chapter summary: the set up to the plot. one of the boys is introduced. but which one? ahhhh
warnings: there's a perv, you have she/her pronouns and are referred to as a girl, mentions of a robbery, boss hatred, brief violence (?)
If you had to pinpoint an exact cause why any of this began, you’d probably point to two things your father once said.
You probably couldn’t have been older than four or five. The two of you stood, watching boats sail by, when he had just turned to you and said it.
“Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan.”
You were too young to comprehend that he was talking about your life.
Your father was always a storyteller. But your favorite stories were always the ones your father told about your mother. Tales about their wedding, when they discovered they were having you, the great spirited debate about what to name you. And you asked your dad when he knew he truly loved your mom.
And he said, “Well, she had given me a special gift. She gave me the world.”
To be precise, it was a globe with a light in it. But for all the romance in the world, it might as well have been the world.
The first time you ever saw him, he didn’t exactly give you the world. It was a dollar-fifty train token. But you looked forward to seeing him every day, to his polite grin, to the way he’d drop the token into the booth and wish you a good day, with his rich voice and happy chuckle. He’d come to your booth every morning Monday through Friday, without fail, sometime between 8:05 and 8:15, hand you his train token, say “Have a good day”, and would disappear onto the L.
He was…perfect. Prince Charming, you referred to him as. You never would catch his name. But one day, you always tell yourself, you will. You’ll muster up the courage to properly introduce yourself, and it will be perfect. Just like him.
December 21st, 1995.
“I don’t get it, Betsy,” you grumble, pulling up your Christmas tree from where it was delivered, downstairs out on the street, into your apartment. “You order takeout, they’ll have the gall to at least deliver it to your door. I paid 45 bucks for this thing and they didn’t even bother to bring it inside!” The cat meows in response, flicking her tail as she watches you struggle with the rope at the window. You’re just starting to get into the groove of it, taking a few steps back, and that’s when you slip, rope flying out of your hands and tree swinging wildly and plummeting down, down, down, across the brick wall of the exterior of your apartment building…crashing into the window of your landlord.
“What am I supposed to write on the damn insurance claim? A Christmas tree fell through the window?” Mr. Bianci, your exhausted landlord, laments. “They already raised the monthly because of all the things that damn idiot son of mine pulls off in this building.”
“I cannot apologize enough, Mr. Bianci,” you sigh, “I’ll find a way to pay it back.”
Mr. Bianci shakes his head. “No, it’s my building, my apartment, I’ll take care of it. My brother is in the glass business anyways,” he reassures you, as you pull out a small wrapped gift for him out of your sleeve. One would think it’s weird, giving a gift to your landlord, but Mr. Bianci has always been patient and understanding, and has always been there to give fatherly advice after you lost your own father.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he shakes his head frantically, “I haven’t even done any shopping!”
You shake your head in response. “It’s the Christmas season, come on, Mr. B. It’s fine,” you respond.
“Hey pa!” Oh fucking boy. The bane of your existence, the guy you picture when they tell you ‘think of the most annoying person you know’, your landlord’s son, Joe Bianci, strolls in. “Pa, I need to give that carton of beers to the probation officer,” he whines, flopping into a chair.
“Joe, say hello to Y/N,” Mr. Bianci chastises him.
You always hated the way Joe eyed you, the way all scummy, slimy guys eye a woman, like they’re trying to strip you with their eyes. He grins, smug, condescending. “Hey, Y/N. Nice…sweater.” You just nod in acknowledgement, trying your best not to want to punch his stupid face.
“Beer’s in the fridge,” Mr. Bianci tells Joe, who promptly gets up to rifle through the fridge to get it. “You’re such a nice girl…Joe’s still single, if you’re still looking.”
Yeah…that’s going to be a no from you. You just give him a polite, albeit awkward smile.
December 22nd, 1995.
You see this goddamn hotdog stand guy at least four times a week. It’s usually the spot where you get lunch on breaks, or lunch in general. Four times a week, for the last…you don’t even know how many years.
And yet, this guy never remembers your goddamn face. He quirks an eyebrow, waiting for you to tell him what you want on your hotdog.
“The usual,” you tell him, hand on your hip.
He looks at you like you’re new to the planet. You might as well be, considering you have this conversation every single week. “Which is?” he asks.
“Mustard. Coke can,” you sigh.
A minute later, the can and the hotdog in each hand, you begin the walk to work. Footsteps approach, and he doesn’t even need to speak before you know who it is. “Hey Y/N!” he greets cheerfully. It’s Ricky, your manager at the CTA.
“Hey, Ricky,” you greet back, the two of you walking to the station.
“I was hoping I would find you before your shift.” Oh, great. His tone is just a little too cheerful, suspiciously so.
“Well, I was hoping you would find me in Bermuda,” you retort dryly, biting into the hotdog. He doesn’t mind this, just chuckling.
“Good one! Anyways, listen, I have made a huge decision. I’m recommending you for Employee Of The Month,” Ricky tells you, with the same cheery pep and attitude. Jesus Christ. You should have known. He’s scheming something work related. He pulls out a paper. “‘Superviser Ricky Tylers nominates Y/N L/N for Employee Of The Month. She’s never tardy, always works holidays even if she has worked the previous holiday. Just because she worked Thanksgiving, she’s willing to work Christmas too…?’” Ricky reads his recommendation letter aloud with a hopeful, almost puppy eyed look. And there it is.
There was no way you were going to work Christmas, quite frankly. Just because you were on your lonesome, it didn’t mean you didn’t deserve a holiday to yourself once in a while.
“Ricky, I’m not working Christmas,” you declare.
“Y/N, please come on...You’ll get a nice plaque with the mayor’s stamp on it–”
“I didn’t vote for that dude.”
“You get to ride on a float at the next parade–”
“I hate parades, Ricky.”
“Did I mention extra holiday pay?”
“Did I mention I hate you?”
Ricky lets out a long sigh. “Listen, kid. Please, I need you to work Christmas. Look, Violet is sick, Celeste can’t switch because she has a holiday family trip, and I can’t sub myself in again, because I promised my kids I would actually be there this year,” he pleads with you.
“Ricky, why do I have to get the short end of the stick?” you plead back.
“I know, I know. It’s unfair, and it sucks, and you can’t be forced into it. But Y/N, you are–”
You look down at the ground and cut him off with a sigh.
“The only one without any family,” you mutter.
December 24th, 1995.
Merry stinkin’ Christmas Eve.
Despite your self declared promises, here you sit at your usual CTA booth, on Christmas Eve. And there’s not many people in sight. Just a gang of rowdy teenagers smoking cigarettes near the track. It’s quiet, slow, considering the circumstances. Plenty of time to zone out with your thoughts as the tinny station speakers play the same 7 Christmas themed tracks on a loop between announcements.
Then, a familiar little clattering as someone gives you a token through the booth. Your eyes dart up on instinct.
There he is, once more. Your darling Prince Charming. His eyes are mixed with sympathy and pity, his expression polite. Then he smiles. “Hi,” he greets you, with that gorgeous, gorgeous, rich timbred voice of his. “Merry Christmas.”
You manage, in all your star struck glory, to just give him an awkward smile back in response. He’s satisfied at that, nods, and walks to the platform.
You groan at yourself, smacking your head when his back is turned. “Merry Christmas to you too. Lovely coat you have. You’re beautiful. Will you marry me? I love you,” you grumble sarcastically, mocking yourself for your awkward faux pas. Another opportunity to chat him up, squandered.
Suddenly, voices, clamoring, a scuffle up ahead on the tracks. You look up once more, breaking from your self depreciation session, only to see the rowdy teens crowding Prince Charming on the train platform. It would appear as if the teens are trying to heckle and rob him. “Shit,” you mutter, and go to stand up.
“Listen fellas, I don’t want any trouble,” Prince Charming tries to insist. “It’s Christmas.” You move to open the booth door, try to stop it.
Maybe he slipped. Maybe one of the teens pushed.
It doesn’t matter in the end.
Prince Charming falls off the edge of the train platform, plummeting onto the tracks below.
every day, you’ve lived the same lonely shift at work, no family, even working through the holiday shifts.
until your favorite charming customer (who you may or not be crushing on) gets robbed and shoved onto the train tracks.
without even thinking about it, you save his life. everything seems fine. until one thing leads to another, and your good deed leads to a misunderstanding that somehow, you are his fiancée.
now, you have to scramble to keep the lie up to his family, including his suspicious but sexy rogue of a brother, who knows something isn’t quite what it seems.
ten years after leaving his sleepy town of farbolo, vermont in the middle of the night, Ethan Nestor, popstar extraordinaire, finds himself forced to return to lay low after run-ins with the law threaten to derail his career and popularity.
he’s the town hero, so it shouldn’t be too bad, right?
there’s just one problem.
when he left all those years ago, he left behind and didn’t speak to a friend group who, needless to say, aren’t as quick to bow down and forgive the town hero.
Summary: you work in a bar and a man who feels like shadow surrounds him captures your attention
Warnings: you work in a bar, vomit mention, drunk people being assholes, smoking
Word Count: -1040
Author's Note: she's a slow burner but i am living for this version of schlatt hehe
”I sensed you before I saw you."
Hades to Persephone, Nikita Gill, 2019
You didn’t think you’d spend your twenties working in a bar, but school is expensive, and this job pays the bills.
Pour drinks. Fill the ice. Clean someone else’s vomit from the bathroom floor. Accept shitty tips from creepy men. Every little helps.
At least the place looks like something from an 80s movie, and that’s something you can get down with. The bright shine of neon signs illuminate the room, making it difficult to decipher what part of the floor has or hasn’t been stained from years of drink spillage and you hate to think what else. Years and years of old coasters, concert posters, knick-knacks adorn the walls.
There’s a shitty piece of graffiti sprayed along the wall behind the bar. One of your locals, an old man by the name of Bernie, has been trying to convince you it’s a real Banksy since you started. You’re not quite inclined to believe him, yet.
“Oi, you!” Your eyes snap to the lovely gentleman at the bar, waving a twenty-dollar note in your face. “Two whiskeys.”
“That’s twenty-two.” You respond, going to grab the house whiskey from the back bar.
The man’s face twists, anger laced through every inch of his features. “That’s daylight fuckin’ robbery! Twenty-two dollars!?” His wrinkles make him look like a caricature. Clearly he hasn’t had a drink in New York for a few years if he thinks that this is one of the expensive bars.
You roll your eyes. “More like nighttime robbery, it’s like eleven thirty. Do you want your drinks or not?”
The man opens his mouth to speak, let rip on how New York is a shit-hole these days. You prep yourself for a barrage of insults but another hand slaps down on the bar, pushing a matte black card across the bar. “Just add it to my tab.” The mystery man says as you turn your eyes to him instead. He’s dressed in all black, clothes all well-tailored. Dress pants, smart jacket, turtle neck. This guy had money. What on earth is a man like that doing in a place like this?
“You sure?” You ask him, a single eyebrow raised, unable to make many of his features out in the dim lighting of the bar but he simply nods.
You finish pouring the drinks and turn to your till to process the card. When you turn to face the customers again, only the smart-dressed man remains. Your eyebrows furrow in search of the one you served drinks to but he’s already lost in the sea of your many drunk patrons.
“Oh,” You murmur. “You scare him off?”
“Somethin’ like that.” The man responds. “I’ll take a whiskey. The good stuff.”
You smirk. “The good stuff, huh?”
His face doesn’t change, staring at you like you were reciting a phone book, instead of attempting playful banter. The kind that usually got you a good tip. You push down the foreboding feeling that washes over you as you reach up to the top shelf for the most expensive whiskey in the building and pour him a glass with ice. It smells good, not a whiskey drinker yourself but you know this is the good shit. Exactly what he asked for.
His face is barely highlighted in the red-tinted glow. His eyes looking almost entirely black. Probably just the lighting, sure. But there’s something about him. It’s like his presence is pulling light from the room. And yet, you couldn’t deny there is a certain attraction to it. The display of a closed book that in your mind you just need to pry open. But hey, you’re a professional. No flirting on the job.
You pass it over and he nods back at you, before taking his drink and walking away.
You spend the next hour or so trying to find the guy and catch his eye but he’s nowhere to be seen.
The music keeps booming and you keep working, your feet are burning and the lights are starting to give you a headache. You’re already dreaming of curling up in bed and sleeping until the sun rises. But alas, money doesn’t magically appear in your bank account every month, someone’s gotta make it happen. You sigh, wiping your brow after mopping up what feels like the millionth dropped beer of the night and announce to your boss you’re going for a break. Without waiting for a reply, you push open the door to the back and step into the cool late-winter air.
You pull a cigarette from your pocket and search for your light. You could have sworn you had it not even 10 minutes ago…
A scratching sound catches your attention and before you can piece it together, a small orange flame has appeared in front of you. And with it, the man from before, holding a lighter to the end of your cigarette. Where the fuck had he come from?
You accept the light, taking a drag before fully turning your attention to him. You thought you’d be able to see him better outside but the streetlight doesn’t help much to illuminate his features. “You’re not supposed to be back here, it’s staff only.” You tell him, though your voice lacks conviction.
“Don’t pretend you care.” He murmurs back at you, leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “Your mommy never tell you it’s unhealthy to smoke?”
“Don’t pretend you care.” You retort back at him. “How do you end up coming to a shithole like this?”
He thinks on it for a moment, the only noise being the occasional burn as you take a drag from your cigarette and the bass of the music inside. He looks you over, from the top of your head down to your shoes.
“I was asking myself the same thing.” He responds. “Let’s just say, I had a feeling I’d find something worth coming in for.”
Your eyebrows furrow again. “The fuck does that mean?” You scoff, stubbing out your cigarette on the wall and tossing it to the floor.
He shrugs, smirking. “I guess we’ll find out. See you around, toots.”
Before you have a chance to respond, he’s walking away.
“What the fuck are you on about?” He sighed, shaking his head, letting stray tears continue to roll down his cheeks.
“I said…it’s not your feelings that are stupid, here. Mine are the stupid fuckin’ ones…”
Never in your life would you have expected this. You crossed your arms, looking up at him.
“Explain.” He hung his head low, refusing to look up at you.
“Can’t I come in first-”
“No! Explain. Now.” Bringing his hands to his face, he began to rub, seemingly trying to bring himself back to reality. It wasn’t just the fact that he wasn’t used to being vulnerable, he also wasn’t used to you being so…dominant and asserting. If it wasn’t in this given situation, he would’ve thought this side of you was totally hot, and would need to fuck you badly, but this was not the time, and he was not in the mood.
“I…toots, I don’t know where to start. I…you….we…” He muttered, trying his absolute hardest to get his mind straight, you could tell by the way his eyes began to scan scatteredly around your room that he had way too many thoughts on his mind, but you refused to budge. You wanted, needed, and deserved an explanation as to why he was being such an avoidant asshole.
“Sounds like you really do like them, man.” Ted chuckled, causing Schlatt to groan, putting his head into the palms of his hands.
“No, no, dude. This is not how this is supposed to go…I am not supposed to get feelings! Shit’s so fuckin’ stupid!” He explained, in pure disbelief and shock that this was his current situation. The call between the two started as a new recording for Chuckle Sandwich, and at the end Ted could sense Schlatt was stressed. Knowing he had just come back from what was supposed to be a “relaxing” weekend getaway, Ted knew he needed to ask. In turn, Schlatt began to spill his guts, needing an open ear to rant to about everything that had transpired, and how he was feeling about it all.
“Feelings aren’t stupid, dude! Falling in love with someone…it’s really, truly special!” Ted explained, feeling for the man on the other side of the screen.
“Just because you’re not used to it, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, Schlatt.” Schlatt let out another groan, leaning back in his desk chair this time.
“You can’t say that, you don’t know that…”
“Let’s be honest with ourselves…you are a catch! You’re funny, have a steady career going, caring, sometimes you’re kind…not to mention you’re clearly attractive and apparently really good at having sex…” Ted listed, chuckling at the last one slightly.
“Damn, if you want to fuck me, just say so Ted…” He grumbled, crossing his arms before looking up towards his ceiling.
“Listen…all I’m saying is it sounds like they’re into you, and you’re into them. You’ve been sleeping with one another for what…2 years now? Make a move, dude, before they’ve had enough of your shit and leave your ass!”
Make a move, dude….
Make a move, dude…
Make a move, dude….
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jay. I don’t have all day for your bullshit…” You said, grabbing the door, about to slam it back into his face as he shook his head, clearly coming back to reality.
“W-wait…wait! Fuck, I’ll explain, I’ll explain…”
“I’ve been standing here for a good 15 minutes waiting for an explanation from you, and you haven’t said a fucking word, haven’t moved a fucking inch. I’m giving you one more minute, shithead, one more than you honestly deserve right now!” Your voice began to get louder, making him shake his head. He knew he didn’t deserve your time of day, especially right now, wasting your time minute after minute, day after day. He swallowed his nerves, put his hands to his sides, and looked you in the eye.
“Alright, Jesus…I…I think I have…feelings for you…but I’m not sure.” Your head tilted to the side, trying to read his expression, looking behind him for some sort of camera to be recording.
“Yeah, yeah, sure you do. What episode of Punk’d am I on now? Or is this your new idea for a new channel? Build people up and then break them down, record their reactions for views? Where’s the camera…” His face immediately fell, his eyes getting softer.
“What? Is that…is that what you really think of me? That I would do this for fuckin’ views?”
“Honestly, Schlatt…at this point, I feel like I don’t know you anymore. I’m not sure.” You croaked, choking back your tears that were inevitable to fall. Watching you and hearing your reply absolutely broke his heart into pieces. He had expected you to take this poorly after the way he had been treating you, but he really didn’t expect this of all things.
“Leave. Go. Leave me alone…need to think.” You said, shoving him from your doorframe as you quickly closed the door on him, locking it behind you. You sunk down the door, wrapping your arms around your legs as you began to sob.
“Fuck, no…no, no, no! (Y/N)....(Y/N) please…we…I…need to talk…” You could hear him beginning to choke on his own tears as he banged on your door, every time his knuckles made contact with the wood it shook your body ever so slightly more.
“Leave me alone, Schlatt…I’ll find you when…when I’m..ready..” Your voice trailed off, constantly getting cut off by the ongoing stream of tears rolling down your face. You felt his presence still by the door as you cried, knowing he hadn’t gone far. Probably couldn’t make it back to his office, he was so weak and shocked by his own feelings and your subsequent reaction.
You had dreamed of the moment that Schlatt would confess his feelings for you, making it out to be something straight out of a fairytale. Maybe over dinner, a candlelit one to be exact, he would admit to having always felt something towards you, but was so in denial that you could feel the same that he created this elaborate agreement between the two of you as a coverup to get closer to you, and the minute he realized he wanted more, he felt the need to confess. You had always hoped and prayed he was a secret romantic, wanting him to praise the ground you walked on because he just loved you all that much. Now that the moment was here, though…it felt more like a nightmare than something straight from a storybook.
Schlatt sat on the ground, on the opposite side of the door you were leaning against, silently praying to God that you would grace him with forgiveness. It was at this moment he realized that Ted was right, he really did have feelings for you…but like Ted predicted, Schlatt was afraid it was too late. Afraid you realized just how big a piece of shit you were, how he didn’t deserve any time of day from you whatsoever. He rubbed at his eyes, not having cried this much or this badly since he was a kid, letting out a low chuckle.
You heard his chuckle, which immediately pissed you off.
“Really? You really think this whole situation is still funny?”
“No…no, I really don’t. Just…think the absurdity of it all is funny.” You groaned, leaning your head back on the door. You sighed, if you were going to talk about it, at least let there be a door separating you from him…if you had to look into his crying eyes one more time, you swore you’d be a puddle for him, doing whatever he’d ask, forgiving him for anything he had ever done wrong.
“When did you realize?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Like…came to terms with realizing? Or when did I truly realize?” He asked, matching your volume and tone of voice.
“Truly realize…”
“Back in that Russian Literature class…when you came walkin’ up, askin’ if we were partners…” He said with a sigh, thinking back to that moment in time, “I was so nervous just lookin’ at you…I had never felt that way ‘bout anyone ever before.” Your eyes widened. There was no way…
“You can’t be serious…”
“Oh, I’m deadly serious.” He said, laughing slightly. “Can’t lie about that. I’ve been in denial for…way too long now.” You rolled your eyes. How could you trust him?
“As soon as I saw you, with that stupid fuckin’ mascot sweatshirt on, I thought to myself ‘who is this person, and why are they dressed like they’re not a full fuckin’ 10’...couldn’t take my eyes off you. Made my stomach churn so bad, thought I was comin’ down with a stomach bug…” You hummed, remembering when he had texted you to cancel a work session because he thought he came down with something. “Turns out it wasn’t a stomach bug, it went away as soon as you left, and came back when you’d return. Turns out…those were butterflies. I was in denial.”
You sat in silence, thinking for a moment in peace. Schlatt sat waiting for your response, not pressing you, knowing damn well you were allowed to take as much time as you felt you needed to reply. He felt he didn’t even deserve a response from you, after the way he’d been treating you the last week or so.
“Just…tell me. Why do all this? Make things tricky?” You whispered, confused why you only became friends with benefits, rather than full-fledged lovers.
“Didn’t think you were into me that way. Besides, you know…I don’t really think ‘m deserving of any typa love…” He muttered, hanging his head low in shame. You stewed for a moment, knowing you should, realistically, be pissed off at him. Mad that it took him this long to admit things, mad that he drug you through this whole friends with benefits plotline knowing damn well he was feeling a certain way about you…but you couldn’t. You knew Schlatt, knew that admitting something as simple as this was harder than anything else in the world. He felt vulnerable in this moment, and you couldn’t treat him the way he did you. You reached up, unlocking your doorknob before waiting for a moment. Schlatt heard the knob turn, and sat up slightly, so he didn’t get knocked over when you eventually opened the door. You slowly opened it, still on the ground, as he scooted around to face you, his face just as tear-stained as yours was.
“Why? Why do this…?” You asked, simply looking at him.
“I…knew my feelings would get in the way one way or another…but once I heard you confess…I shut down. There was no way in hell the girl I’ve been dreamin’ about, the girl I’ve been sleepin’ with under this pact…actually liked me for me. I needed to clear my head, let it all sink in…” He said, sheepishly, looking down towards his socks rather than in your eye.
“It hurts, you know? The lack of response. The way you’ve been avoiding me all week. How am I supposed to just move on from all of this, Jay? Just…become happy that we’re on the same page finally, take the steps needed to be in a proper relationship with you…without addressing all this hurt?” You replied, staring at him, hoping for even an ounce of eye contact, some sort of form of remorse. Once he did look up, you felt a twinge in your heart, tearing up again yourself.
“I know I hurt you…I don’t expect us to just…move on like this never happened. It…it wasn’t my intention of hurtin’ you, toots…I just fuckin’ suck at all these mushy feelings shit.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes before looking back into yours, sensing the deep hurt he had put you through. “It’s not an excuse for my actions, though…and I don’t expect for you to accept my apology. Just know…I really, truly am so fuckin’ sorry. I should’ve toughened up sooner, been a man, admitted my feelings….but I couldn’t.”
You paused for a moment, taking in everything he said before sighing.
“I don’t accept your apology.”
“Wait, what?”
“Like you said, you don’t expect me to accept your apology, and I don’t. I understand where you were coming from, Jay…but until you can prove to me that you can change…I don’t accept your apology. You could be pulling shit from out of your ass just to make me feel better for all I know…” You sighed, your eyes looking at him, searching for the truth. “Until you can show me that this..” you pointed between one another, all around your apartment, “can change…I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
His eyes widened, as he hummed at your explanation. A part of him was really expecting you to want to move forward, accepting his apology for what it was, and dealing with the repercussions later. However…he couldn’t say he was all that shocked that you hadn’t accepted his apology. If he were in your shoes, he would be kicking his own ass for everything he had done. Silently, he nodded his head, showing you that he got where you were coming from, before he stood up and headed into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
That conversation happened 2 weeks ago now, and the apartment felt tenser than ever before. You did everything in your power to avoid Schlatt, and he tried going out of his way to catch you, hoping you could talk. The amount of times he stood at your door knocking these last two weeks, begging to talk…you had lost count. You weren’t able to get over the feeling of betrayal, though, or clear your mind enough to go into a conversation openly with him about everything, about the future for the both of you, if there even was one at this point.
Schlatt was a full-blown mess. Didn’t get more than 5 hours of sleep over the last two weeks, he’d been living off of caffeinated GamerSupps and a daily prayer to God that you would finally talk to him again. Sighing, he glanced at the time…time for another Chuckle Sandwich recording, great. Just what he wanted to do with a broken heart. He knocked on your door one last time.
“Toots…gotta go record, but I’m still here, whenever you’re ready to talk…please…let me in.” He lingered for a moment, before sighing, stepping away to head into his office and hop on the Discord call.
“Jesus Christ, dude…you look like shit!” Ted winced, making a face over the call. Tucker nodded his head in agreement.
“Fuck you, and fuck you, too.”
“I take it…things haven’t improved?” Tucker asked quietly, not wanting to make the man feel any more shitty than he already was.
“They won’t even let me in their room to talk about things…not that I can blame them. I wouldn’t let me in, either.”
“Don’t talk about yourself that way, dude…they’ll come around sooner or later!” Ted said, optimistically.
“They’ve been holed up in their room all week.” Schlatt groaned, throwing his head back in his desk chair. “Honestly…I don’t know if I can do this, today, boys…I can’t get my mind off them.”
Ted groaned, knowing that something needed to happen quickly for Schlatt to get back to being his old asshole persona self, rather than this defeated, upset loner for them to get any work done.
“Give me their number.”
“What?”
“I said, give me their number, dipshit.” Schlatt slowly blinked, looking confused.
“No!”
“Trust me, asshole! Give me their number.” Schlatt groaned, rubbing his hands over his face before looking back at his monitor.
“What good is that going to do, fucker?”
“I’m gonna talk to them, see where their heads’ at. Let you know your prospects. C’mon, man, what will it hurt? You’ve already fucked this up beyond belief!” Schlatt sighed, knowing he was kinda on to something.
“Fine…but you better not fuck this up even more, Ted.” He grumbled, typing your number into his text messages with Ted, saying another prayer that you actually answer and hear him out.
In the room across the hall, you laid on your bed, still numb over all that had transpired. You should use this opportunity of Schlatt working to go get something to eat, maybe take a hot shower, go for a walk…hell, pack your bags and run far, far away from here, but you felt stuck. You couldn’t move. You knew it was due to your conflicted feelings, on one hand, you knew that he had been an asshole, and if that’s any sign of how he’d be in a relationship, you didn’t want it. On the other hand, you knew and saw how soft he could get, and have noticed how truly dedicated he had been to get even the slightest chance to talk to you over the last two weeks. Lost in your conflicted feelings, your phone began to ring.
“Boston area code…? I don’t know anyone from Boston..” You sighed, clicking your phone off. Two seconds later it lit up again, same phone number. You grumbled, reaching over to click your phone off once again, hopefully sending a hint to this person that they had the wrong number. Nope—here your phone lit up once more, causing you to get increasingly more angry.
“Hello-”
“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to do, to sell, to whatever…but I’m not fuckin’ interested man, quit calling me, would you?”
“Wait! Wait, I’m not a scam caller, not trying to sell you something…you’re (Y/N), right?” The voice on the other line sounded somewhat familiar, but you were still confused as to how they knew your name.
“Y-Yes…why?”
“Oh thank God, I thought Schlatt gave me the wrong number…this is Ted, one of Schlatt’s friends.” You groaned, throwing your phone down on the bed. Schlatt couldn’t get you to open the door to your room, so he sent one of his friends to call you? Pathetic…
“Before you get the wrong idea…this wasn’t Schlatt’s idea, trust me. He actually hated it…a lot.” He let out a laugh, hoping you’d give him a chance, hear him out.
“Oh, really? How much did he pay you to say that?”
“Not enough….I kid, I’m kidding…listen. I’m really concerned. Schlatt hasn’t been this bad off…ever in my history of knowing him. I know he was like the world’s biggest asshole to you the last few weeks, trust me, I’ve grilled him enough about it…but…just hear him out, please? If not for you…for me? I can’t work with him being such a grouch like this…it’s so bad!” You laughed, hearing him plead.
“Give me one good reason I should, Ted. Honestly, I don’t even think he’s being honest about his feelings for me, and if he is…why did he wait this fucking long to admit them?” Ted hummed on the other end of the line, understanding where you were coming from.
“Listen, I get it. Trust me when I say, though…he’s liked you for a while. I noticed it back when Schlatt and I first met, he had this twinkle in his eye when he talked about this best friend he had met during his college days. I asked him about it…he confessed after taking a few shots. Once he was sober in the morning, I asked again, needing sober confirmation…and he did. He came clean, admitted to feeling for you, but not feeling like he was worthy enough of having the title of your boyfriend. When he told me he got involved in this…friends with benefits…mess with you…” Ted sighed, you could feel him shaking his head through the phone, “I told him it wouldn’t end up the way he had hoped. He was so stuck in his thoughts of not being deserving enough, not being a good enough person to be considered as your boyfriend that he reassured me this is what he wanted, and that he was happy with his choice. I can tell you, though, it’s been eating at him the last two years that he couldn’t do more with you.”
You groaned, knowing this was the kind of information you needed to know in order to feel confident in talking to him again, but that actually meant you’d have to suck it up, let him in, and talk it all out.
“Thanks, Ted. Definitely…have given me a lot to think about…a lot to consider.” You sighed into the receiver, hearing Ted let out a breath.
“Does that mean you’ll talk to him, now?”
“Yes…tell him I’ll talk to him…whenever he’s ready.”
“Oh, he’s ready now. I’ll let him know…thanks (Y/N).” You laughed slightly, first time in the last two weeks that you did, saying a quick thank you and goodbye before putting your phone back down on your bed, heading to your door to unlock it, so Schlatt could enter whenever. Just as your fingers twisted the lock, his hand twisted the doorknob, opening your door. You stood there, staring at one another for what felt like forever, before you silently returned to your bed, signalling him to follow. He did as he was told, coming and sitting on the edge of your bed, looking up at you. You could tell by the bags under his eyes and just how greasy his hair had gotten that he’s barely survived over the last two weeks without you. Your heart sank slightly, waiting for him to say something.
“I’m so sorry, toots. I didn’t mean for things to get this out of hand. I was just…scared.”
“Of what, Jay?”
He looked at you, rather confused.
“What were you so scared of? Had I not made my feelings for you abundantly clear? Not made it clear just how much I cared for you as a person, not just as a sex partner? How long have I been having these feelings for you?” He sighed, shaking his head.
“No…no nothing like that. I mean…kind of like that? I was scared of admitting I was the one having feelings for you. Scared to put myself out there to you in that way. Scared that, once I did, you’d realize just how shitty of a guy I can be, break my heart into pieces and then leave.” He said, his voice going to just slightly above a whisper, “I was so scared that you really, truly, didn’t feel the same as I was, and that I’d ruin my chances at love and my only true friend in one single swing.” You looked at him softly, wanting to not accept the words he was saying as true, but you could tell by demeanor alone that he meant every single word he had just said. You stayed silent, thinking.
“I know I’m not in a position to rush you, but I gotta admit…the longer you sit here and say nothing, the more I think you’re actually not that into me, princess.” You laughed, leaning back into your pillows, looking up towards him.
“No, I’m just..a little shocked. You’re easily the most attractive, occasionally caring guy I know…what do you mean you were scared?”
“When I said I’ve never felt this way about anybody, ever, it’s true, toots. Never…” Your eyes widened.
“Like…never never? Never ever? Not even in high school, ever?”
“Yeah, go ahead, rub it in, make me feel even worse.” He chuckled, snaking his hand behind his neck, refusing to make eye contact with you. You smiled, sneaking a hand towards his thigh to give him a loving squeeze, before taking the hand up to his chin, forcing him to look at you.
“Why didn’t you say that sooner, stupid? That would’ve explained so much!”
“Clearly I’m not proud of that part of my history, toots.” He joked, rolling his eyes, “Besides…thought you’d think I was a loser, wouldn’t want to associate, y’know…regular shit.” You laughed gently, shaking your head in disbelief.
“So instead, you went the route of just sleeping with people? How did you not get attached?”
“Easy…stare at her tits, not her face, say very little, cum, get out of there. Not as hard as all…this that we’ve been doin’.” You sat and stared at him for a moment, the silence engulfing the two of you heavily. Neither one of you wanted to move, in fear that this would ruin the moment, and you’d be back where you started.
“Y’know…I think our contract needs an amendment.” You said, looking him in the eyes. He looked confused, why mention the contract now?
“What?”
“Scratch out the last one. We should be able to fall in love with each other, right?” He smiled as you spoke, a breath he hadn’t realized leaving his lips as he sighed.
“Yeah, toots…I guess you’re right.”
Needless to say, after that talk, the contract was no longer needed between the two of you.
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aaaand that's all she wrote! i really, truly enjoyed writing this series more than i could fully express...thanks for all your love and support on all the parts, and stay tuned for more coming series! <3
Maple, I'm sorry you had to go through that twice, both physically and mentally. I would try to make you feel better, but I have a feeling that you've heard it a thousand times. Just know you have friends on here you can talk to. Even though they might not be able to understand all the way, they can at least listen with the only motive to help you.
Hope you're body recovered, and I hope you feel better soon.
hi!!
thank you so much <3
I’ve spent a lot of time with my loved ones, and I have lots of support. Just needed some time away from here. love all of you guys so so much
I want to preface this by saying that I am okay! I’ve been taking a lot of time to process everything and honestly, I am doing much better. Very much a word-vomit. And considering this blog is relatively anonymous, it feels like the best place to do it.
My language is a tad vulgar in places during this. And please know these are just my feelings on these matters at the time as they were occurring.
That being said, please read this with caution. Contact a professional if you need help and take care of yourself <3
—
I had my first miscarriage September 2023. I remember not quite processing it first, I didn’t want to even say the word ‘miscarriage’, it felt dirty, it felt wrong.
“At least it was early.”
I don’t care if it was early, I don’t care. It still hurts just the same if it was 6 days or 6 months. The fact that my body can’t do the one thing it’s meant to just sucks.
“You can try again.”
Well, we’ll get to that later.
When I realised, I was working. I went to the bathroom and realised something was majorly wrong. I called my doctor and they told me I just had to let it run its course. He spoke about it like it was a fucking cold. He spoke about it like he hadn’t just confirmed that I had a life decaying inside of me.
I had at least another week or so of bleeding to deal with, everytime I went to the bathroom I was reminded by the sick image of my own failures.
“I’m sorry.”
Are you though? It’s not like it’s your fault that my body is blueprinted to do one thing predominantly and yet, it can’t.
Then I had to tell my boyfriend. How do you tell someone that their future was dying inside your body? I really struggled. I still couldn’t say the word, I danced around it for a long time before I actually explained what was going on.
Then weeks of physical pain. Lethargy and aches, stomach cramps and headaches. It faded eventually but the reminder of what I lost was just constantly etched into the back of my head. I hadn’t really considered having kids until I realised that maybe I wouldn’t get a chance like this again. I thought about names. Frankie. Oscar. Heather. I thought about first words, first steps, first day at school, first birthday, first Christmas. I wasn’t getting any of that.
The strangest thing about all of this is that I just couldn’t get over the fact that I felt ridiculous for feeling this way. They were right, I was early. At least I hadn’t bought nappies, or food, or toys. Why was I mourning someone who never existed?
Then I was angry, angry at myself. Angry at doctors for never picking up that something was wrong with me (strangely enough, they still don’t know).
Two months after my miscarriage, my sister told me she was pregnant. Thankfully, she carried to full term and gave birth to a gorgeous baby girl. (I actually started this blog whilst staying in the hospital with her!) But I couldn’t help the resentment, bubbling underneath my skin. The anger that she got everything I lost. I had to watch her have all the firsts that I wanted, the ones I deserved.
But I didn’t. And slowly I’ve come to terms with that fact. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my baby is gone and that I won’t be experiencing parenthood any time soon. Maybe one day, but not now.
I had my second miscarriage December 2024.
This one was harder. I didn’t take any time off work, I didn’t call the doctors. I knew what was happening. I knew how to handle it physically. Mentally, I had clocked out. I couldn’t face it this time. Facing the true reality that this isn’t a one off incident anymore, there is something wrong with me.
I didn’t tell my boyfriend for three weeks, I gave myself more time to process on my own. It was worth it, he understood. He lost something too but it wasn’t his body. I deserved that time.
I’m going back to the doctors for more scans, more blood tests. But the reality of my future seems much clearer to me than to anyone else.
