summary: Two friends, whose connection was once effortless and genuine, now find it teetering on the edge, as Jude’s possessiveness and Yasmin’s reluctance to fully engage threaten to push them toward an emotional breaking point.
warnings: mature language, not proof read
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Another ordinary night at Jude’s place. The TV hummed in the background, a classic British comedy filling the space with familiar chatter. Yasmin was curled up on his couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies, laughing at something on her phone. She looked so at home here, so natural—like she belonged. Like this was hers. And maybe, in some unspoken way, it was.
Jude watched her, savoring the sight. He loved that she let him see her like this—unguarded, comfortable, vulnerable. Not just once, but over and over, as if trust was second nature between them. It made him feel dizzy with something dangerously close to happiness. Because despite the strange, unspoken thing lingering between them, she was still here. Still showing up for him. Still untouched by whatever it was that had been gnawing at him.
And that had been eating at his sanity all along.
A noticeable ping goes off on Yasmin’s phone. Immediately alarmed, Jude shifts, listening to the soft tapping of her fingers as she responds to the message. His chest grows heavy with the realization that, once again, he had interrupted their quality time.
Fighting against his better judgment, he decides to play loving Jude—the version of himself who puts his pride aside, who listens, who understands. It never used to be difficult. But lately, with her? Not so much.
The thought of her with someone else makes his blood run scorching hot.
It shouldn’t. He’s had his flings, his hookups, his forgettable nights. She’s free to do the same.
“You like him?” His voice is rougher than it should be, his grip tightening around the bowl of popcorn.
She looks up, surprised. “What”
“That guy.” He doesn’t say his name. Won’t. “You like him?”
She hesitates, then shrugs. “He’s nice.”
Nice. Jude almost laughs. He wants to rip nice apart with his teeth. Nice doesn’t know her like he does. Nice doesn’t get to see her in moments like this—wrapped up in him, breathing in his space, wearing his hoodie like it belongs to her.
Tonight, he’s greedy. Completely relentless.
“Since when did you settle for nice?”
For a moment, Yasmin just blinks at him, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she sets her phone down on the armrest, like she’s choosing her words carefully. Choosing how to handle him. It makes him feel like a landmine ; one wrong step and he’ll go off, shattering whatever fragile thing still exists between them.
That should be his cue to back off, to shake this off like it’s nothing. He wishes it was nothing. But it isn’t. It’s her. And it’s him. And it’s every moment like this where she’s here but not his.
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, nice? That’s all it takes?”
Her jaw tightens. “Well Jude, not everything has to be complicated.”
But we are, he wants to say. We always have been. Instead, he scoffs, running a hand through his hair, feeling himself unravel. “Right. So, what, he sends a few texts, calls you pretty, and that makes you fold?.”
Yasmin tenses, her fingers curling into the sleeves of his hoodie. It’s not anger, not yet—but he knows her well enough to recognize the shift. The moment she starts pulling away.
“That’s not fair,” she murmurs. “You don’t get to do this.”
She’s right, he doesn’t. But she’s here, looking at him with something dangerously close to pity, and it makes his stomach churn. Because deep down, he knows what she means.
Not when he’s the one who taught her how to move on.
Not when he’s the reason she had to.
She looks at him for a beat too long, eyes scanning his face like she’s searching for something morse code , a smoke signal, a reason to stay in this conversation. But whatever she’s looking for, she doesn’t find it. She exhales, slow and measured, then reaches for her phone again.
That should be the end of it. He should let her go back to texting Nice, pretend this doesn’t bother him, be the easygoing, unaffected Jude she’s used to. But he can’t.
Instead, he says, “Does he know you steal all the blankets in your sleep?” His voice is quieter now, almost careful. “That you leave the tap running when you brush your teeth, no matter how many times I tell you it’s wasteful?”
Yasmin freezes, Jude’s hoodie failing to shield her from the icy sensation creeping through her. What once felt like comfort now felt paper-thin.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head tilted to the side, a gesture that usually made her needy but now had the opposite effect.
“Does he know you don’t really like horror movies, but you watch them anyway because you love the way people get passionate about them?” His throat is tight now, but he pushes forward. “Does he know that when you’re sad, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying?”
A pause. A long, suffocating silence.
Then she whispers, “What’s your point here Jude ”
And fuck, it hurts. The way she says his name, soft and broken and pleading, like she’s asking him not to do this. Like she’s trying to remind him of all the reasons they stopped being them in the first place. All those intimate nights together, How he ruined her for any other man like a disease taking over its carrier.
How she’d wake up bare and vulnerable to him holding her like she would slip away in the middle of his slumber— worst part is how they’d go back to their usual selves like nothing ever happened
He forces out a laugh, but it cracks at the edges. “Nice doesn’t know you Yaz.” His voice drops, raw and unsteady. “Not like I do.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek—something Jude knew she did when she was annoyed. But once again, he selfishly disregarded her discomfort. He didn’t care. Not when he was ready to burn every bridge between them just to make his point.
Jude had never been the rational one between the two parties, that was always Yasmin. The thinker, the mediator, the one who kept their arguments from spiraling into something irreparable. She was emotionally intelligent in a way he wasn’t, in a way he admired. In a way he adored.
Amongst so many other things, As often as he hated to admit it, she was usually right. She had to be—moderating heated debates between him and the younger Bellingham required nothing less.
“Oh, grow up. What do you know about relationships when your entire track record consists of sleeping with women on the first date and kicking them out before sunrise?” Her words cut sharp, ruthless—but he deserved it for thinking he had the right to judge her.
“I’m actually trying to build something here. Something real—something valuable.” She presses.
Jude makes no effort to chime in, letting her words settle between them like embers still burning at the edges. She had a point—a brutal one at that; but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he stays silent, almost relieved. Because for once, she isn’t biting her tongue to spare his feelings. Even if it comes at his expense, at least she’s finally stopped pretending everything between them is fine.
At least now, they’re being honest.
“Hmm, now you have nothing to say?” She tilts her head, eyes sharp, voice laced with something dangerously close to amusement. “What happened? You had no problem running your mouth about ‘ nice’ earlier. What, Jude? Cat got your tongue?”
Nothing. He stays perfectly still, arms sprawled out against the couch, exuding the kind of ease that only ever masked something deeper. His eyes remain locked on Yasmin, drinking her in like she’s an expensive painting in the Louvre—something priceless, something untouchable.
And then, just to piss her off, he flashes the biggest, most infuriating shit-eating grin.
“You find this funny? What’s so fucking funny, Jude?” Yasmin’s voice is sharp, laced with frustration, her arms crossing over her chest as she glares at him. “Go on, speak up”
Jude just chuckles, shaking his head, that damn grin still plastered on his face. “I’m just glad you finally had the balls to say what you actually feel instead of watering it down, Yaz. Good on you love”
Running a hand through her hair, she takes a deep breath, her patience hanging by a thread. Without thinking, she grabs the nearest object—a pillow—and hurls it straight at his perfectly trimmed set of hair.
It smacks against him with a dull thud, bouncing off uselessly. The grin finally slips from his face, just for a second.
Jude blinks, then tilts his head, lips twitching. “Didn’t peg you as a violent person, Although, I gotta say… that cushion didn’t do much damage.” He leans back lazily, smirking. “Cute effort, though.”
Yasmin exhales sharply, shaking her head as if she’s trying to physically rid herself of him—of this entire moment. This was useless. He was useless.
“ Fuck right off, I’m done,” she mutters, voice tight. She turns on her heel, grabbing her phone in the process– not thinking of her valuables that’s stored in his closet and bathroom drawers for all the times she’d stay over. She practically lived here.
She moves toward the door with quick, purposeful strides. She won’t stay here, won’t let him rile her up just to leave her in the same emotional purgatory he always does. it was usually unintentional but it still hurt.
But then—his hand wraps around her wrist. Not hard, not forceful, but firm enough to stop her in her tracks.
“Yasmin,” he says, and for the first time tonight, his voice isn’t teasing. It isn’t cocky or smug. It’s quiet. Unsteady. Raw.
He swallows hard. “If you walk out that door, you’re not just leaving for the night. We both know that.”
Silence. Thick, suffocating.
“Maybe that’s the point,” she whispers.
His grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s trying to anchor her here, to him. “Then tell me,” he says, his voice barely above a breath, Grabbing onto her shoulders turning her body to face his “Tell me you don’t feel it anymore. Tell me you don’t care. That this-” he lets out a shaky exhale, “—that I don’t mean anything to you.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. Her pulse thrums against his fingertips. “Fuck you”
“Say it,” he presses, voice breaking at the edges. “And maybe I’ll let you go.”
She wants to. She needs to. It would be easier if she did But the words won’t come, because they would be a lie. Because no matter how much she tries to convince herself otherwise—he still means everything.
And he knows. Of course, he knows.
So he takes a step closer, close enough that she can feel his breath against her skin, close enough that if she turned around, there would be no space left between them. “Figures, You can’t,” he murmurs. “Because you still love me.”
And just like that, he’s ruined everything
Yasmin wrenches her wrist out of his grasp like his touch burns her. And maybe it does—because everything about him is fire and recklessness and ruin, and she can’t do this. Not again.
“Don’t,” she snaps, stepping back as if distance could save her. “Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that.”
Jude shakes his head, jaw tight, eyes locked onto her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters. “Why not? Because it’s true?”
She scoffs, arms crossing over her chest like a shield. “Because it’s cruel, Jude. You don’t get to throw shit like that in my face when you’re the reason I had to stop loving you in the first place.”
That hits. She sees it in the way his expression falters, just for a second, before he recovers—before he takes a step toward her, crowding her space, refusing to let her hide behind anger.
“Yasmin,” he murmurs, voice low, pleading. “Look at me.”
She keeps her gaze firmly on the floor. She won’t let him do this. Won’t let him drag her back into the storm of him just because he suddenly decided he wanted her again.
But Jude isn’t having it.
“Look. at .me.” His voice is sharper now, desperate, like her refusal to meet his eyes is physically hurting him.
Her chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. “Why? So you can watch me fall apart for you again?”
“Yes.” The answer comes instantly, wrecked and honest. “Because I need to see it. Because I know you’re hurting, Yas. I know you still feel this.” He reaches for her again, not to hold her down, not to trap her—just to touch her, to make her stay. “I know I fucked up. I know I ruined it. But don’t stand here and lie to my face. Not you.”
She shakes her head furiously, tears stinging at the edges of her vision. “You don’t get to need me now. You don’t get to want me now.”
Jude exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. And then—his voice drops to a whisper, one that slips through the cracks in her armor before she can stop it.
“I never stopped wanting you.”
Her resolve wavers. And he sees it. Of course, he does.
So he steps even closer, tilting his head, trying to catch her eyes. Begging for them. “Please, Yaz,” he breathes. “Just look at me.”
she knows the second she looks at him, really looks at him, she’ll crumble. And she’s spent too long trying to piece herself back together to let him wreck her all over again.
But Jude? Jude is relentless.
His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for her again, to force her to face him if he has to. His breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, like he’s the one spiraling. And maybe he is. Maybe, for once, she’s not the only one drowning in whatever the hell this is.
“Yasmin,” he whispers, voice cracking.
Her throat tightens. She clenches her jaw, wills herself to stay strong. But something about the way he says her name, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment, has her resolve slipping.
Because his eyes—God, his eyes—are raw, desperate, completely, devastatingly bare. There’s no cocky smirk, no smug deflection, no armor. Just him. Just Jude. Just the boy she loved so recklessly, so stupidly, staring at her like she’s the only thing he’s ever truly been afraid of losing.
And just like that, she hates him.
Hates him for making her look. Hates him for looking at her like that. Hates him for being so fucking easy to love when he’s spent so long proving he didn’t deserve it.
His body jerks back slightly, but he barely reacts, barely even blinks, just lets her push him like she needs to.
“You don’t get to do this,” she chokes out, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. “You don’t get to sit here and act like I’m the one who left. Like I’m the one who let us fall apart.”
Jude swallows thickly, his jaw clenching. “I know.”
“Do you?” she snaps, another shove landing against his chest. “Do you really? Because if you did, you wouldn’t be standing here, making me relive all the ways you broke me.”
Jude exhales sharply, tilting his head up, eyes flickering to the ceiling like he’s trying to keep himself together. And then, after a long, agonizing beat.
“I never wanted to break you.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
Yasmin lets out a bitter laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “Well, congratu-fucking-lations, Jude. You did.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I know.”
And then, softer, like he’s confessing the worst sin imaginable—
“And I hate myself for it.”
Yasmin lets out a hollow laugh, “You hate yourself for it?” she echoes, shaking her head. “That’s rich, Jude. You think that changes anything? You think that makes it better?”
She pushes him again, but this time it’s weaker, her hands curling into fists against his chest grabbing onto his shirt
Jude doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop her. Just stands there and takes it, lets her anger sink into his skin like he needs to feel it.
“You have no idea what it was like,” she whispers, voice shaking. “Sitting there, pretending I was fine while you paraded around with other women. Like we never happened. Like I never happened.”
His breath hitches, but she doesn’t stop. Can’t.
“You’d walk into a room with some girl on your arm, smiling like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, and I had to sit there and pretend it didn’t feel like my entire fucking chest was caving in.” Her voice is raw now, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “Do you know what that’s like, Jude? Do you have any idea what it’s like to love someone so much that watching them with someone else feels like dying over and over again?”
Jude’s jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Hey—”
“SHUT UP” She cuts him off, shaking her head. “You don’t get to talk. Not when I spent months swallowing my feelings just to make it easier for you. Not when I had to sit there, night after night, pretending it didn’t hurt to watch you move on like I was nothing.”
“I wasn’t moving on,” he says, and for the first time, there’s something desperate in his voice. “I was trying—trying to forget, trying to stop feeling like I’d ripped out my own fucking heart when I let you go.”
Yasmin lets out a sharp, broken exhale, shaking her head like she’s trying to keep herself from believing him. “Bullshit” Yasmin scoffs, her voice sharp, cutting. “You have everything, Jude. Status, women—hell, you live for that shit. "Bet you enjoyed knowing I was waiting like a lovesick puppy, hoping you'd finally see me the way I’ve always seen you."
Jude finally moves, stepping closer, forcing her to look at him, really look at him. "Stop that. I won’t let you talk about yourself like you’re just a pawn in some game," he interrupts, hating the way she tears herself down with words that couldn’t be further from the truth. His voice is thick, unsteady as he murmurs, "I don’t expect you to believe anything.. but it’s the truth."
She clenches her jaw, her entire body trembling with the weight of everything she’s held in for too long. “You had options, Jude. You had every chance to fix things. And instead, you let me sit there, watching you touch other women, smile at other women, while I had to act like I didn’t care.”
His hands twitch like he wants to reach for her, but he holds back. “I was a fucking coward.” His voice cracks. “I thought if I kept running, if I buried it deep enough, maybe it would go away. Maybe you would go away.”
Jude’s breath stutters, his entire body going rigid as her chest presses against his. She’s so close he can feel the heat radiating off her, can see the fire in her eyes, burning with rage, with pain, with something he knows is for him.
She tilts her head, daring him, pushing him. “Well, you haven’t always been the brightest” she taunts, voice dripping with venom. “So did it work? All that running around, all those one night stands , all that trying to bury your feelings like a fucking pussy did. It. Work?”
Jude exhales shakily, his eyes burning into hers. “No,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "No matter who I was with or how many nights I tried to move on, none of it ever compared to you," he says firmly, willing her to believe him. It’s raw, unfiltered—straight from the depths of his heart. Grasping her hand, he presses it against his chest, his heartbeat hammering beneath her palm. "This, right here, is real, Yasmin."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath right out of her.
And Jude knows. He sees it in the way her lips part, in the way she grips her arms like she’s trying to physically hold herself together, and for a second, just a second, he thinks he sees her waver. Like the weight of this, of them, is finally catching up to her. But then she blinks, and the fire is back.
“Aw boo hoo ,” she bites out. Pulling her hand away from his chest “I want you to suffer. The same way I did.”
Jude swallows hard, his chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven, too agitated with her stubbornness.
“You think I haven’t?” His voice is quieter now, but there’s something raw in it, something that makes her breath hitch. “You think I don’t fucking hate myself every second of every day for what I did to you?” “Because I had something real, something valuable—and I ruined it. I ruined us. And the worst part?” He lets out a bitter exhale. “I never fucking stopped loving you. Not for a second. Not even when I tried.”
And just like that, she’s done for.
Yasmin squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to stay firm, to not let those words seep into the cracks he already left behind. But it’s useless. Because this is Jude—her Jude—and no matter how much she wants to hate him, she knows deep down she never truly could.
She shakes her head, a silent plea for him to stop, to not do this to her. But of course doesn’t stop.
Instead, he steps even closer, his fingers ghosting over her wrist, a hesitant, desperate touch. “Say something,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her throat tightens. She can’t. Because if she speaks, if she admits what’s been sitting heavy in her chest since the moment she walked through his door, there’s no coming back from it.
So she does what she always does when it comes to him. She tries to run.
He grabs her arm frustrated with her constant need to run. “Stop walking away from me. Not this time, not ever.”
She exhales shakily, refusing to turn around. “let me go.”
“No.” His voice is steadier now, more certain. like he’s trying to coax her out of hiding. “Yasmin.” He tugs her gently, just enough to make her stumble a step back toward him
When she turns, it’s slow, hesitant, her gaze lifting to meet his like she already knows it’ll be her undoing.
And the second she does, she breaks.
His brows are furrowed, his lips parted, his eyes desperate, pleading. Like she’s the only thing that’s ever truly mattered. Like he’s terrified she’ll slip through his fingers if he so much as breathes the wrong way.
“I love you,” he says, and this time, there’s no hesitation, no running, no fear. Just the truth.
Her chest tightens. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.” He steps forward, eliminating the last bit of space between them. “And you know it is, Yaz. You’re it for me”
A single tear slips down her cheek, and when Jude sees it, something in him shatters.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes ,hesitating to reach up but he does so anyway— wiping her tears. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Yasmin lets out a trembling breath, her lips parting like she wants to say something—but then she just falls.
Not physically. Just enough for Jude to know that, this time, she’s his to catch.
He doesn’t hesitate. The second he feels her falter, he reaches for her; one hand curling around her waist, the other cradling the side of her face like she’s something fragile, something irreplaceable.
Yasmin doesn’t push him away. Doesn’t flinch. She just stands there, caught between her anger and the way his touch feels like something she’s been aching for.
It feels like an eternity passes before he finally speaks.
“Thought I lost you,” he says quietly.
“You did ” she responds, her voice sharp. “Nothing between us has been normal recently .”
Jude shakes his head instantly. “No,” he murmurs. “No, I didn’t. Because you’re still here.”
Because he’s right- hating the fact that he’s choosing to be rational- part of it likes that it’s with her.
She could’ve left. Could’ve walked out the second he touched her , the second he confessed. But she didn’t.
Jude sees it, feels it, and he takes his shot. Grabbing onto her face he brushing her curls away gently his long fingers rest against her jaw
"I will spend every second of my life proving to you if you let me. I don’t care how long it takes, I don’t care what I have to do—just don’t tell me to stop loving you, Because I wont.”
Her lips part, her chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven.
And just when he thinks she might actually say it back
His hands drop, his heart plummeting, but he doesn’t fight her. He lets her go, even though it physically fucking kills him to do it.
She’s crying now, wiping at her cheeks like she’s angry at the tears, at him, at herself.
“I want to, but I can’t.”
His face twists, like he’s in actual pain. “Why not?”
Yasmin swallows hard, looking at him like she’s memorizing his face, like she already knows this might be the last time.
“Because loving you is just.. painful”
Jude’s breath shudders, and just like that—
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