⋆˚꩜｡𐔌tell me, could you even try? 𐦯⋆.
summary: in which hollis and y/n are separated but permanently tied together by their two-year-old twins. one life is loud tour buses, studios, unfinished albums, and cities that blur together. the other is quiet and repetitive, measured in snack times, nap schedules, and little voices asking where their dad is.
warnings: young parents, separated parents, weird men, slightly suggestive, a lot of alcohol consumption, emotional drunk, crying
a/n: too much dialogue.. i didn’t color code it i am sorry.. but if i did it would’ve taken another half century for me to post, pls don’t hurt me
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You crouched on the floor, squeezing River’s little feet into his sneakers while he wriggled, clearly more interested in running around than leaving.
“Come on, River. We don’t have all day” you muttered, trying to sound patient. Rosalie perched on the couch, tugging at her favorite pink cardigan. “Mama, bunny has to come too!”
“Of course, baby.” you said, scooping her up and tucking her into her small overnight bag. You double checked everything. Spare pajamas, toothbrushes, a stuffed toy or two. You weren’t risking leaving anything.
River pouted, crossing his arms. “I don’t want gramas house.”
“You love grandma’s house” you said, trying to coax him with a smile. “You love her big backyard, and remember her cookies?”
Rosalie piped up from your lap, voice sweet but firm: “And grama reads stories!”
River glanced at her, blinking. Then he sighed a little too dramatically.. You breathed. At least one of them was on board.
You packed their little backpacks neatly, zipping them closed, smoothing down Rosalie’s sweater one last time. “Okay” you said finally, standing and stretching. “We’re leaving in ten minutes, River.”
He groaned but obeyed. It wasn’t easy, but it never really was at this age. You found yourself secretly savoring the soft complaints and the little bursts of laughter.
By the time it was 3:15 PM, both twins were strapped into their car seats, backpacks tucked beside them.
Kathryn was waiting when you pulled up at her house, arms crossed, smiling softly. “Hey, babies” she said as soon as you stepped onto the porch. “Ready for our little sleepover?”
River and Rosalie didn’t answer immediately but you could see their excitement bubbling beneath the surface.
“You’ve got everything?” Kathryn asked, glancing at the bags.
“Yep. Toothbrushes, PJs, snacks. Oh, and their blankets” you rattled off.
Kathryn nodded, satisfied. “Good. I’ll handle them. You go get yourself ready.”
River finally piped up, hugging your leg. “Mama, don’t go too far!”
“I won’t” you said, kneeling to hug him. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Rosalie wrapped her arms around your neck, muffling a little giggle. “Be safe, mama.”
You chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “Always.”
Kathryn corralled the twins inside. The door closed behind you, and suddenly, the quiet of your car felt… heavy. You took a deep breath, trying to shake it off. Tonight was supposed to be about you.
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By the time you got home, it was 4 PM. Plenty of time. Plenty of time to shower, do your hair, pick the perfect outfit, and try not to panic over the date you were heading into.
The apartment smelled faintly of vanilla from the candle you’d lit earlier, trying to convince yourself it was relaxing.
Shower first. Quick, hot, almost meditative. The water hit your skin, washing away the tension of chasing twins, packing bags, and the residual stress of leaving them behind. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth linger, counting down the minutes until you could be someone else, someone polished, confident, maybe even a little renewed.
Once out, you wrapped yourself in a towel, your hair damp and loose. You didn’t bother overthinking it..you’d figure it out later. First, makeup. Eyeliner. Always eyeliner. You traced the familiar line along your lids, steady hands. One layer of mascara.. or two.. maybe three. A soft sweep of blush. Nothing dramatic, but enough to feel like you weren’t losing color from nervousness. And your lip combo.
You pulled your chosen outfit from the closet, something you’d worn once, saved for a night like this. Soft fabric, flattering cut. You slipped it on, adjusting here, tugging there, spinning once in front of the mirror. It fit like it was made for this exact moment.
You caught your reflection, head tilted slightly. Lips parted, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, not just from the heat of the apartment, but from the nerves. The small, irrational flutter in your chest. Mateo was waiting. Seven o’clock. One hour away. You had time, but your stomach had already started counting down in uneven beats.
Phone buzzed. You ignored it. Nothing could distract you from this. Tonight wasn’t about texts, about worries, about the twins or Hollis. Tonight was about you.
You double checked the little things, jewelry, bag, shoes. Smiled at yourself in the mirror, small, satisfied. You were ready. Or at least… as ready as you could be. A coffee shop was one thing, a fancy restaurant was another,
For a moment, you let yourself imagine it. Mateo’s smile when he saw you, the way the restaurant would feel, the soft hum of conversation, the clink of glasses. You could almost taste it. Almost feel it.
A deep breath. A glance at the clock. Too early to leave. But not too early to feel the excitement coil tight in your chest.
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You arrived just as the evening light started softening, spilling golden streaks across the sidewalk. Mateo was already there, waiting, leaning casually against the restaurant entrance. His smile was easy, welcoming, and your chest did that little flutter thing it always did when someone made you feel… nervous.
“You look amazing” he said as you approached. Smooth. Warm. A little practiced, but not in a way that bothered you. Not yet.
“Thanks” you said, brushing your hair back, letting your nerves settle for a moment. “You too.”
Inside, the restaurant smelled like roasted garlic and fresh bread. Soft jazz hummed in the background. Candlelight flickered across neatly set tables. He pulled out your chair, insisted on ordering first, and everything felt… normal. Comfortable. Easy.
The conversation started light. Weekend plans, music, movies. You laughed more than you had in days, the kind of laugh that made your chest ache with relief. Mateo leaned in a little when he spoke, subtle, polite, close enough to be intimate without being invasive.
“So..” he said mid-bite, swirling wine in his glass, “you’ve got kids, right? Twins?”
You nodded, smiling. “Yeah, turned three yesterday.”
“That’s… amazing. Must be chaotic.” His eyes lingered on you, a little too knowingly, like he was imagining you wrangling toddlers. “Bet your baby daddy’s proud.”
You blinked. A slight edge in his tone caught your attention, but you laughed it off. “He tries.”
He tilted his head, leaning closer across the table. “Honestly, I’ve always had this… fantasy” he said slowly, almost casual, “of, you know… getting someone pregnant. Watching it happen.”
The fork paused mid-air. Your mind screamed. Did he just say that? On a second date?
“I…uh… sorry, what?” you managed, trying to keep your tone light, but your stomach had knotted tight.
“You know..” he said, leaning back slightly, like he hadn’t noticed how your eyes widened, “like the whole… breeding thing. Kind of a kink, I guess. Thought it was… normal.”
You swallowed hard, trying to force your hands to stop shaking slightly. This is why he’s in therapy, you thought, the mental image of your twins flaring. He barely knows a thing about your life. This isn’t normal.
“Right” you said slowly, trying to redirect, “so… you’ve been seeing a therapist for a while?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said casually, voice too smooth, too practiced. “It helps. I mean, everyone should, right?”
You nodded, relieved to pivot, steering the conversation toward his job instead, anything safe. You thought you’d dodged the bullet.
Then he leaned in again, this time lowering his voice. “So… you’re 21, right?”
“Which means you got knocked up… pretty young. I mean, no offense. Just… wow.” He laughed a little, but it wasn’t funny. The warmth drained from his smile. “That means you were 18, huh?”
Your fork hovered over your plate, appetite gone. You forced a laugh, trying to recover. “Yeah… life moves fast, I guess.”
“Fast…” he said, tone slipping. “I like… ambitious people. People who take what they want.” He leaned in again, closer this time, hand brushing near yours, maybe intentionally, maybe not, but the creep settled in deep.
You shifted in your chair, pressing your palms flat against the table. “So… how’s work?”
“Work’s fine,” he said, but his eyes lingered on yours in a way that made your skin crawl. “But honestly, I was thinking more about… other things. You know, fun things. Exciting things.”
You forced a smile, throat tight. “Yeah, sure. Fun things.”
His grin widened, just slightly, and you realized with a sinking feeling that he was leaning way too much into inappropriate territory. Your heart sank as the first glow of the date, the one that made your chest flutter fizzled out.
By dessert, he was still talking, still leaning too close, the conversation threading between grossly suggestive comments and awkward attempts at humor that made your stomach churn.
You sipped water, trying to anchor yourself, but every laugh felt forced, every joke a little knife twisting in your confidence. By the time he commented again about “someone’s baby daddy being lucky” in the most lewd tone, your decision was made: I don’t want to be here
By the time the waiter brought over the dessert menu, your appetite had completely vanished. You stared down at the options, not really seeing them, while Mateo leaned in again, flashing that too easy grin.
“You should try something chocolate” he said, voice low. “I’ve always liked a woman who knows what she wants… and isn’t afraid to indulge.”
Your fork hovered, jaw tightening. This is not okay. This isn’t a normal second date.
You set your menu down, letting your fingers brush it just to occupy yourself.
“You know what… I think I’m good” you said softly, keeping your eyes on the table.
He raised an eyebrow, leaning even closer. “Come on, the night doesn’t have to end here” he murmured, winking.
Your hands gripped the edges of the table. Oh my God. He actually thinks this is working. You laughed softly, almost humorless. “Yeah… it does” you said, your voice clipped but steady. “I… I have twins waiting for me.” even though you knew they weren’t coming home until tomorrow.
He blinked, just long enough to register your excuse, before smirking. “Ah… that’s cute. Even better. Maybe I’ll meet them sometime.”
You shook your head slightly, feeling the absurdity of it all. The flirtation that had felt warm at coffee now leached a gross, predatory edge. “I… think it’s time for me to go home” you said firmly, standing up before he could protest.
“But…” he started, still leaning toward you. “I was hoping we could have a third date…”
“I think you’ll have to find someone else”
He opened his mouth again, but you turned toward the exit, heels clicking against the floor, chest tight. The warmth in your cheeks was less from attraction than from frustration and disbelief.
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Outside, the street was quiet, shadows stretching from the streetlights. You exhaled slowly, pressing your hands against your face for a moment before walking towards your car. Every step felt disjointed, like you were watching yourself move from a distance. This was nothing like coffee… none of it. He was different. And grossI…
By the time you slid into the driver’s seat, you felt hollow, disassociated, like your body had moved home on autopilot while your mind had checked out entirely. The drive was a blur of red lights and faint radio, hands gripping the wheel loosely, thoughts spiraling over the evening.
You remembered his eyes, the tone of his voice, the way he’d leaned in too close, made every joke about her and motherhood sexual. He was a different person, you realized, heart sinking. Charming over coffee. Creepy at dinner. You didn’t ever want to see him again.
The apartment finally came into view. You parked, leaving the engine running for a moment, staring at the dashboard. Your fingers fidgeted against the steering wheel. You thought it was going to be fun. You thought… maybe.
Just relief that it was over.
You kicked your shoes off, letting them land haphazardly by the door. Your hands shook slightly as you pulled a bottle of wine from the counter, unscrewing the cap with one frustrated twist.
A glass poured, a deep red liquid swirling inside. You took a sip. Then another. It burned warmly, a small, necessary comfort. But it also wasn’t doing enough.. so you grabbed the pink whitney you had placed on the highest shelf, so you could only drink it in case of emergency, this was an emergency.. it wasn’t good but you just needed something stronger.
Why did you even think this would be different? All men are evil. Your phone lit up on the counter, buzzing with silent notifications. Mateo’s texts, now meaningless. You didn’t even glance.
Instead, your thumb stupidly hovered over Hollis’s name.
You tapped his contact, then typed and deleted a sentence, then another. Finally, you started to spill.
Your fingers moved like they had a life of their own, firing off message after message, half coherent, emotional, contradictory.
After a bit of too much whitney, you went back to wine.. but your glass was empty. You poured another, the warmth crawling up your chest, making your chest feel too tight and too heavy all at once. Your eyes darted to the phone again. Nothing.
He’s ignoring you. He’s not asleep.
Your jaw clenched. Your knuckles were white against the counter. “You’re ignoring me. You’re awake. You’re ignoring me,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, angry and desperate at once.
Another sip. Your phone glowed again, still nothing from him. You slammed the bottle gently onto the counter, rattling the wine in its containment.
You grabbed your purse and jacket, fumbling with your keys. The alcohol made your hands unsteady, but your mind was sharp enough to know you couldn’t just stay here waiting. Not like this.
If he’s awake and ignoring me, he’ll notice soon enough
Sliding into her coat, you muttered, “I will never drink and drive” more to yourself than anyone else. You grabbed your phone, ordered an Uber, and waited, pacing your tiny apartment.
When the Uber pulled up, you didn’t hesitate. Door opened. You got in, phone clenched in your hand, a mouthful of words ready for the moment he opened the door.
The city passed by in blurred lights, tires skimming over wet asphalt. Your thoughts ran faster than the car, skipping between the date, Mateo’s gross vibes, and the stack of messages that Hollis had left on read.
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The building was quiet, the hallway dim. You banged on his door, just enough to rattle him awake.. even though he wasn’t sleeping. Your heart hammered, and stomach twisted in anger, hurt, and need.
I don’t care. He’ll answer. He has to.
The knock was hard enough to echo down the hall, and you heard the soft shuffle of feet inside before the door swung open. Hollis stood there, hair tousled, one brow arched, already silently judging, which somehow made your chest hurt even more.
“Y/N?” His voice was cautious.
“I……” you stumbled over the threshold before he could react, the smell of your perfume from dinner clinging faintly, crocs squeaking softly on the hardwood.
It was silent for maybe a minute, then the floodgates opened.
“Why are you ignoring my texts? Whyyy? Why do you hate meee? I’m always good to youuu!” your voice cracked somewhere between crying and whining, hiccups rising with each word.
You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You went on, unfiltered, tears rolling down your cheeks, mascara streaking, hands flailing a little.
“I… I just… I… I can’t believe you! You’re always so…mean and… ugh..I just…”
Hollis’ eyes narrowed, jaw tightening, and he stepped aside to let you collapse onto the sofa.
You hit the cushions with a little huff, curling into yourself, arms clutching a pillow. “I… I just… I…”
He exhaled slowly. “I take it the date didn’t go well.”
The words barely left his mouth before your head popped up, tears falling harder.
“He was weird! He… he basically said… he wanted to get me pregnant! He said you were lucky… lucky that you… ugh… that we… that I got pregnant when I was young! Like… like, what kind of psycho says that on a second date?!” Your arms flailed again, knocking the pillow to the floor.
Hollis froze, blinked once, then twice. “What?”
“I KNOW!” you wailed, tears spilling faster now. “He… he was gross! And creepy! And… ugh!” your voice broke mid sentence and you collapsed back into the sofa cushions, muffling yourself into the throw pillow you had grabbed.
He sat down beside you, careful to keep a little space, but his presence was there. You kept crying, hiccuping, whining, words tumbling out in a flood that made no sense. Hollis watched in silence for a while, then sighed, realizing the only way to stop the torrent was the only thing that ever worked: babying you .
“Okay” he said softly, lowering his voice to that gentle, firm tone that made your brain stop short. You hadn’t heard him speak to you like that in a while, but it was like muscle memory. “Look at me, Y/N.”
You peeked through tears, mascara running down your cheeks, eyes glossy.
“Shhh..it’s okay” he murmured, sliding one arm behind your shoulders, pulling you close. Your head landed against his chest, small sobs shaking your whole body. “You’re safe. You’re fine. I’m right here. Nobody’s saying anything stupid to you, okay? Just breathe”
“ugh… I hate… I… he was so… ew… gross…” you hiccuped, voice muffled into his hoodie.
“I know..” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
You melted against him, letting the warmth of his chest and the rhythm of his heartbeat steady you. The world outside, the creepy date, the frustrated texts, the hurt, melted into nothing. Only him, holding you, calm and steady, and you let yourself feel small and ridiculous.
“Shhh… it’s okay baby girl” Hollis whispered again, sliding a throw blanket he had sprawled on the couch over your shoulders. “You’re good. I got you. Nobody speaks to my girl like that. Not today, not ever.”
Your hiccups slowed. You sniffled, pressing closer. “You… you’re… not mean… right?” you murmured, voice tiny.
He smirked softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Not to you”
You sniffled against his chest, breath still uneven, fingers twisted in the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Hollis waited until your cry’s quieted just a little before he spoke again, his tone shifting.
Not cold, not angry, but firm in that way that always made you feel like you were being scolded by your mom.
“Why did you drink like that” he murmured, thumb brushing under your eye, wiping away smeared mascara. “You’re literally a lightweight. You know that.”
Your lip began to tremble immediately as you hiccuped.
“I know. But that doesn’t make it smart.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy and red, face blotchy, eyeliner smudged in a way that would’ve embarrassed you if you weren't already past the point of caring. “I just didn't wanna feel stupid anymore.”
His jaw tightens. He exhales through his nose. “So you got drunk and took an Uber alone across the city.”
You shrugged weakly, like it was nothing “I didn’t drive.”
“That’s not the point,” he snapped, then immediately stopped when your face began to crumple. “Don’t do that. I’m not yelling.”
You were already crying again.
Big, silent tears slid down your cheeks, shoulders shaking as you curled back into him. “You ignored me,” you whispered, voice breaking again. “I thought you hated me.”
“I wasn’t ignoring you” he said. “I was working. And even if I wasn’t..” He stopped himself, sighing. “You can’t just assume the worst”
“I didn’t care,” you cried. “I just wanted you to answer. I didn’t wanna be alone.”
His expression softened immediately, all the sharpness draining out of him.
“Jesus” he muttered quietly, pulling you fully into his lap without asking, settling you sideways against him. One arm wraps around your waist, the other steady at your back. “You risked your life to come argue with me?”
You nodded against his chest, pathetic and honest. “Yeah.”
“Baby…” he says, exasperated but gentle. “That’s not okay.”
Your voice was small now. “I know.”
He presses his forehead to the side of your head, eyes closing for a second. “You can’t do that. You’re twenty one. You’ve got two kids. Don’t ruin yourself over one stupid date.”
You relaxed into him despite yourself, exhaustion sinking into your bones now that the adrenaline had burned off. Your head lolled against his shoulder, eyes fluttering. He adjusts you automatically, tugging the blanket higher around your shoulders.
“You still wearing your date clothes” he mutters.
You looked down at yourself like you were just realizing it. “Oh.”
“And crocs” he added dryly.
“They’re comfy” you mumbled.
“You smell like alcohol.”
“Low bar to set for yourself” he said, but there was no bite in it. He rubbed your back slowly, rhythmically, like he’s done a hundred times before.
When you were pregnant, when you cried at three in the morning, when the twins wouldn’t sleep and you finally broke down.
You sunk deeper into his hold, body heavy and pliant now.
“He was really weird” you murmured again. “I thought maybe I could be normal. Like other people.”
“You are normal,” he said firmly. “You just went on a date with a guy who sucks.”
You let out a sad little laugh. “He made it gross. Everything.”
“I know.. And you left. That’s what matters.”
Your fingers curled into his sleeve.
“I didn’t want him to touch me.”
You went quiet for a moment, then whispered, almost ashamed
“I wanted to come here instead.”
His chest rose under your cheek.
“We’re gonna talk about that later. When you’re sober.”
You nodded, too tired to argue.
He reached for a water bottle on the coffee table and pressed it gently into your hand. “Drink.”
You shook your head. “I don’t wanna.”
“Drink” he repeated, firmer, guiding it to your lips. “Or I’ll make you.”
You took a few reluctant sips, then grimaced.
You sighed dramatically but kept drinking until he was satisfied. When he took it back, he wiped your mouth with his thumb without thinking.
“You’re staying here tonight”
You looked up at him, eyes wide.
“They’re safe” he said. “They’re with my mom.”
Your eyes filled again. “I didn’t mean to be dramatic.”
“I know” he sighed quietly. “You’re just hurt.”
You curled further into him, cheek pressed to his chest, arms tucked in. Your breathing slowed, still shaky but evening out.
He kept rubbing your back, slow and stead.
After a while, your voice came out slurred and sleepy. “You don’t hate me, right?”
“No” he says softly. “I don’t hate you.”
“Even when I’m like this?”
“Especially when you’re like this,” he admitted.
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It felt like hours had passed.
Your eyes stayed open, unfocused, staring at nothing as your thoughts kept spilling out of your mouth like you couldn’t stop them. Hollis shifted beneath you slightly, adjusting his grip when you start squirming.
“Can you turn the tv on?” you mumbled suddenly.
“The tv” you repeated, louder now. “I need noise or I’ll think too much.”
He sighed but reached for the remote anyway, clicking it on. Some late night show filled the room, laugh tracks, too bright, too loud. You grimaced.
“Not that” you complained. “Put on something boring. Like… the news. Or a cooking show. Or sharks.”
He switched it again, muttering under his breath, and you hum approvingly when the volume settles into something tolerable.
You go quiet for about thirty seconds.
“Are you gonna make me sleep on the floor?” you asked abruptly, lifting your head to look at him.
“Like I made you,” you reminded him. “That night. On the floor.”
You squinted at him, offended. “Why not?”
“Because” he says slowly, “you’re drunk. And upset. And my floors aren’t carpet.”
You nodded, very seriously. “Exactly. That’s what I was thinking.”
Then you frowned.. for seemingly no reason. “Mine are carpeted.”
He exhaled through his nose. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
You slumped back against him, unsatisfied. “Okay. Just confirming.”
Then your chest tightened again, words tumbling out before you could stop them.
“Do you think I’m just… like” you gestured vaguely at yourself “some object to impregnate?”
“What?” he said sharply. “No.”
Your voice wobbled. “Because he was talking like that. Like it was… impressive. Like you won some prize.”
Hollis pulled you upright slightly so he could look at your face. “I was with you before you ever got pregnant” he said, firmly, almost angry. “I loved you before that. That’s not.. don’t put that on me.”
Your eyes stung. “I know. I know that. I just-” You wiped at your face, frustrated. “My brain won’t shut up.”
You stared at the TV for a second, then blurted
“I wanted to go on the date to make you mad.”
His jaw tightens. “Yeah?”
“But also” you rushed to add, “I liked him. On the first date. Like, actually. He was nice. And normal. And not you.”
You continued, words slurring together. “But then after… after you and me made out. Twice. In three days. I couldn’t do it.”
“I kept comparing him to you” you admitted quietly. “And he wasn’t even that cute. Like, objectively.”
Hollis let out a short laugh. “Wow.”
“And his hands were wrong” you added. “And his voice got weird. And all I could think about was how you hold me.”
You covered your face with your hands, mortified even as you said it. “that’s so embarrassing.”
“You don’t get to say shit like that and act like it doesn’t matter.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. “I’m drunk.”
You drop your hands, eyes glossy. “I didn’t wanna sleep with him.”
“I didn’t wanna be there.”
“I just wanted to feel wanted” you whispered. “And not… stupid.”
He pulled you closer, forehead pressing to yours. “You are wanted” he says quietly. “You’ve always been wanted.”
Your breath catches. “Then why does it hurt so bad?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Because there isn’t a good one.
You shifted restlessly again. “Can you hold me like… tighter?”
He did, immediately, arms wrapping around you, anchoring you against him. You melted into it despite yourself, eyes fluttering but not closing.
“Don’t fall asleep” you mumble.
You shifted again, restless, cheek rubbing against his chest like you were trying to burrow into him. He felt it before you said anything.
You stared at the ceiling for a second, then said, very casually “We make really cute kids.”
He felt a migraine coming.
“I mean..” you continued, waving a hand lazily in the air, “objectively. Like… River’s eyes? Rosalie’s nose? That didn’t happen on accident.”
“Yeah I think thats how genes work”.
“I’m just saying” you mumbled. “If we made another one it’d probably be even cuter”
He actually laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “We’re not even together.”
You shrugged against him. “Details.”
You tilted your head back to look at him, eyes glassy but stubborn. “Why not?”
His expression shifted fully now, from indulgent to serious. “Because that’s not how this works. Because you’re drunk. Because we’re not together.”
“We were together longer than we weren’t.”
“That doesn’t mean anything now.”
“It does to me” you said softly.
He looked away, jaw tight.
You poked his chest lightly. “What would we even name it?”
He caught your hand. “Okay. Nope. We’re not doing this.”
“Why?” you whined. “You named River. I named Rosalie. We could compromise.”
“You’re not naming a hypothetical child right now.”
He rubbed his face with his free hand. “I think it’s time for you to sleep.”
You shook your head immediately. “No.”
“No” you repeated, more emotional now.
“If I sleep you’re gonna wake up and regret being nice to me.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped.
You take his silence personally.
“Why didn’t you ever ask me to marry you?” you blurted suddenly.
His head snaps back toward you. “What?”
You sat up on his lap a little, wobbling, eyes shiny. “We’ve been together since we were like fourteen. We have kids. Plural. Why didn’t you ever ask?”
“Because” he said carefully, “we’re not together anymore.”
“That’s not an answer” you replied, tears spilling now. “That’s a cop out.”
He sighs. “We were kids. We’re still kids.”
“You’re twenty two,” you shoot back. “That’s grown.”
“You’re twenty one,” he says quietly. “That’s young.”
You laughed bitterly. “Didn’t stop us from having twins.”
“You wanna know the real reason?”
“Yes” you responded immediately. “I’ve been waiting years.”
Your chest tightened. “It’s your career,” you said, voice breaking. “Isn’t it?” everything always circled back to that.
“It is” you cut in. “It always is. It always will be.”
“You chose it over me,” you whispered. “Over us.”
“I didn’t choose it over the twins.”
“You chose it over me,” you repeated, quieter now, like saying it softer will make it hurt less. “And when you choose over me, you choose over them too. Just slower.”
“Then why do I always feel like I come second?” you asked, tears streaming freely now. “Why do I feel like I have to beg you to look at me unless I’m crying or drunk or falling apart?”
You break completely again, shoulders shaking, face crumpling as you curled back into his chest. “I loved you so much” you sob. “I still do. And I hate that about myself.”
His arms tightened around you, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers.
“I know” he murmured, voice low.
You sniffled, exhausted now, anger burned down into something sadder. Smaller. “I didn’t wanna be someone’s experiment,” you mumble. “I wanted to be someone’s forever.” when you were drunk, sometimes you were like a poet.
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You deserved that, I couldn’t give that to you.. at least not yet.”
Your eyes finally started to close, lashes heavy, body giving up the fight.
Your breathing evened out at last, weight settling fully into him as sleep finally took you.
Hollis stayed awake long after.
Holding the woman he never stopped loving.
Until he gently placed you down, and tucked you into the couch.
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The apartment was silent when you woke.
Your eyes fluttered open to the dim light of the streetlamps cutting thin lines through the blinds. It was 1 am. You didn’t even bother checking the clock, it didn’t matter.. you just felt the 1 am vibes.
You shivered. Not just from the cold, though your dress clung stupidly to you, damp from sweat. The couch was firm and hard and lonely. You were still a little drunk enough that your brain wanted warmth, comfort, human contact, and every rational thought was gone.
You sat up slowly, realizing just how cold you were. The stupid dress, it was tight, ugly, wrong.
And then you remembered Hollis. Sleeping in his bed. In his sheets. Warm. Safe. Maybe not judgmental. Maybe not awake to mock you for the tears, the drunk texts, the decisions that you had brought here.
You swung your legs over the edge of the couch. Bare feet hit the floor. Crocs? they disappeared. You stumbled toward his bedroom.
The door was cracked, moonlight spilling out faintly from his window. Hollis had retreated, gone to sleep.
You wriggled out of the dress that made you shiver and muttered a curse at the skirt. Then your eyes fell on his closet. His sweaters. His sweatpants. Anything that would feel like a cocoon.
You invaded it quietly, fingers fumbling along hangers and drawers. A gray hoodie. Sweatpants. Socks. Your dress lay abandoned in a heap on the floor. You pulled the hoodie over your head. Pants and socks followed.
You tiptoed back to the bed. You curled up under the blankets, hugging yourself, you didn’t wanna get too close to him and disturb him, you just wanted a comfy bed and human closeness.
Your mind ran in a million directions
About the date, about Mateo, about Hollis, about the twins, about everything you’d just confessed in drunken, sloppy honesty. But you pushed it all aside, sinking deeper into the soft folds of the blankets and the lingering scent of him.
The alcohol, the adrenaline, the panic, they all slipped away. You were warm. Safe. So your eyes settled again.
You woke up again.. maybe an hour later.
You don’t remember deciding to move.
Its like you got possessed.
One second you were curled on the edge of the bed, cold finally fading, mind hazy and loose, and the next you’re scooting closer to him, knee bumping his thigh. Hollis stirs immediately, breath hitching as he wakes, instinct kicking in before logic does.
“Y/N?” His voice is rough, half-asleep.
You don’t answer. You climb.
It’s clumsy, your knee slid over his lap, your hands braced onto his chest for balance. You ended up straddling him without really meaning to, hair falling into your face, hoodie sleeves swallowing your hands.
“Hey..” he murmured, hands hovering at your sides but not touching. “What are you..”
You leaned down and kissed him.
It wasn’t careful. Not hesitant. It was messy and needy and tasted like feelings you shouldn’t still have. His breath stuttered against your mouth, shock lasting all of two seconds before muscle memory took over.
His hands grabbed your waist.
“Fuck…” he muttered into the kiss, grip tightening like he was afraid you’d disperse if he didnt hold on. You sunk down onto his lap fully, warmth blooming between you, and the sounds he makes are low and involuntary.
You kissed him harder, like you were trying to say everything you couldn’t earlier (even though you said a lot). Like you were mad at him. Like you missed him. Like you didn’t wanna to think.
His hands slid up your back, under his hoodie, fingers splaying against warm skin. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space left at all.
“Y/N,” he breathes again, warning this time. “You’re drunk.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glossy, lips swollen. “You didn’t complain when you were… and basically i’m sober now.. so..”
He kissed you again, slower but deeper, thumb pressing into your hip, grounding you against him. You rock without meaning to, a small movement that makes him suck in a sharp breath.
“Okay.” he said suddenly, pulling back, forehead pressing to yours. His hands were still tight on you, knuckles white. “Okay. Stop.”
You whined softly, instinctively chasing his mouth. “Don’t.”
He closed his eyes like it physically pained him. “If we keep going, I’m not gonna stop,” he admitted, voice low. “And you’re not sober enough for that.”
You blinked at him, processing slowly.
Then your face crumpled again.
“Oh” you whispered. “So now you have self control.”
He exhaled, easing you back just slightly but keeping you close,one hand rubbing slow circles on your back like he was calming a scared animal. “I’ve always had it. I just didn’t always use it.”
You sagged against him, suddenly exhausted, cheek pressing to his shoulder. The anger drains out of you as fast as it came.
He shifted carefully, guiding you off his lap and settling you beside him instead, pulling the blanket now over you both. His arm stayed around you, firm, even though his body was still tense, wound tight from what almost happened.
You curled into him anyway.
Within minutes, your breathing evened out again, sleep dragging you under before your brain could start to spiral again.
Hollis stared at the ceiling long after, half asleep.
This time, it was you who crawled into his bed.
And he was still the one trying not to ruin everything.
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a/n: i hope u like this, i was in a mood while writing .. can u tell? ..again i am sorry for not color coding i did this for the greater good.. now this begins my disappearance off of tumblr for a week, ily all <3
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