could actually go on and loathe each other, you and sophia decided to break it off.
it was a mutual decision, you both had thought. and so with that, sophia moved out of your shared apartment, only ever keeping in contact with daniela, who would update her every now and then on how you were doing.
you were the same, asking daniela how sophia was doing every once in a while.
it had been about two years since you and sophia broke up, but you had remained friends, all thanks to good ol', persistent daniela. and it was because of this same persistent daniela that you both found yourself (albeit reluctantly) agreeing to appear in one of daniela's videos.
'exes play: 'never have i ever' feat. oscar-winning y/n l/n & singer sophia laforteza'
you and sophia didn't know exactly what you two were getting into with this.
it was a thursday afternoon when you and sophia were invited to daniela's house to film for the video you both (reluctantly) agreed to appear in. it was the only day the entire month where you both had a free day, between your countless photoshoots and paid appearances and sophia's recordings.
and so there you both were, awkwardly standing outside daniela's house on a random thursday afternoon, waiting for her to get the door. you looked at anything but your ex, eyes darting to the garden in front of the house to sophia's mercedes-benz, glinting underneath the sun.
coincidentally, you had both pulled up to daniela's place at the same time, and there was one open parking spot on the street. your car was in front of sophia's, though, and you were ready to park in, when she swerved right in before you, stealing your spot. you hadn't recognized her then, so you climbed out of your bugatti, fuming, about to throw hands.
sophia didn't seem to see you either at first, as there was a smug shit-eating grin on her face, but when her eyes landed upon your frame, it faltered.
in the end you just pulled up into daniela's driveway, and now here you are, a few steps away from... how do you even describe her?
before you could gather your thoughts, you heard daniela yelp behind the door. she probably tripped on something, the silly girl.
you and sophia could only chuckle lightly before you went back into that awkward silence, heads turned away from one another.
the door swung open and out tumbled daniela, her hair disheveled, a big, goofy grin plastered on her face. you knew her long enough that she was planning something, but didn't question it.
after a round of greetings, an offer for snacks (which neither of you refused), and a quick summary on what's to come, daniela forced you and sophia to sit next to each other on the loveseat couch facing the camera.
you were used to cameras, being an actress and all. so why did your heart stutter as you sat next to sophia?
daniela shot you a thumbs-up and got the camera rolling. she introduced the three of you, but you weren't really listening. all you could think about was how sophia fucking laforteza was a breath away, about how incredibly nice she smelled and—
"earth to y/n?"
you snapped forward, giving the camera a sheepish smile. "shoot, my bad. what did you say?"
daniela clicked her tongue. "i said we're going to give our lovely viewers some insight on your past relationship before we start. so, like, how long did you guys date?"
"five years," sophia responded. "four years all throughout uni, and we stayed together for one more after graduating."
you nodded, smiling despite yourself. "yeah. it was kind of funny because we met in this mandated course that every freshmen had to take, and we weren't even from the same departments. i always looked forward to general education because there was a pretty girl there."
"oh! i remember now," daniela exclaimed. "all you could talk about was this 'drop-dead gorgeous girl' in one of your classes whenever we were on call."
"you know, for the record, i thought y/n was cute too," sophia butted in. you looked sideways at sophia, who was already meeting your gaze.
"okay, lovebirds," daniela drawled, flipping through her notes. "the next question in this intro is..." you and sophia broke eye contact and you coughed into your fist, facing the camera again.
"why did you two break up?"
you swallowed nervously, reminding yourself that you were born for this. play it cool. but memories of you and sophia screaming at each other in the living room, ignoring each other for weeks on end, and how you cried yourself to sleep every night flooded your mind.
you knew you couldn't ignore the question as much as you wanted to, so you spoke up.
"i believe i can speak for the both of us when i say that we had loved each other with our whole hearts," you began. "but sometimes, love isn't enough. life happened. our careers had taken off, and we had to let each other go so we can continue to grow on our own."
and suddenly, the memory of your last night together invaded your mind.
it was another fight over something silly, and sophia had crumpled to her knees and broken down in tears, saying that she couldn't go on like this anymore. you had pulled her in your arms, tears streaming down your face as well. you didn't want to let sophia go, even if all you did lately was fighting.
"you know we have to," sophia told you.
the next morning, she was gone. all of sophia's clothes in your shared closet disappeared. her side of the bed was cold and bare. it was as if she was never here to begin with.
before you could dive even deeper into your memory, daniela, thank the heavens, had snapped you out of it.
she cleared her throat, clasping her hands together. "that wraps up our intro! sophia and y/n, my two best friends in the world, on 'never have i ever'!"
sometimes, you were grateful for daniela's loud mouth.
"alright. first question up! never have i ever..."
daniela smirked, winking at you behind the camera.
"never have i ever flirted with others while we were in a relationship."
you opened your mouth, but sophia beat you to it, smiling sweetly at the camera.
"i have not," she declared confidently.
"i have," you admitted.
daniela's jaw dropped, eyes widening in surprise. you could sense sophia's glare, and your hands were starting to clam up.
"let me explain! there was a valid reason for it," you said defensively.
"sure," you heard sophia mutter. you don't have to look at her to know that she was rolling her eyes at you.
"it was our fourth anniversary, and we were seniors in college. i had so many work piled up that i may have forgotten it was our anniversary." you scratched your neck, chuckling.
"i didn't remember until daniela was congratulating me and asking what we were doing to celebrate."
you remember the panic that arose. you threw on a dress shirt and slacks before running the short distance to the restaurant, running into half a dozen pedestrians. by the time you arrived, you looked like you ran a marathon.
everyone stared at you when you entered, with your messy hair, loose collar, and face red with exertion. but it didn't matter, because at the moment, the only thing that did matter was your girlfriend, who was glaring at you from a table near the glass paned window.
"i'm so sorry for being late," you panted, managing an embarrassed smile. sophia stared at you before she scoffed, motioning you to sit down.
you tried making small talk with her. you asked how her day was going, and if she had been waiting for you for a long time. sophia gave you the cold shoulder, only replying with one-worded mumbles. eventually, after your meals had arrived, she just straight-up ignored you, despite your repeated apologies.
sophia perked up. "i remember this. i was really pissed off at you."
"er... so, the flirting?" daniela asked.
"sophia was ignoring me through the whole dinner, and i was running out of ideas. she didn't even look at me. and maybe i deserved that silent treatment, but i was desperate. and then this waitress around our age stopped by our table and asked if we needed anything."
sophia's face hardened as you went on, her lips pressed in a thin line. you didn't notice, and continued to recount your story.
"i asked her what she would recommend for dessert, and she launched into a whole list of what they had to offer. so i had the bright idea to subtly flirt with her, so i told her 'i'll have whatever you like best', so that sophia would finally acknowledge me." you laughed, but you fell silent as you glanced at sophia, who looked like she was about to commit arson.
"the waitress ended up giving me a mille-feuille and a free shot of tequila," you finished.
"you forgot the best part," sophia added, her eyes darkening.
you stared at her questioningly, because you cannot recall anything else happening for the life of you.
"she wrote her number on the receipt, remember? i couldn't believe it. in front of me! the waitress was flirting with my girlfriend, right before my fucking eyes! on our anniversary!" sophia exploded.
you and daniela stared at her in amusement. sophia seemed to realize her grave mistake and groaned, burying her face in her hands.
"i'm definitely keeping that in the video," daniela cackled.
"i hate you both," sophia lamented.
you snickered. "but honestly, that was the last straw that night, i think. sophia refused to speak to me in the restaurant, refused to talk when we walked back. hell, she didn't even walk next to me! when we got back to our apartment, she walked straight into the bedroom and slammed the door in my face.
"i made sophia's favorite childhood dessert as a peace offering. we went back to her hometown two years into dating and i had asked her mother for some of her recipes. anyway, when i walked into our room, i saw her curled up in her blanket. i thought she looked adorable, but when i heard her soft sniffles, i only remember feeling my heart break."
and that was true. nothing was worse than seeing sophia upset.
"i set the food down on the beside table and engulfed her in a hug. i apologized for everything, and kissed the top of her head." you glanced over at sophia again, and you could see the slightest twitch pulling at the corner of her lips.
"i eventually pulled away from the hug, but sophia let out a whine of protest and i settled back in to bed. we ate and watched a movie and cuddled together all night."
you truly thought that apart from the last few months you had where you only fought with sophia, the most painful memories were the ones that you were genuinely and perfectly content and happy with each other.
because, pray tell, how did you go from being the oxygen each other breathed to being almost-strangers now?
“i can’t believe that you just revealed to the whole wide world that i give in into cuddling,” sophia said, smiling at you.
you grinned back at her, before the two of you burst into laughter. things had always been so easy with sophia.
“ugh, love…” daniela sighed dramatically, which only made you and sophia laugh even harder.
it was moments like these, where you laughed along with each other, that you wondered why it got so difficult in the end.
"alright, second question!" daniela cheered. she's fumbling with her notes, muttering curses under her breath. she's never been the organized one. back when all three of you lived together, you were the one who arranged her things neatly, and you'd scold daniela every time after you helped her. you always complained to sophia about daniela being a slob, but sophia had laughed and said that you adored daniela enough to do it every single time.
"here we go!" daniela exclaimed, holding up her card. "never have i ever lied to you before."
you thought about it carefully, glancing over at sophia. have you ever lied to this gorgeous woman sitting next to you, the same woman that you've loved for so long?
"i have never," you said. you don't lie, especially not to sophia, because what reason do you have to?
daniela chuckled, leaning forward. "i'm surprised it took you a while to answer, y/n. we all know you can't lie."
"yes i can! i'm an actress, lying is basically my job." your eyebrows furrowed. "wait, that sounded wrong. cut that out, dani."
dani sighed, raising her hands up in surrender. "and you, sophia?" she asked pointedly to your ex.
you looked at sophia, who seemed lost in her thoughts, wondering why she's taking so long to answer.
and just then, sophia smiled brightly and sat up. "i'm proud to say that i have never!"
daniela raised an eyebrow. "really? why don't i believe that?"
you looked between daniela and sophia. was there something that they weren't telling you? but you saw the laugh threatening to bubble out of daniela and figured that dani was just teasing her.
"i really have never," sophia argued.
"really?" you joined in, facing her.
"really!"
"what about that time when you said that i looked really pretty?"
sophia crossed her arms. "now why would i lie about that?"
"because!" you chortled, shaking your head. "you know how i look in the mornings, sophia."
she looked away, mumbling something you couldn't make out. your laughter died instantly and you strained your ears to hear her.
"i've always thought that you looked beautiful, y/n. especially in the mornings."
you think you stopped breathing for a minute. how could she just openly say things like that? how does she still have an iron grip on your emotions, even after you had broken things off?
and how could i be the most beautiful, when sophia is literally right there?
sophia decided to continue. her and her big mouth. then again, all three of you were yappatrons, so who are you to talk?
"you always said that i was the prettiest girl in any room."
you could only nod. it was true, sophia is the prettiest in any room she walks into.
"but not until you walk in after me. nobody is as beautiful as you, y/n. and that's why i have never. i've never lied to you about how absolutely stunning you are."
you felt a little light-headed. you can feel the butterflies erupting inside you. how the hell is she so smooth with it? with all of this? you were an actress, god damn it. you were supposed to be fine with all of this. oscar and golden globe winning awards piled in your display case.
but you can't pretend that you didn't love sophia.
in every universe, you think you'd still love her.
"happy with that answer, y/n?" daniela asked teasingly.
you wanted to hit her so badly right now.
"i'm starving," daniela complained. "i haven’t even had breakfast yet. hold on, guys. let me get some cereal." she paused the recording and promptly left the room. sophia and you exchanged a glance before looking away, the air tense.
cereal. now, what did that remind you of?
"hybrid cereal!" sophia beamed, showing you her creation. it was a mix of froot loops and frosted flakes and some fruits she had arranged on a plate to form a smiley face. not that sophia was a horrible cook, but she believed that her greatest discovery in life was mixing two different cereal boxes into a bowl and called it an invention.
you, being the hopeless romantic that was head-over-heels over sophia, only agreed.
there wasn't much to say about breakfast, except that you both enjoyed your bowls of hybrid cereal and that sophia had fought you to death for the last piece of kiwi on the plate. she was so happy about her "victory" that she was dancing in her seat as she chewed on the kiwi, smiling happily, in pure and utter bliss. as if she was the happiest girl in the world.
you didn't realize that you were smiling as you watched her, and that was when it hit you. you wouldn't mind having this for the rest of your life. you wouldn't mind having hybrid cereal forever, or giving up the last piece of fruit on your plate for your girlfriend, and that you wouldn't mind watching her happy little dances for eternity.
watching her happy little dances for eternity.
before you could think anything through, you opened your mouth and the words came tumbling out.
“you’re all i want for the rest of my life.”
sophia immediately stopped dancing and stared at you with wide eyes.
shit. did you screw up? who says things like that during breakfast?
neither of you said anything for a few moments. you tried to think of something to apologize for saying that out of nowhere. there was an ache in your chest that you were trying to ignore, because right then it dawned on you that maybe sophia doesn’t see you the way you see her, that she doesn’t see you as someone she could spend ‘forever’ with.
sophia stood up without saying a word, and that was when your heart started to break. you didn’t need to hear her say it, that action alone was enough to tell you all that you needed to know.
your vision was starting to blur, and you could feel the oncoming tears forming.
“sophia, i–”
before the tears could fall, all of your senses were filled with sophia. the way she smelled, how her arms were around your neck, her dark hair cascading to the side, and suddenly, the taste of her lips on yours.
“i'll love you when we're wrinkled and old and gray. you’re all that i want for the rest of my life too.”
"hello? y/n?"
sophia was looking at you, concerned, waving a hand in front of your face. you must've spaced out so long, and apologized quickly to her and daniela, who was back from her big back adventures.
"what were you thinking of?" daniela asked.
"nothing! don't worry about it, dani."
"really? you seemed really into it. were you thinking about your fellow lead from the movie you're currently filming? the really hot one?" daniela pressed.
your mouth fell upon. what the fuck?
"so you were!" daniela crowed, seeing the expression on your dumbfounded face.
"you shithead!"
you felt shuffling on the other side of the couch. sophia was fidgeting with her fingers, eyes downcast. you wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but daniela's hum broke the silence and she resumed the game.
"okay, next question!"
you took a peep at sophia, but her eyes were on the camera already.
"oh, i like this one. never have i ever posted a photo of us happy when we were mad at each other."
"i have," sophia answered instantly.
you were about to reply, but sophia beat you to it.
"next question, please."
"wait, i haven't answered yet though," you reminded her.
she scoffed before she motioned for you to continue. you wanted to think about it a little more, or maybe ask her when exactly have she posted a photo of you two being happy while you were upset with one another.
you hesitated. you didn't like the look on sophia's face, how it looked like she'd rather be anywhere else but here with you.
but can you really blame her?
"i have never."
"next question, dani," sophia said, not even sparing you a glance.
ouch, that kind of hurts. does she really want to have nothing to do with you anymore?
sophia didn't know why the possibility of you being with someone else pissed her off.
she couldn't deny the fact that you are her ex-girlfriend, and that you were free to do whatever (or whoever) you wanted. but the way you had reacted when daniela had asked you about the actress made her mood sour.
the idiot didn't even do anything to deny it!
she thought about you with somebody else. arms linked together as you ran through deserted alleys with them. kisses on romantic dates, cuddling under the covers as rain poured outside the windows.
sophia couldn't imagine you with anyone else, period.
it was you and her. sophia and y/n. y/n and sophia. in this universe, and every single other one. you were hers and she was yours, it was written in the stars.
but if there was anything that sophia knew from her years of being a celebrity and public figure, it was to make sure to never truly show the world what one is feeling. and everything will probably blow up in her face if her fans found out that she was still hung up over you.
a hand unexpectedly grabbed hers, and sophia almost jumped. she was surprised, yes, but her body decided to relish in the feeling of soft, warm hands on hers. she felt safe and sound.
sophia should've turned her head to see who was holding her hand, but her mind had other ideas. her hand decided to tighten the hold instead.
when she did look up, she was faced with you, an unreadable expression written across your features as you looked back at your joint hands, then at sophia. were you just perplexed, or were you disgusted with her show of affection? either way, sophia took it as a cue to retract her hand and mumble a quick apology under her breath.
"sorry, i did that out of instinct," sophia told you.
you managed a small smile. "don't worry about it. i was just trying to get your attention because you weren't responding when we were calling your name. are you alright? we can take a break if you want to."
sophia shook her head, telling you that she can continue and that she was fine. the fact that you could still read her so well even all these years spent apart brought a flutter to her chest. maybe there will always be parts of her that you couldn't forget, and sophia thought that that was good enough.
just then, you phone rang, and you muttered a curse, pardoning yourself as you looked at the caller id. but when sophia saw you grin upon seeing who had called, her chest tightened.
have you found someone new?
you excused yourself, phone pressed to your ear, and left the room. a part of sophia wanted to follow you, or ask daniela if she knew what's up with all of this, but all sophia could do was stay glued to her seat and stare at your retreating figure.
"hey, sophia," daniela said, taking sophia out of her thoughts.
"yeah?"
"i don't think y/n's interested in that hot actress."
sophia felt liberated upon hearing that statement. the world was not ending. it was all in her head.
"but i think that new actress is really interested in y/n. she turned down a lot of offers reaching out to her to star in their films, but when y/n's current film asked her to film with them, she agreed immediately. they've been spending a ton of time together outside of filming. i called y/n a few weeks ago to ask if she wanted to have dinner, but she said she had plans with the girl."
the world was ending, after all.
"oh, and i think she's the person that y/n's on call with right now, too."
waiter! waiter! can i have a bullet in my head?
you and sophia didn't end on bad terms. not really. honestly, it was more like that there was simply just too many things going on at the same time and that it felt easier to let things go. but you never left each other because you didn't love the other anymore.
no, sophia thought. you loved each other so much that you chose to let go because you and sophia wished for only the best for one another.
sophia always thought that perhaps someday, when everyone had their lives sorted out, that they could try things again. perhaps someday, the universe will work its magic and bring you and sophia together, and the two of you can start over again. it was cliché, but it was something that sophia held on to.
was it time to let that go, too?
"hello?"
"hi! is this miss l/n?"
"that's me. who is this?"
"i'm esther, a representative from pets corp.!"
you didn't mention that you already knew who was calling. you had the company's number saved to your contacts, but you decided to play along.
"ohhh, i see. and you're calling because...?"
"i'm here to inform you that your adoption papers are all approved!"
"oh fuck yes!" you squealed, but realized what you said. "shit, i didn't mean to say that... wait, sorry! i mean... that's wonderful news!"
you hear esther chuckling from the other end of the line, amused.
"congrats, miss l/n. we'll send you an email regarding the final steps for the adoption process. after that's completed, we'll set a date where you can come and pick your new pet up. is that alright?"
"yeah, surely is!" you exclaimed, not bothering to hide your excitement at this point.
esther gave you a review of what else you should be expecting out of this whole process, but it's stuff you already knew from countless articles and reddit threads you spent far too much time on reading.
usually, you wouldn't let someone drone on for so long but the idea of finally being able to adopt your own puppy had you feeling over the moon. she could talk to you about how the universe came to be and you'd let her.
when the call ended, you raised your fist, punching the air. you were finally get your own pet. after eighty-four years...
you sauntered back into the room. your eyes landed on sophia's figure first. she looked deep in thought, and looked up at you when you approached. she smiled at you, but there was something else in her eyes. you appreciated the gesture though, so you gave her a small, quiet laugh for her effort. almost instantly, her eyes shifted and her smile seemed more genuine than it was seconds ago.
you wonder what she was thinking.
you took a moment to take this image of sophia in. she had always been beautiful, there is no doubt about that. she had a smile on her face that made all her features light up. she looks the most beautiful when she's like this: when she was happy. and there had been nothing you ever wanted more for sophia than for her happiness.
maybe that's why you let her go, because clearly, sophia wasn't happy with you.
"hey, are you guys ready? can we get back to my video now?"
you sat down next to sophia and nodded.
daniela yawned, and she held up a card and begun to read off of it.
"never have i ever..."
you braced yourself for the question.
"...fallen in love at first sight."
there was a smirk playing on dani's lips. what was her grand plan? she was up to something, but you couldn't pinpoint it.
"i have," you replied.
you could see sophia's head whipping into your direction out of the corner of your eye. you wanted to laugh at her bewildered expression, but you decided that you valued your life more than making fun of her.
"i've never been in love before sophia.
"i went to nyu without much expectations. i just wanted to study and graduate and begin working. and explore a bit of new york while i'm at it, but that was pretty much the plan.
"one day i showed up a little late to my general ed class and i had to sit in the back. that's when i noticed her by the window."
you remember it like it was yesterday.
sophia was sitting by the window, with wired earphones plugged in as she absent-mindedly stared outside.
you weren't sure what made you notice her.
was it the way she seemed so content, lost in her own world?
or was it the way the sun was shining perfectly upon her that day? it had been all rain and thunderstorms the last few days, but the clouds dispersed and the rain was let up. was it just a coincidence, or was there something else?
whatever the reason was, the moment you noticed her, she was all you could look at right after. throughout class, you found yourself stealing glances at her before you gave up and stared in her direction instead. you tried to look out the window that she was always gazing at, but your eyes seemed only interested in looking at her.
you were perfectly fine just looking at her from where you were sitting, but then all of a sudden, she turned her head in your direction. your eyes widened in surprise when her eyes caught yours. you must've looked like a creep openly staring at a stranger like that.
you expected her to freak out, or flip you off, or ignore you altogether. but when she smiled at you, you felt your heart drum against your chest.
she made you feel alive.
you didn't have a name for what it was back then, but you were certain now: you had fell in love with the girl sitting by the window at first sight.
"and that was it," you finished.
sophia was smiling to herself, and you swore you saw a faint blush blossoming on her cheeks.
"it's a game of 'never have i ever', not 'i guess, maybe, i think so.'" daniela deadpanned, but she was shaking with laughter.
"uhm... i...." sophia seemed to struggle trying to get her words out.
"sophia elizabeth guevara laforteza, we don't have all day!" daniela barked impatiently.
not the full government name...
"fine! i have!" sophia threw her hands in exasperation.
daniela seemed pleased with her answer, ready to move on to the next question before sophia spoke up once again.
"it was with y/n. i fell in love at first sight with y/n."
you turned to look at sophia, who was already looking at you.
"i've never been in love with anyone before you," she breathed.
you could only smile and nod. you wished she knew that you had never fallen in love with anyone after her either, and that you were so deeply afraid that sophia laforteza will be the first, the last, and the only person that will ever have your heart.
the door to daniela's house swung open and in came manon bannerman, who was one of daniela's close friends from college, and by extension, a friend of yours as well.
you vividly remember hanging out with her during your visit back to atlanta after you graduated nyu. she's one of the funniest people you've met in your life. daniela told you that sometimes manon goes over and sleeps at her place after work.
"oh? what are you guys doing here?" manon asked as she walked in where the three of you were gathered around.
"we're here for dani's video," you answered.
"oh? that was scheduled for today?" she set her bag down and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed.
"yeah!" daniela chirped. "we're almost done, though. just a few more questions."
"great! you guys are staying for dinner, right? i'm not taking no for an answer," manon left the room, leaving no space for further discussion.
daniela turned back to you and sophia, tinkering with her camera before grabbing her notes again.
"okay then. next question. never have i ever..."
daniela's eyebrows rose up the way disney villains do before they commit the most atrocious crimes. you were convinced the sole reason you and sophia were here today was for the entertainment of your best friend.
"...forgotten about my past love."
is daniela really asking if you've forgotten about your first love?
before you could reply, sophia beat you to it again.
"i have not."
you stared at her, but sophia's gaze was locked into the camera.
"i have not forgotten about my past love, who was also my first love," sophia said. "how could i, when she's all over social media, dani? 'actress y/n l/n's hottest new look in the met gala. y/n l/n set to star in new marvel movie.' i see her everyday. the world never stops talking about her," sophia sighed.
your could feel your heart drop to the floor. why did sophia make it sound like hearing about you was a bad thing? like she wanted to forget about you?
you bit your lip, trying to swallow the lump forming in your throat, trying to force yourself to come to terms with the fact that your first love, the only girl that you've ever loved, is right here telling the world that she hasn't forgotten about you only because news outlets couldn't keep out of your business.
"y/n, how about you?" daniela probed.
you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.
"i have not forgotten about my past love," you stated. "i turn on the tv and see her with her new music award she won. i hear her when i turn on the radio. and when i go on my phone during traffic, there she is, being interviewed about her inspiration for her latest album. i walk by my fellow cast and crew and hear them humming along to her songs. so no, daniela, i haven't forgotten about my first love because she's everywhere."
there was a bitter taste in your mouth. you knew you should've stopped by now, but you couldn't help it.
"how can i forget about her? she's literally right next to me. like i said, she's fucking everywhere." you spat, voice laced with so much venom you didn't know you had. you weren't sure where all of that came from, but it was probably more out of vengeance because sophia didn't sound pleased about your existence.
and then you heard her cough and you faced sophia. she was trying to blink her tears away, and you felt horrible at once.
shit, shit, shit.
you reached out to take sophia's hand, to say sorry, but sophia stood up and excused herself, running to the bathroom. the door slammed with a loud thud following shortly after.
manon came in almost instantly, asking what was wrong. daniela pressed a button on her camera and pointed wordlessly at you.
"fix this, l/n," manon said after a pause, walking back into the kitchen with daniela trailing behind her.
"erm... we can start and wrap this up whenever sophia's ready," she told you before disappearing as well.
you waited for a minute before you gathered the courage to walk over to the bathroom. you pressed your ear flat against the door, hearing sniffles behind it.
you knocked three times before you spoke up.
"'fia, are you okay?"
what a stupid question.
you heard her blow her nose before she said, "yeah. i'll be out in a minute. i just had a runny nose."
you wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. sophia was such a bad liar.
after a while, the door opened and sophia stepped out with puffy eyes and red-nosed. you didn't know you could feel even more guilty.
"i'm sorry, sophia."
"i told you, i'm fine."
"you're not the best liar, you know."
"i'm not lying!"
"sophia."
she clenched her hands, refusing to look at you. "i'm fine."
"sophia, i'm really sorry."
"i already said that i'm fine!" sophia's voice rose.
"i know that. i just wanted to apologize. i know i made you super upset and—"
"i get it, okay? you're not happy to see me. i'm sorry! message received." without another word, sophia spun on her heels and stalked the other way.
"you know that's not the only thing i'm apologizing for."
"whatever. let's just finish the stupid video and i'll stay out of your way."
you couldn't stand watching her walk away again, but what can you do to stop her?
you followed her into the living room, where she was already sitting down on the couch, with her eyes shut, head lowered.
"sophie," you gulped. sophia opened her eyes, and you don't remember the last time you've seen her this broken and tired.
"what?"
"i'm sorry, okay?"
"what did i tell you? you don't have to apologize. it's fine."
you shook your head. "you don't get it, sophia."
sophia rose to her feet, her teeth clenched. "what do i not understand, y/n? you said it yourself. it you don't want me in your way, i get it. you don't want me around, you don't want to hear about me. i fucking get it!"
"you don't!"
you were growing agitated as well. this felt like the last few months of your relationship with sophia, the last stage before it came crashing down.
"then what don't i understand?"
you don't understand that i haven't forgotten about my first love because she is standing right in front of me and all i want to do is take her in my arms and kiss her senselessly while i tell her about how i have not stopped loving her all these years, is what you should have told her.
instead, you said, "you just don't get it, sophia. but i do want you in my life."
sophia stiffened, but you could tell her walls were cracking. finally, she sat back down and folded her hands in her lap.
"i'm sorry, y/n. i want you in my life too. i don't want to argue with you anymore."
you sat down next to her and wrapped your arms around her, a string of apologies spilling out as you embraced her.
"i'm sorry" that we keep hurting each other.
"i'm sorry" that i made you think i didn't want you in my life.
and "i'm sorry" for being a coward and letting you go.
"it's alright. it's okay," sophia said, awkwardly patting your back.
no it's not, and you know it. it's not okay that i'm still in love with you.
"so we've reached the end," daniela said. she was looking carefully between you and sophia, as if afraid another fight would break out again.
daniela cleared her throat. "never have i ever... planned out our wedding day."
what kind of question is that? of course we have.
you remember seeing sophia look at countless wedding dresses, and the times sophia caught you looking at wedding venues online.
"i—"
"hang on, y/n. i have to say something." sophia interrupted you, her voice cracking a little. you were confused, but you motioned for her to continue.
"to answer your question, yes, we have dreamt and planned our wedding day," she remarked. "but there is something that i feel y/n should know."
you weren't sure where sophia was going off with this, and judging by the look on daniela's face, she doesn't know either.
sophia turned to you with a sad smile, her eyes glassy.
"do you remember, y/n, a few weeks before we broke up, when you climbed into our bed and gave me a tight so hug i thought my ribs cracked?"
you did. it was the last time you were so physically imitate with sophia.
"i thought you did that because you saw it," your ex grinned to herself, but it faded quickly.
you and daniela exchanged looks, confused as ever.
"there was a small velvet box in my drawer. you loved going through my drawers to look for clothes you could wear even though you had a whole walk-in closet. but i never minded, because you looked pretty in my clothes."
you were lost. sophia was talking about a drawer, clothes, and a box. what does that have to do with anything about dreaming of our wedding day?
and then it dawned on you.
oh wait. no fucking way.
"i thought you hugged me so tightly that night because you saw the wedding ring," sophia continued. "we were fighting so much back then, and i thought that i could've used that to save our failing relationship. to save us."
sophia chuckled, her eyes turning somber as she went on.
"i should've asked you like any other regular person, shouldn't i?"
daniela's jaw dropped. "holy shit. you mean... you were going to ask my best friend to marry you?"
"yeah. i was."
you couldn't stop the words from flowing. "sophia. why didn't you tell me? why am i only finding out about this now?" you couldn't believe it. you could've married the light of your life years ago.
sophia pursed her lips, looking down at her hands.
"because you weren't happy, y/n," she said.
and just when you thought your heart couldn't break anymore, it shattered.
"daniela, what the fuck?"
deciding to play dumb, daniela answered, "what do you mean? i didn't do anything." she gave manon a cheeky smile, hoping to be charming enough that the former wouldn't throw a knife at her.
"you know what i mean, avanzini."
"not the last name!" daniela whined. "okay, fine. it's for my video."
manon stared disapprovingly at dani. "your video!" she laughed humorlessly. "with sophia and y/n!"
"yes." daniela's voice was small.
"dani, you invited them to film a video. where you ask them very personal questions about their past relationship!"
"well, you told me it was a good idea!"
manon's eyes widened almost comically, and daniela swore she was about to get her ass whooped right then and there.
but instead, the swiss heaved a sigh. "i didn't think you were serious."
but it was true, manon did tell daniela that it was a good idea.
it all began a few weeks ago.
you and daniela were hanging out at a bar. you were disguised, with a wig and baseball cap pulled low over your eyes. daniela was laughing at you for doing so but you threatened to not pay for everything and she instantly stopped.
it was supposed to be two beers and that's it. but two beers became three, and three became four, and soon enough daniela was hunched over the toilet puking a week's worth of meals out of her system.
daniela headed back to where you and her had been sitting. you were staring at your bottle of beer, looking deep in thought.
did anything happen while i was gone? daniela walked over, taking a seat next to you.
"you alright?" daniela asked.
"yeah. i was just thinking."
"penny for your thoughts?"
you shook your head, which is your signal for 'i don't really want to talk about it.' daniela decided to give you some space and excused herself, heading off to the center of the bar where all the people were mingling and dancing with each other.
when daniela returned, she saw that you hadn't even touched your drink. you were staring blankly at the clock, eyes faraway.
"she's everywhere, you know." you commented.
"who?"
you pressed a finger to your lips and then pointed at your ear. daniela quieted down and listened.
the loud, upbeat party songs had changed into a ballad. it sounded familiar. daniela was trying to figure out where she had heard this before, until she heard the lyrics.
this is sophia's song.
it was one of the first songs she had released when she just entered the music industry. and it was also one of the first songs that really carved a spot out for sophia as a versatile artist, that she had so much to show the world. if daniela remembered correctly, this was the first song that sophia had wrote herself and was released.
'cause i believe that we were supposed to find this
so even in a different life
you still would've been mine
we would've been timeless
daniela got lost in sophia's voice blaring through the speakers, and as she looked around, it seemed that everybody else was captivated by her voice too.
she glanced back at you, and your eyes were on the table this time. you were running your fingers through your wig.
she was going to ask you about it later.
i'm going to love you when our hair is turning gray
we'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we made
and you'd say 'oh my'
we really were timeless
hold on. rewind.
daniela knew she heard that from somewhere before. she recalled you telling daniela how sophia told you that she'd love you when her hair is gray and she's wrinkled like a raisin, something along the lines of that.
sophia wrote this song for y/n.
you must've saw her moment of realization, giving her a lopsided smile.
"she's everywhere, daniela. she's the voice playing in the shitty speakers of bars and clubs, she's the person everyone is trying to imitate. do you know how many people i've seen that looked like her with their backs facing me? she's everywhere, and yet, she's still so far away."
you sounded so broken. the last time daniela ever heard you sound like this was when you and sophia broke up a few years ago. she could still remember it. there was a certain desperation in your voice when you called daniela up, the kind she's never heard from you in all the years she's known you. daniela came running to the apartment after that call, expecting the place to be trashed like the ones in those angsty romance movies where the protagonist gets left behind by 'the love of their life'.
but that wasn't what greeted daniela.
instead, what daniela saw when she barged into that apartment was you sitting down on the floor as you hugged your knees, hair sticking to your face as you sobbed violently. daniela remember how she engulfed you in a hug as you cried harder in her arms. "she's gone, she's gone, she's gone", she remembered you repeating over and over again. it was a heartbreaking sight to see. she always told you that she wished you allowed yourself to be a little bit more vulnerable with your emotions. she guessed you took that advice. but daniela wished that it didn't break her heart as well.
you managed to get yourself back after a while though, making daniela believe that you had moved on and that you were alright and that you had accepted that you and sophia just weren't meant to make it.
that night, however, daniela didn't know what to say to you after your vague confession, but in that moment, only one thing was clear to her: it had all been a façade all these years.
the next morning, daniela woke up with the worst hungover known to mankind. she was planning to go back to sleep when she heard laughter outside the bedroom door, and dragged herself out to see the commotion.
"good morning, dani," manon said cheerfully. she was taking a sip from her cup. daniela's gaze shifted to the person sitting next to her.
sophia.
"morning," daniela croaked out.
daniela was invited to sit at the table with the girls to have some food, an offer she obviously did not refuse because she felt that she needed food in her system to feel like an actual functioning member of society once more. sophia and manon were talking among themselves as daniela stuffed her mouth with breakfast, only ever taking breaks to down it with some coffee.
"you look like shit, daniela. what happened?" sophia asked, almost making daniela choke on her food.
"she went out to drink last night," manon supplied helpfully.
"oh? did you go out with anyone?"
"y/n," daniela managed to say.
sophia suddenly turned her head in daniela's direction so quickly that the latina was afraid her head would snap off from her neck.
"y/n?"
"yeah. we went out to a bar for drinks. we weren't supposed to get drunk, i don't know what—"
"where is she? is she alright? how did she get home? did she drive herself back home? did she drink as much as you?" each question that came out of sophia's lips sounded more frantic than the last.
daniela knew that she should've answer her questions properly, that you were home, that you were alright, you took a cab home, and that you didn't drink as much as she did. or at least didn't look like you were having as much of a horrible time as daniela was with those drinks.
but daniela decided to say something else instead.
"oh, i dunno," daniela said nonchalantly. "i'm not sure, but i think she might've gone home with this girl she was talking to last night."
daniela didn't know why she said that, but she supposed it was because she hasn't forgotten about the things you said last night. it wasn't an outright declaration of everlasting love for your ex-girlfriend, but it might as well have been. and a part of daniela just wanted to know if sophia was still hung up over you as you are for her.
"oh."
"oh, good for y/n! i've been telling her to try and meet new people for months. she's been so busy with film and i've been telling her to take time off and maybe start dating." manon said, putting the cherry on top. it was as if she read daniela's mind and wanted to know the same thing.
sophia squeaked out a small 'oh' before she picked at the food on her plate, shoulders slumped. she looked so crestfallen, as if she's carrying the weight of the world on top of her.
that night, after daniela was done playing a few rounds of uno! with manon , she decided to ask her friend straight-out.
"manon?"
"hmm?"
"do you think some people deserve second chances?"
"it depends. what are you thinking of?"
"sophia and y/n. do you think they deserve another chance to get things right?"
manon pinched the bridge of her nose, and exhaled. "well... i think they should get a second chance, but only if they both want it."
"how do we know if they both want it, then?"
"that's something they gotta figure out for themselves," manon replied.
"and what if they don't figure it out themselves?"
manon shrugged. "i don't know, dani."
"what if there's a way to show them they got another shot?"
"what are you thinking of?"
"i'm not sure. i could invite them over for a video where they can get together and reminisce 'bout their past or something. make them actually think about it and consider it." daniela reasoned.
manon's eyes brightened. "wait. that's a great idea."
and that's how the plan rolled into action.
manon insisted on having both you and sophia for dinner after daniela finished filming her video. to say that it was painfully awkward was an understatement, but daniela guessed it was expected when sophia dropped the bombshell that she was supposed to propose to you years ago.
daniela definitely did not know that, and was especially surprised that sophia was willing to share that information with the world.
but to be fair, the world was the least of her concerns. sophia basically just admitted to you that she was going to ask you to marry her but never had the chance to ask. daniela could only imagine that a weight has been lifted off sophia's chest, it's been years after all, and she had to keep this to herself.
daniela couldn't imagine how you must be feeling though. she wondered how it feels to sit opposite your could-have-been-fiancee at the dinner table, all smiles and pretending that the thought doesn't bother you.
sophia could have been your entire future, and she's sitting right in front of you. daniela wondered how that feels. how it feels to smile and eat together with the person who could have been 'the one' for you. how it feels to be sitting across what could have been forever, how it's so within reach and at the same time, so far away.
the tension in the room was so thick daniela could've cut it with a knife. even manon, who was usually good at navigating through situations like these, was at a loss for words. she tried her best engaging everyone in a conversation, but she soon took the hint and focused on her meal instead. daniela didn't blame her.
after dinner, daniela helped manon clear the table to make way for dessert, leaving the two ex-lovers sitting at the table.
daniela walked into the kitchen to find manon leaning against the fridge, her eyes sad.
"daniela," she said quietly. "they're both hurting so much."
daniela agreed. there was something in the way you and sophia would both avoid having eye contact with one another all throughout dinner, but daniela would catch them stealing glances at one another when the other wasn't looking. they both looked like they wanted to reach out to one another, but not knowing how. she couldn't blame them, because how exactly does one start that conversation? how exactly does one tell the person they imagined a whole future with that it has been years and there still isn't anyone else they can see worth being in their life?
how exactly does one do that?
and now daniela thinking that maybe this was a bad idea. maybe opening up old wounds and digging up old memories was a bad idea because all it seems to have brought is pain and nothing else. a part of her felt guilty, but another part knew that all this was for a greater purpose, just that perhaps her execution was flawed.
manon composed herself before opening the fridge to get cake and cut slices for everyone. she put one slice on each plate and asked daniela to bring the first two in.
when daniela walked in the dining room with the plates of cake in her hands, she saw it again—you and sophia stealing glimpses at one another. it was an absolutely heartbreaking scene to witness. they're literally right there. all they have to do is to reach out and talk.
but that was easier said than done.
after the painful round of dessert, sophia bid goodbye to everyone. apparently she needed to go home and rest up because she had an early photoshoot the next day for a magazine, which she is going to be the cover of. she cracked a joke about expecting everybody to buy all the copies of the magazine once it comes out, before giving daniela and manon a hug goodbye.
manon decided to walk her to the front door, where they appeared to have a short convo. it was inaudible to daniela and you, of course.
daniela glanced worriedly at you. you sat stone-faced, still in your seat at the table. the latina knew you could see the path to the door from where you were. you had been staring at that direction the entire time.
when sophia left, you were still staring.
manon walked back into the dining room, taking the plates and heading into the kitchen. being the hard-working person she was, daniela wiped and cleaned the table down.
"hey, y/n?"
"huh?" you were still looking at the direction of the front door.
"never have i ever watched my ex walk out the door, hoping that she'd turn around and give us another try."
you finally tore your gaze away and faced daniela, who was looking at you expectedly.
daniela didn't wait around for an answer. she let you be, taking the cloth and walking towards the kitchen.
but she suddenly stopped in her tracks upon hearing what you mumbled under your breath.
"i have."
daniela called you at five am five weeks later.
"wake the fuck up! get your ass up!" she screamed the second you picked up.
"what?" you groaned. "what's wrong?"
"sophia announced she's taking a break from music. she's going back to her hometown."
it took a few seconds for the words to register in your mind.
sophia was leaving the country.
she was heading back to the philippines.
on the other side of the world.
"fuck!" you jumped out of your bed in a panic, almost kicking your dog, tajin, who was curled up at the foot of your bed.
tajin had been the constant source of joy in your life lately, but right now, you had other matters to attend to.
"she sent me a photo of her ticket. her plane's departing in less than two hours. you got to make things right!"
you changed out of your pajamas threw on some proper clothes, grabbing your phone and keys before bolting out the door.
"thanks for telling me, dani. i owe you one."
you had a lot of time to think over everything that happened that thursday afternoon the past few weeks. you planned out a whole speech in your head and was going to ask sophia in a few days if she wanted to talk, but that plan was out the window.
which is how you're finding yourself in a cab before sunrise, telling the driver to hurry up and bring you to the airport.
"miss, you know that i can't do that," he told you.
you waved a stack of fifty-dollar bills in his face tauntingly.
the needle on the speedometer never dipped below eighty after that.
the jfk international airport was alive and humming as you stepped in, and your mood dampened.
how on earth were you going to find sophia?
you hadn't bothered to disguise yourself, and twenty seconds later, screaming fans were crowding around you, flashes from their phone cameras blinding you.
"is that y/n?"
"oh my god, y/n! you're prettier in person than on screen!"
"can i get a photo with you?"
"y/n! please sign my forehead!"
okay, you couldn't exactly refuse that. you took the permanent marker and scribbled your signature across your fan's forehead. you weren't sure, but you think he passed out as you turned and ran towards the gate number daniela told you sophia would be in. "i'm sorry, everyone! gotta go."
you really were starting to regret not wearing your wig and cap. you hear the stampede of dozens of people running and yelling after you.
whatever happened to basic human decency?
you were panting and heaving when you finally arrived at the gate number sophia was in. but you still had to look through hundreds of people milling about...
"flight 0628, headed to manila, philippines has been delayed. we apologize for the inconvenience." the loudspeaker blared.
is this a sign that the universe was on your side?
and there she was, sitting on an airport lobby chair alone, gazing out the windows as the first rays of daylight from the sky peeked in and lit her figure in a warm bathe of orange hue.
sophia, you look ethereal.
you stopped a short distance away from her, your breath catching in your throat.
she must've heard all the shrieks and hollers coming behind you, because her head turned and she was looking right at you.
you weren't sure if the fans became quiet as they realized what was going on (the video had garnered millions of views and went viral) or if the rest of the world simply just faded away as you locked eyes with your ex-girlfriend.
sophia, your first love.
sophia, who broke your heart.
sophia, who you could've married years ago.
the speech you had prepared for weeks vaporized in your head.
you were back in daniela's house again, back to that thursday afternoon that changed everything.
never have i ever...
sophia stared at you, puzzled.
shit, did you really say that aloud?
you cleared your throat, shakily reaching forward and taking sophia's hand in yours.
"never have i ever wanted a second chance."
she stared at you for a long moment. the whole world seemed to be holding it's breath, waiting for her response.
you could feel the blood pounding in your ears. a few seconds must've passed, but it was the longest few seconds of your life. and just as you were about to apologize and make a run for it, you saw the corners of her lips twitch upwards ever so slightly.
and then those same lips were on yours.
you remember the first time you kissed sophia. you felt fireworks and confetti going off in your head.
but this kiss was different. it felt like a nice, cozy hug by the fireplace when the weather was cold. it felt more quiet, more familiar. there weren't exactly sparks this time, but warmth. not chaos, but calm. it felt safe.
it felt like coming home.
cheers and shouts and claps erupted around you, as if the fans were witnessing a movie scene. it surely felt like one. you tuned them out, though. because all you could think about was the way sophia's lips still fitted perfectly against yours, how she had one hand on your waist and the other tangled in your hair, the way she tasted on your tongue—
sophia broke away, her face tinged pink. she leaned in and pressed her forehead against yours and whispered softly,
"i have."
a/n ; ty for reading allat <3 i hope yall enjoyed reading as much i did writing this 🫡 and i apologize for any mistakes present 😬
You woke up to the faint sound of rain tapping against the window — soft and steady, like the world was whispering for everyone to sleep in just a little longer.
And honestly, you might have listened… if Sophia wasn’t draped across you like a human blanket.
Her leg was thrown over your waist. Her arm was across your chest. Her hair, somehow, had taken up half the pillow. You tried to move an inch, maybe two, but she tightened her hold without even opening her eyes.
“Don’t you dare,” she mumbled into your shoulder.
“I can’t breathe.”
“Good. Means you won’t leave.”
You snorted quietly. “Sophia, I just want to get up.”
She groaned dramatically. “And I just want five more hours of sleep.”
“Five hours? It’s literally morning.”
“Then it’s too early for whatever you’re planning.”
You tilted your head to look at her. “Planning? I just wanted to brush my teeth.”
Sophia cracked one eye open, giving you a lazy smirk. “You brush your teeth before kissing me now? That’s new.”
You gaped at her. “Excuse me?”
“Just saying. Bold of you to assume I care about mint breath at 7 a.m.”
“Ew, Sophia—”
Before you could finish, she laughed — really laughed — and rolled away from you, clutching the blanket as if it were a trophy. “You’re too easy to mess with.”
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, grabbing for the other end of the blanket.
“Correction: adorable and insufferable.”
You tugged. She tugged back. Within seconds, it was an all-out morning war — half blanket tug-of-war, half tickle fight. You knew it was unfair; Sophia was the kind of person who fought dirty. She tickled your sides mid-pull, sending you into a fit of laughter.
“Sophia—stop—!” you gasped between laughs.
“Say I’m the best.”
“Never.”
She attacked again, fingers finding your ribs. You wriggled away, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Okay, okay! You’re the best! You win!”
Triumphantly, she collapsed beside you, grinning and out of breath. “As it should be.”
You poked her nose. “You’re the worst winner I’ve ever met.”
She smirked. “And yet, you still love me.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “Unfortunately.”
She gasped, feigning offense. “Unfortunately?! You wound me!”
You couldn’t help but laugh again. This was what mornings with Sophia were like — chaotic, ridiculous, and somehow perfect.
Eventually, she flopped back onto the bed, hair spread out everywhere. “Alright, fine,” she said between yawns. “We can get up now. I’m hungry.”
“You could’ve gotten up ten minutes ago,” you teased, sitting up.
“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have gotten my morning entertainment.” She grinned, watching you stretch. “Also, nice bedhead.”
You reached up to flatten your hair. “Says the one who looks like she wrestled a hurricane.”
Sophia gasped dramatically again, clutching her chest. “My hair is artistic chaos. Yours is just… chaos.”
You laughed as you stood, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the kitchen. She shuffled behind you, still half asleep, mumbling complaints that sounded suspiciously like “I hate mornings” and “why are you so energetic.”
Once in the kitchen, you handed her a mug. “Coffee?”
She perked up immediately. “You do love me.”
“I never said that.”
“You made coffee. That’s basically a declaration of love.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure the bar’s higher than that.”
“Not for me,” she said, sipping. “Coffee equals devotion.”
You shook your head, amused. “Then I must really love you.”
“You do,” she said simply, with a sleepy grin that made your heart squeeze a little.
While you mixed pancake batter, Sophia leaned on the counter, chin in her hand, watching you. “You look weirdly domestic right now.”
You turned around. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” she admitted, smiling. “It’s actually kind of cute. Like you’re auditioning for a rom-com.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. Except you’d probably trip and spill batter everywhere.”
“Want to test that theory?”
“I absolutely do not trust you with flour in my kitchen.”
You smirked. “Then maybe you should cook.”
“Ha! Nice try. I’m the supervisor.”
“Supervisor?” you repeated. “You’re not even helping!”
“I’m providing moral support.”
“By sitting there doing nothing?”
She shrugged. “I’m cheering internally.”
You threw a playful glare her way and flicked a drop of batter toward her. It landed on her arm.
Her mouth fell open. “You did not just—”
“I did,” you said, backing away slowly. “It was an accident.”
She stared at the tiny dot of batter, then at you, then back at the batter. “You’ve declared war.”
“Sophia, don’t—”
Too late. She grabbed a spoonful of batter and flung it at you.
“SOPHIA!”
The spoonful missed — barely — but splattered on the counter. You both stared at it for a beat, then burst out laughing.
“This is your fault,” you said through your laughter.
“My fault? You started it!”
You were laughing too hard to argue properly. The smell of pancakes filled the kitchen, and the rain outside hadn’t stopped, but neither of you cared. There was something about the chaos — the laughter, the batter smudges, the warmth — that made everything feel light.
When the pancakes were finally done (and the kitchen looked like a mild disaster zone), you both sat at the counter with your plates.
Sophia took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then said, “Okay. I’ll admit it. You make good pancakes.”
“Thank you,” you said smugly.
She grinned. “Still not better than mine, though.”
You pointed your fork at her. “You didn’t even make any!”
“Details, details.”
You rolled your eyes, but she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Hey,” she said softly. “You know… mornings like this? I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”
You met her eyes — still sleepy but full of warmth — and felt something settle quietly in your chest.
“Me neither,” you murmured.
Then, just as you were about to take another bite, she said, “But next time, I’m throwing the first spoonful.”
You groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet…” she smiled, “you still love me.”
You sighed in defeat, unable to hide your grin. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”
She laughed, leaning over to steal a quick kiss. “You mean fortunately.”
You laughed too — because she was right.
Rain still fell softly outside, the kitchen smelled like pancakes and coffee, and Sophia’s laughter filled the air.
And honestly, if every morning started like this — messy, loud, and full of teasing — you wouldn’t ask for anything else.
Know That They’ll Be Loved @jromanoff - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
