you're, not the only one, that I know—and I'm too proud to talk to you anyway
voted 300 follower special, 21!abby anderson x 21!fem!reader, 21!manny, sfw, meet cute, abby being scared of vulnerability, fluff, very minor angst, oneshot, ⋆˚࿔ I think I'm not writing for abby anymore. it's just not for me. we have a 80% hate 20% love rls. also I'm sick of ai in writing. the first ever college paper I'd written 100% by hand when I was 14 got flagged as complete ai so I had to prove I'd written it, and when my teacher put in my fanfiction (don't ask) to zerogpt it hit low 80s? it's saddening.
you hadn't expected anything meaningful to come out of manny texting you at ten on a friday night.
manny texted everyone at ten on friday nights, because he treated the slightest episodes of boredom like emergencies.
your phone buzzed three times in quick succession while you were standing in your kitchen, leaning against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. It had been a long week, the kind that left a residue behind it, exhaustion clinging to your body even after the work itself was done. you told yourself you'd go out next weekend, or the one after that. when you felt more like yourself again. manny, however, has never been particularly patient with postponement.
manny: pls? I'm already here
you stared at the messages longer than necessary, weighing the quiet of your apartment against the noise of the outside world. the kettle clicked off, steam curling upward, and you realized that if you didn't leave then, you wouldn't leave at all.
the bar manny chose sat just off a side street tucked between a smoke shop and a tattoo studio seemed to have been out of commission for years. Inside, the lighting was low and warm, the air thick with music. It was the kind of place people came to disappear.
"you made it! good. I want you to meet someone." manny said, having spotted you the moment you stepped inside and lifting his glass in greeting.
"does this 'someone' even know I'm here?" you asked with a knowing smile, eyeing his already flushed face.
"why does your yes sound like a no?"
you rolled your eyes as he pulled you onto the stool left of his, throwing an arm around your shoulders and announcing your arrival, and then you noticed her.
she leaned on the bar, gently nursing a whiskey and seeming to have not spotted you yet.
"this is abby. abby, this is my favorite person." he smiled.
"mm no," you corrected, "I'm just the only girl you couldn't get in the bed."
"pendejo," he murmured making you laugh.
she gave you one thorough look over, not bothering to be discreet, and exhaled after her assesment was done.
"hey," she said with a voice lower than you'd expected.
as the night went on, the three of you fell into an easy rhythm. manny talked, as always, and you teased him, as always. abby listened and watched you when she thought you weren't looking, occasionally adding in dry commentary or corrections to manny's very, very over exaggerated monologues and stories.
at some point, manny went over to the bartender as abby told him you all already had drinks. p.s, he ignored her.
"so," you started, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence, "how long have you known manny?"
"too long. you?" she exhaled.
"I'm sorry, I'd take him off your hands if I knew how to get him out of mine, and for long enough to know when to stop listening," you replied.
that earned a chuckle from her. she didn't smile just yet, but something close to it adorned her face, and a sense of pride flooded your chest.
she asked what you did, you answered honestly. she asked what you hated and loved, and you answered that too, surprised by how easy talking with her was.
when manny returned, louder than before, abby shifted slightly closer to you rather than away. the night carried on, and as it went you found yourself paying attention to small, minute details that seemed insignificant about her. her gaze always flicked to movement before sound, she always remained aware of exits, and her shoulders eased when she laughed, as rare as the action was.
when the night wound down, people spilling onto the sidewalk in loose groups, abby lingered near you instead of immediately following manny.
"can I get your number?" she asked, direct and unembellished.
you didn't hesitate and passed her your phone.
she typed her number in then handed it back, her fingers brushing yours briefly before retreating. she said goodbye to manny, nodded once at you, and then left without looking back, waving, or giving anyone any hugs.
with a goodbye so quick and borderline cold, you really, truly hadn't expected to hear from her.
the next morning, after you'd already been awake for an hour and convinced yourself that the previous night was just meeting another person and not the beginning of a friendship or anything more, your phone buzzed.
abby: It's abby. hope this is okay.
abby didn't overwhelm you with attention after that, nor did she disappear. she checked in every few days at first, and then every single day. she remembered things you mentioned in passing, told you about her gym stories with manny, and asked questions that indicated genuine interest rather than obligation. eventually, she got tired of texting you through the screen and found herself wanting to see you again.
abby: coffee. 263 miller st. at noon. pls?
you met her at a small place near your apartment that never seemed crowded, she arrived early, and the conversation picked up where your texts left off. there was comfort in the quiet moments between topics—in the lack of pressure to socially perform for someone and just being able to be.
with time, a lot of trust, and long talks, pieces of her life began to surface.
she was disciplined, she needed structure when everything else felt unstable, anger was something that she'd previously carried constantly and let shape her decisions, and she'd lost and taken a lot, from herself as well as others.
"I don't like who I was for a long time, and I'm trying not to be that person anymore." she'd admitted during your second coffee together.
by the third time you saw her, something shifted. not dramatically, but noticeably. she seemed more closed off this time, and you couldn't help but silently worry about it as it seemed to progress further the more you talked.
It was during this meeting that she pulled back.
you were seated across from each other with your cups cooling between you when she grew quiet and her gaze dropped to the table.
"you're good at like, being all easy to talk to," she said.
she braced herself all of a sudden, and then you were hit.
"I don't do closeness," she exhaled slowly.
"oh. uhm, why? is it something I did, or..."
a moment of silence passed. she looked to you for reassurance and relaxed at the sight of you waiting intently but not expectantly.
"every time I let someone in it costs me something, and I'm tired of paying. then there's the fact that I've hurt a lot of people in the past, and I don't trust myself not to repeat that. and I don't want to hurt you." she said.
you searched her eyes for some sign of regret or denial, but it never came, and so you nodded even though it hurt. you'd lived long enough to learn that when someone put up a wall pushing only made it thicker, so you didn't even try to argue.
after that, the messages stopped but the mutual feelings didn't.
the absence gave itself a sense of permanence after a few days, and an ache developed with it. you found yourselves thinking of each other at odd moments. how was she, was she sleeping enough, did she miss you too?
of course, neither of you reached out though.
it was sunday when the rain came. It began in the late afternoon and didn't let up, but you didn't mind, you liked it that way. by evening, the sound of it filled your apartment, constant and insistent. you were folding laundry late at night when you heard the knocks at your door.
when you opened it, abby stood there in all her glory—soaked through with her jacket darkened by the rain. she looked exhausted, and not just physically.
you blinked once, then twice, and then your eyes widened as you processed the scene in front of you.
"I know I said I couldn't do this."
"I thought distance would make me not want you anymore and a lot of other things," she continued.
her voice wavered slightly, and she stopped, regaining her composure.
"none of that was true, and it all just made everything worse. look, I've spent my whole life preparing for loss and convincing myself that it never gets better, but meeting you... disrupted, that. I don't know how to promise you that I won't mess up, and I don't know how to be soft without feeling exposed, but I don't want to keep pretending you don't matter." she explained.
"nonononono!" you rambled quickly, panicking after you realized how the action'd looked. "It's not you."
"It's just... I'm standing here in nothing but a tshirt, socks, and underwear talking to you in the rain minutes after I was just trying to do my chores to forget about you. we're both so stupid. come in," you smiled, glancing down at the way she'd begun shivering, "you'll catch a cold, abs."
you stepped aside, and she entered your apartment, dripping rain onto the floor while you closed the door behind her. the sound of the storm faded into the background, just thumping outside and no longer pressing at the edges of your awareness.
when you kissed her, there was no urgency in it just pure, unadulterated love. her hands settled at your waist, and yours found their way around her neck.
"I want to try... this. whatever it is," she said quietly after pulling away to catch her breath.
"me too," you nodded, peering into her eyes.
this time, she didn't run away.
