robby making a “wtf” face when you tell him you’re spending one of your days off work at a hair appointment. "the whole day? for really? honey, it's just hair..." him shaking his head and accidentally laughing when you try to explain, 'cause he doesn't get it, nor does he really want to. it's fine. you're grown, so do what you want. someone would have to actually pay him to sit in a barbershop all day, but it's whatever. so long as you look cute.
VERSUS
jack offering to drive you when you tell him you'll be gone all day. doesn't let you leave the car without a long kiss. "text me when you want me to stop by so i can drop off your food, yeah? good. now, one more kiss." him thumbs uping the message you send with a grumbling stomach a handful of hours later. showing up with your food plus extra for anyone who wants it, and a kiss that has the entire room smirking and making little noises. "looks good, baby. call me you're ready, 'n i'll be here."
I don't know, but I feel that if the ex Will Smith and the reader ever had a pregnancy scare, he would be on cloud nine and would fall so hard when he finds out that it's a false alarm
hopefully
will smith x ex!reader
wc: 2.4k
warnings: mentions of pregnancy, slightly dark at the end
ex!reader masterlist
when will heard the knock at his apartment door, the very last person he expected to find on the other side of it was you.
you don't come to will and mack's apartment. you've made that very clear since you and will started... whatever's going on with the two of you right now. he's always been the one to come to you, to show up at your apartment, to rush down the highway when you call.
so you coming here? he can't tell if it's a really good sign... or a really bad sign.
based on the look on your face, he has a feeling it's not great.
"we have to talk," your voice is curt as you push past him into the apartment. you stop short when you see mack sitting on the couch, staring at you with a bewildered look on his face. you clear your throat and turn back to will, a flush on your cheeks and an indecipherable look on your eye. "um. in your room?"
will nods, speechless.
you march into his room, will following obediently. he glances quickly at mack, who's looking curiously at will, who just shrugs in response.
will closes his bedroom door behind him, and plops down on the end of his bed. he expects you to sit next to him, but you don't. you start pacing back and forth in front of him, balling your fingers into a fist, nervously biting your lip.
"what's... what's going on?" will asks, feeling more unsure than he has in a while. he has no idea what's going on here, so he doesn't know what the right or wrong thing to say would be.
you're anxious. worried about something. visibly. his mind starts running wild with possibilities. you're moving away, you have a new boyfriend, you've decided he's the worst kisser in the world and you never want to see him again?
you force yourself to stop pacing and look at will head-on. you're wearing an oversized hoodie (will's heart warms as he realizes it's one of his), sweatpants, and your favorite casual slip-on shoes, with a tote slung over one shoulder. you usually try to make yourself a bit more presentable than this, and the fact that you haven't is very telling. right as will is going to beg that you just tell him what's wrong, you open your mouth and the words fall out.
"i think i might be pregnant."
will's entire world stops.
his mouth drops open, his ears start ringing, and all of a sudden his heart is beating wildly in his chest. he just sits there, staring at you in shock for a few seconds.
he surprises you by reaching out, grasping your hips, and pulling you onto his lap enthusiastically. you let out a little gasp as will kisses you, and then starts planting little kisses all over your face. his hands are at your waist, holding you steady but gently, his touch and hold on you filled with more reverence than you were prepared for.
honestly, you thought that when you told will about your fears, he was going to tell you to leave. you'd anticipated lots of reactions from your ex-boyfriend, but this was not one of them.
when will stops kissing you, he leans back and looks you up and down. his eyes linger on your stomach, clearly looking for any slight change that might indicate someone lives there now. he's so excited, already, and that's when it hits him.
i think i might be pregnant.
his eyes travel up your body, from your navel to your breasts to your face, holding his breath. "are you?"
you shakily reach into your tote bag, and pull out two little boxes. both are pregnancy tests.
"i don't know yet," you breathe. "i wanted... i want to take them with you,"
will leads you to the bathroom, both of you very pointedly ignoring mack still sitting on the couch. will catches the look of frustration on his face, which means he was most definitely trying to eavesdrop, but was unable to glean much from the mumbles he could hear through the door.
the two of you go into the bathroom together, will closing the door and softly locking it behind him.
you make him turn away while you actually take the tests, not wanting him to see you pee on the little white sticks. will would have held your hand while you did it, but he understood that you wanted privacy.
afterwards, you set the tests on the counter, set a timer for five minutes, and then sit down with your back to the bathtub.
will sits next to you, wrapping an arm around you, and pulling you into his body.
"tell me what you're thinking," he murmurs softly into your ear. he presses a kiss to your temple, nuzzles your face, does anything and everything he can think of to comfort you and calm you down.
you hesitate for a second, and when you start talking, it's like a dam broke loose.
"i'm panicking, will," you admit. tears are beginning to gather in your eye as you continue to rant, "we're-we're young! i'm a waitress, and you're constantly on the road, and we're broken up!"
you add the fact that you're broken up as if you forgot, tagging it on the end to remind yourself, and him.
his heart soars.
will kisses your cheek, rests his forehead on your temple, pulls you tighter against him. "don't freak out," he says, tone as gentle and loving as possible. "we can figure it out. whatever happens, i'm by your side. i promise,"
you calm down a little bit at that, your breath coming out a bit slower and more even at his words, which will is thankful for.
on the outside, he's calm. he doesn't want to freak you out at all, doesn't want you getting the wrong idea.
but on the inside, will is celebrating. he's jumping up and down, fist bumping the air, already thinking about it. imagining it.
first, he thinks about you. you, pregnant. you're already beautiful, gorgeous in an ethereal way. seeing you never fails to make his breath leave his body, but if you were pregnant? with his baby? he thinks he might die at the sight of you. he can already feel the possessiveness overtaking his body at just the thought of it. he has the urge to touch your belly now, caress the baby he desperately hopes is there, but he knows you wouldn't be a fan of that, so he holds himself back.
then he thinks about your baby. a perfect little mix of the two of you. the baby would have your hair, your nose. hopefully his eyes, a feature of his which has become a favorite ever since the two of you got together, since it's the feature you always complimented the most.
a baby girl, hopefully. a daddy's girl, who he would dress in only the prettiest of outfits. he'd spoil her rotten, getting her the best toys, the best baby products, the best of everything.
he'd be okay with a little boy, of course, but he can already tell. it's a girl.
he'd buy a house. a house where your girl could grow up, and maybe have some siblings eventually. a dog for him, a cat for you. buying a house would show his devotion to you, how much he loves you, and you would take him back. finally.
you'd be a family. all the guys would finally see that all the pining, all the yearning and the loving from the sidelines and the begging, has paid off. that he was right.
will can't wait for the timer to go off.
you, on the other hand, are having slightly different thoughts.
if this test is positive, your entire world is going to be flipped upside down. you rest your head on will's chest, trying to soak up some of his strength for yourself, because you're freaking the fuck out.
you first realized your period was late three days ago. you got a notification from your period app reminding you to log your flow, only for it to occur to you that you'd had no flow. at first, you tried to tell yourself that it was probably just a late period. stress, bad diet, something like that. you'd get it in the next couple days.
but then it didn't come. and then it didn't come again. and when your underwear was still clean, and your white sheets were still perfectly pristine, you finally admitted to yourself that it might not just be irregularity.
you couldn't remember an exact date when it would have happened, because you and will fuck a lot (something you would never admit to your friends). sometimes you use condoms, sometimes you don't. you know that every time you don't you're making a horrifically bad choice, but you're on the pill, so you didn't think it would be a huge deal.
how could you have been so stupid?
at least will is calm, because if he was freaking out, you would be absolutely hopeless.
sure, a baby sounds nice. in theory. you can't lie and say that you would be... devastated. you've always wanted kids, and even though you're young, you know that you could make it work. having a baby with will would maybe not be the best thing... you've been trying to end whatever's going on between the two of you for months, you just don't have the willpower to actually never see him again. having a child with him would definitely complicate an already complicated situation.
even through all of that, having a baby would be hard. you're still in school. you're waitressing at a local diner. sure, will has nhl money, but you would hate it if he paid for everything for you, if you lived off of his money. you never want to be dependent on a person like that, and you know that he would try.
"i mean it," will says, breaking you from your stupor. "i'm with you. no matter what. i'll come to doctor's appointments, and go baby shopping, and get whatever you need at any point, ever. i'll bring you on roadies, so i'm always with you if you need me. i'll hold your hair back while you throw up, i'll-"
he's cut off by the alarm going off on your phone.
for a minute, neither of you moves. you're terrified to get up, to look at those pieces of plastic, so inconsequential and yet so incredibly life-changing.
will kisses you. soft, loving.
you get up.
you hadn't realized that you'd placed the tests face down when you set them on the counter, but you did. you feel will come up behind you, his chest to your back, his hands falling to hold your waist.
you take a deep breath, find comfort in will behind you, his touch, his support.
slowly, you reach for the tests.
you close your eyes tight as you flip the first one, and then the second. will's body has gone rigid behind you, but you can't tell what that means.
and then you open your eyes, and you let out the longest breath of your life.
negative.
"oh thank fuck," you say, already smiling like an idiot. you start laughing from relief, and turn around in will's hold, wrapping your arms around his middle and hugging him. you bury your face in his chest, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. "oh my god, thank fuck,"
will's quiet, still. he's holding you, hugging you back, but you can tell that something's wrong.
when you look up at him, there's an unreadable expression on his face. he looks beyond conflicted, relieved and upset at the same time.
you decide not to say anything.
"well, thanks," you pull back from him, leaning against the counter. you look up at the ceiling and let out a long breath of relief. "i'm gonna get going. thank you so much for the support, seriously. oof, that is such a relief,"
"of course," will responds, but he sounds hollow. he looks back down at the tests, brow furrowed. "anytime,"
you giggle at that, shaking your head lightly. you turn back around and start cleaning up all the test stuff, wrapping them in toilet paper and throwing them in the little trash can by the toilet. you rip up the box into little pieces, not wanting macklin to see the box and get any ideas, throwing that away, too. you look at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds, really taking in the fact that your body continues to be your own, that there are going to be no huge changes and no incredibly stressful things happening to it anytime soon.
you give will one last kiss before grabbing your tote, and leaving.
will closes the door after you, standing there, numb with shock and disasppointment.
he'd really thought it was going to be positive. he'd really wanted it to be positive.
"everything alright?" mack asks, still lounging on the couch. "why were the two of you in the bathroom?"
will wanders to the living room, plopping down in the armchair as if in a daze. "taking pregnancy tests," he replies simply.
mack's mouth drops open in shock. at first he doesn't say anything, just staring at will, searching for any sign of what the result was, but will's face is carefully neutral.
finally, he asks. "is she-?"
"nope." will cuts him off. "she is not pregnant."
mack's eyes narrow, confused by his best friend's reaction. "and that's... good. right?"
will sighs. "yup."
he sits there for another few seconds, and then getting up, wordlessly going into his room. he slams the door behind him, and then flops on his bed, face buried in his pillows.
the room still smells like you, and that makes this feeling ten times worse.
will knows that he should be relieved. that he should be so beyond thankful that he doesn't have to deal with having a baby with his ex-girlfriend, but he's heartbroken. not as heartbroken as he was when you broke up with him, but it's close.
he was already imagining his future with you, becoming a father. he'd had that hope for approximately ten minutes, but he'd already allowed it to consume him.
even though he knows it's bad, he's already planning your next encounter, already rehearsing the words he's going to say to you, to beg to forgo a condom.
there's one word running through his head.
hopefully.
a/n: choose your own ex!will adventure part one! once again, i'm bad at ending things but yknow (: thanks for the request nonnie! i know we all love ex!will and ex!reader very much so here's another one for you all! thanks for reading, liking, following, and reblogging <3 have a wonderful day/night
we go ‘round again, we jump back in bed, that’s what you do when you love somebody.
pairings: frank langdon x ex!reader
cw/tags: no use of y/n, swearing, a LOT of infidelity (from both frank and reader) and arguing. eventual orthopedic surgeon!reader, discussion and depiction of drug use/addiction (specifically amphetamines - AU where frank is addicted to speed instead of benzos), angst without a happy ending, implied and lightly explicit smut. mention of urgent care and antibiotics (brief depiction of reader having pneumonia, including coughing, fevers, medications, dizziness). use of nicknames for reader (peanut and baby from frank). reader did not do her residency at PTMC. reader wears heels and makeup one time, but other than that there are no physical descriptions.
wc: 12.1k
inspired by bad omens by 5sos
masterlist
Frank Langdon is, unfortunately, the love of your life.
Even if you don’t want him to be.
Even if you’re not his.
April, 2014
You know Frank is wearing himself thin.
Between co-captaining the football team, classes, volunteering, studying—it’s all starting to take a toll, especially after he failed a midterm two months ago. You’ve tried to tell him that almost everyone fails a test at some point in university, but it hasn’t helped, and he’s only ended up throwing himself into things harder.
You aren’t much better off, but you’re able to keep up with things in a way that he isn’t. Both of you are running on caffeine and delusion, praying that you’ll finish up with the semester before the consequences of your actions catch up to you.
Frank’s taken a different route, sick of constantly coming second place to you, the resentment starting a fire underneath him that he has no way to sustain. You’re graduating a year early, for godsake, and he can barely handle the typical course load. He’s pulling all-nighters constantly, barely eating, and he almost never comes home to your shared apartment anymore except to shower and grab food after a multi-day study session at the library.
As far as you can tell, it’s working. His grades are up, ‘hundreds’ stacking up in all his courses, almost completely correcting the dip from the failed midterm. You’re more than proud of how he’s turned things around, but you don’t know how much longer you can survive with the version of him that you’re getting.
He’s irritable—snapping at you over every little thing, cancelling plans with his friends, getting into fights on the field. He disappears for days at a time, always coming back run down, claiming to have spent his time studying or ‘disconnecting.’ When he is around he’s restless, practically bouncing off the fucking walls, making it impossible for you to focus. Despite that, you’re worried, so you agree to any opportunity you have to keep an eye on him, including a study session with him and some of your friends.
You’re scattered across various tables and seats in the library, all of you completely focused on whatever task you’re trying to finish before turning in for the night. You squint at the textbook in front of you, highlighting an important line, rubbing your eyes when your vision starts to blur. It’s already midnight, but you told yourself you wouldn’t go home until you finished this unit.
“Fuck me, I need to take a break,” Frank says, pushing his chair back and standing up, stretching his arms above his head. “You want anything from the vending machine?”
You don’t answer right away, forcing him to poke your shoulder a few times. “Sorry, what?”
“Do you want anything to eat?” He asks. “I’m gonna’ go grab something.”
“Oh, no, I’m okay,” You say, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”
He leans down, kissing your forehead, walking off to the stairs and disappearing. Now that your focus has been broken, you feel the familiar twinge of a headache blooming behind your eyes, and you reach down into the front pocket of your backpack, pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen.
You unscrew the cap, tipping the bottle upside down, only for nothing to fall into your hand. You frown, shaking it a few times, groaning once the realization hits that it’s empty.
You don’t hesitate to grab Frank’s bag, hoisting it into your lap and sifting through it’s contents. You spot a bottle of something at the bottom, and you reach down for it, pulling it out and turning it over in your hand, reading the label. It’s acetaminophen, not ibuprofen, but it’ll have to do if you want to get through this final chapter.
You dump two pills out, grabbing your water bottle, moments away from tossing them into your mouth when you actually get a glimpse of them. They don’t look like any acetaminophen you’ve ever seen, making your brows furrow. You flip one of the pills over, revealing a crooked imprint code, but you’re certain that this isn’t any kind of painkiller you can buy at a pharmacy.
It’s not his vyvanse, either.
You tuck one of the pills into your pocket, throwing the other one back into the bottle and replacing the lid. You put the bottle at the bottom of his bag, then drop his backpack onto the floor just as he comes back up the stairs. He gives you a bright smile, setting your favourite chocolate bar on the table.
“Figured it couldn’t hurt,” He says, taking his seat beside you again. You swallow, nodding, forcing a tight-lipped smile.
“Thanks,” You say. “I was actually gonna’ head home, are you coming?”
“Shit, really?” He asks, tilting his head a little. “I wish I could, but I should really stay. I’m fucked for this final if I don’t.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you in the morning, then?” You ask, already packing your things up.
“Probably not,” He says. “I need to get at least twelve hours in tomorrow, I was gonna’ leave pretty early.”
You nod, fingers ghosting over the outline of the pill in your pocket. “Can you wake me up when you get back, say goodnight?”
“Sure, yeah,” He says, already distracted by his work, jotting something down in his notebook. “See you at home. Love you.”
You don't even take your shoes off once you're home, just sitting on the floor by the front door. You fish your phone out of your pocket, snapping a picture of the orange pill and pasting it into the search bar. You watch the browser load for too long, then similar pictures start popping up. You click on the first one, looking at the article name that sits below it.
Amphetamine Addiction and Withdrawal - Statistics, Warning Signs, and More
Your mouth goes dry.
You thought it would end up being naproxen or something, not an illegal stimulant.
Things start to click into place as you think about everything that's happened over the past few months—the not sleeping, barely eating, the irritability—it's all because he's been high.
You don't get any sleep that night, and Frank never comes home. You don't see him until the next day, long after the sun is set.
“Hey, peanut,” He says, closing the door softly, kicking his shoes off and tossing his bag aside. “Sorry I didn’t wake you up last night, you just looked so peaceful, I didn’t wanna’ interrupt.”
Your stomach twists, nausea curling up and taking hold of your chest. You close your laptop, tossing it onto the couch beside you, shaking your head.
“Why are you lying?” You ask, getting to your feet, folding your arms over your chest.
“What do you mean?” He asks, trying to smile, but you can see the panic in his expression. “I got back late, you know-”
“You didn’t come home,” You interrupt. “I was up all night, waiting for you.”
He sighs, coming farther inside. “I didn’t know you were waiting, you should’ve texted.”
“I shouldn’t have had to,” You counter, shifting on your feet. “Do you have anything you wanna’ tell me, Frank?”
He raises an eyebrow. “No, what? Do you think I’m cheating on you or something? Because I swear I’m not, I was at the library all night, Jonah can back me up-”
“I don’t think you’re cheating on me,” You clarify.
“Then…what?” He asks. “No, I don’t have anything to tell you, babe.”
“Really?” You push.
“Yeah, really.”
You reach into your pocket, pulling out the pill, holding it out towards him. Obvious recognition passes over his features before he feigns confusion.
“What is that?” He questions.
You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, folding your fingers back over the pill and dropping your hand to your side.
“I found a bottle of these in your backpack last night,” You explain. “I didn’t know what it was at first, but then I did some research. Fucking speed, really?”
“What bottle, babe?” He asks. “It’s not mine, whatever it is.”
You hum with frustration, gesturing to his bag. “Show me your bag, then.”
“Seriously?” He says. “You don’t trust me?”
“You really expect me to believe that someone put a bottle of speed in your backpack without you realizing?” You ask. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”
“I obviously don’t think you’re stupid,” He argues. “But yeah, I expect you to trust me after six years of knowing me.”
“You lied to my face two minutes ago,” You say. “Completely unprompted.”
He huffs. “That was so you wouldn’t worry about me staying up all night.”
“Show me your bag, Frank.”
“No,” He says. “That’s insane, come on.”
You click your tongue behind your teeth, sucking in a breath, shrugging.
“You’re being ridiculous,” He says.
“Frank, whatever this is? We can deal with it,” You say. “Just…stop lying, okay? Please.”
He purses his lips, leaning over and picking his backpack up, handing it to you. You rummage through the contents until you find the same acetaminophen bottle, unscrewing the cap and peering inside, seeing the same orange pills you saw last night. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands with his hands in his pockets, his anxiety palpable.
“I’m right?” You ask, putting the lid back on. “It’s speed?”
“...yeah,” He says, looking down at the floor. You nod, trying to get yourself to think rationally, but you have no idea what to do here.
“Okay,” You say, moving towards the couch. “Come on, let’s sit for a second.”
You ask him a million questions. How long, how much, why? His answers come slowly, a part of him still wondering if he can shield you from this for a little while longer, but you don’t leave any room for half-truths. He truly hesitates when you ask him if he’s tried to stop.
You watch his adam’s apple move when he swallows, his eyes averting to his hands, which twist around each other as he toys with his fingers.
“No,” He finally says. “I was going to the second the semester was over, I swear. It was just to keep up with school.”
“Right, I get it,” You say, reaching for him, trying to ignore the bottle that sits on the coffee table. “You’ve had a rough couple months. But this was not the solution, Frank. You could’ve talked to me, or your advisor, or your profs—there were a lot of steps to take before you started using drugs.”
Your tone isn’t judgement or condescending, it’s realistic. You’re trying to remind him that he has other options.
“This seemed easier,” He says. “And more effective.”
“I mean, it probably was,” You agree. “But it’s dangerous, baby.”
“No, I know, you’re right,” He says. “But I’m not out of control or anything, I can stop whenever I want.”
You straighten, signalling that he’s said the wrong thing. He grimaces, hating the way the line sounds coming out of his mouth.
“Most people who say that can’t actually stop whenever they want,” You counter.
“Those people aren’t me,” He says. “A lot of people use it, and they’re all completely fine. I just needed something short-term.”
You take a deep breath, tangling your hands with his own, the action making his pulse spike. He sighs with relief, leaning closer to you, squeezing your fingers tightly.
“You need to stop,” You say, not leaving any room for interpretation. “This is—this isn’t okay, Frankie.”
“It’s not, it’s so far from being okay,” He repeats. “I’ll stop, I’m done. Starting right now.”
He makes a point of flushing the pills down the toilet, but it doesn’t feel as final as it should. Something heavy sits over both of you—an omen of what’s to come.
October, 2014
Frank’s voicemail plays in your ear for the sixth time.
You call again, kicking a rock with your heel-clad foot, sending it into the dirt beside the sidewalk.
“Hey, it’s Frank, leave a message-”
You close your eyes, jabbing your finger against the ‘end call’ button, shoving your phone back into your purse. You’re trying so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the past six months have made that exceptionally difficult.
The summer had been great, with you graduating and the two of you taking a short vacation before you started medical school in July. Then September rolled around, and Frank jumped back into everything, needing to keep his GPA up if he had any hopes of following in your footsteps. You had tried to get him to take a lighter course load, but he had refused, claiming he would be fine.
You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining things when the tell-tale signs started up again. Him picking fights over stupid shit, long stretches of time where you don’t know where he is, a level of sleep that isn’t congruent with survival for most people.
Or, at least, for anyone who isn’t abusing stimulants.
You asked a million times if he was using again. He said no, promised that it was just because of school and that he’d be back to normal once the two of you could go home for the holidays.
But now, standing outside your favourite restaurant an hour after your reservation, on your seventh anniversary, with no sign of him solidifies your worst fears.
You blink back tears, checking your phone again, still seeing nothing. A family of five walks by you, the youngest daughter saying something about how pretty you look to her mom, which only makes your heart hurt more. You’re about to give up and go home when a car pulls up in front of you, the passenger door opening hastily. You step back as Frank clambers out, shouting goodbye to his friend and slamming the door shut. You flinch, putting more distance between you and him when he turns around.
“Hey, baby, I am so sorry,” He says, walking over to you, setting his hands on your cheeks. You turn to the side when he leans in, forcing him to kiss the corner of your mouth, making him frown. “I know, I’m so fucking late, practice was insane and I’ve got that assignment due on Friday, I lost track of time.”
You look at him. His irises are practically invisible.
“I’ve been waiting for an hour,” You say. “No call, no text, no nothing, Frank.”
He frowns, grabbing both your hands. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m the worst. Maybe we can still get a table? I’ll go ask-”
“Don’t bother,” You say. “I’m not having dinner with you when you’re high out of your fucking mind.”
“What?” He asks. “I’m not high, come on, I told you I’ve just been busy. I haven’t been using, I swear.”
You shake your head, laughing a little despite yourself, pulling your hands out of his. “Is this all you’re ever gonna’ be now?”
His brows furrow. “What do you mean? Busy? No, of course not. I’m almost done undergrad, and then we’ll both be in med school, but that’ll be a different kind of busy. We’ll be back to normal.”
“I keep waiting for things to change,” You say, barely digesting his words. “I keep waiting for you to stop lying.”
“Baby, I’m not lying.”
“It’s always…this,” You continue. “You fucking up and trying to convince me you didn’t.”
“I’m not trying to convince you of anything,” He argues. “I know I fucked up, I should’ve been here on time, I know.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten high,” You whisper, tears piling in your eyes. “I don’t…I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
“Are you joking?” He asks. “It’s one fucking night, come on-”
“You still won’t admit it?” You ask. “All I have ever asked of you is that you tell me the truth. And you have failed over and over again.”
You step back when he reaches for you.
“I love you, but I can’t keep putting up with this,” You say, not bothering to wipe away the tears that drip down your face. “Get your shit together, please.”
January, 2015
The party isn’t anything huge, just yours and Frank’s main friend group, which is enough people to fill a room. You had been hesitant to go at first, still trying to keep your distance from him, but your best friend practically dragged you there after letting you mope in bed for the past three months.
It starts off fine, but it quickly takes a turn for the worse a couple hours in. Luckily, you’re on your fifth drink by the time the door opens, revealing Frank and a petite blonde girl some time after eleven.
“Hey, look who it is!” One of your friends exclaims, pushing himself off the couch and over to the door. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”
You pull your phone out of your back pocket, taking a swig of the drink you’re holding, trying to seem remotely busy as people move to greet him.
“Who’s this?” Someone asks, making you glance over, seeing the woman standing just behind him. You feel your chest tighten when he beams, wrapping an arm across her shoulders.
“This is Abby,” He says. “We met a couple months ago.”
People start introducing themselves, tossing out names left and right, clearly overwhelming the poor girl. Someone eventually gestures to you, saying your name, and you see the way Abby’s face changes. Her smile drops a little, but she still gives you a wave.
“Nice to meet you,” She says. “Frank’s told me a lot about you.”
“Yeah, bet he has,” Someone mutters, making the group laugh. Frank joins in, tightening his grip on Abby, desperately trying to get you to look at him. You avoid his eyes, downing the rest of your drink and standing up, giving her the most genuine smile you can muster.
“Wow, I love your jeans, you’re stunning,” You say. “Frank’s a lucky guy. How’d you meet?”
You hear someone murmur something like ‘wow, very mature’ as you guide her into the living room, asking if she wants something to drink. Frank’s best friend, Jonah, slaps a hand onto his back once the two of you are out of earshot.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks, making Frank scoff.
“Don’t start, man.”
“No, seriously, what’s your problem?” He pushes. “What happened to trying to get her back?”
“I never said I was doing that,” Frank argues.
Jonah gives him a disapproving look, one that Frank isn’t sure he’s ever seen from his long-time friend.
“You’re an idiot,” He says. “Bringing a new girl here like this, when you knew she’d be here too? That’s pretty selfish, man.”
“It’s not that serious,” Frank says.
“That’s the problem, dude,” Jonah says. “It should be that serious.”
Meanwhile, you rummage through the fridge, listing out options to Abby, who’s standing off to the side.
“I’m good with a beer,” She says, and you pull one out, passing it over before grabbing one for yourself. You crack it open, bringing the can to your lips, taking a sip as you close the fridge.
“So, Frank told me you’ve known him since you were teenagers?” She says, leaning back against the counter.
“Oh, yeah,” You say. “He moved into the house across the street from mine, we got pretty close.”
“Right, he says you’re his best friend,” She adds. “I’d really love to get to know you, you know, to see more of his life.”
You hum, taking another sip of your drink. “Yeah, no, for sure. I’d like that too.”
Frank watches carefully as the two of you come back into the living room, trying to figure out if anything happened while you were gone. Abby grins as she walks over, and he smiles back, replacing his arm around her shoulders.
“She’s really nice,” Abby says, and Frank glances at you for a second before settling his eyes back on her.
“Yeah, she’s great,” He agrees. He can’t help but feel a little disappointed with how well you’re taking this, almost as though he wanted it to bother you. “You wanna’ sit?”
He catches you on the balcony a few hours later, missing the way you swipe a hand over your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.
“Hey,” You say. “I was just about to head in, balcony’s all yours.”
He grabs your arm as you walk by, stopping you from going inside.
“I actually came out here to talk to you,” He says. “I was gonna’ tell you about Abby, I swear.”
“Yeah, okay,” You say, sarcastically. “I would’ve loved a heads up that you had a girlfriend before agreeing to come tonight.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” He counters, still holding your arm. You pull out of his grip, exhaling sharply, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie down.
“She said you called me your ‘best friend,’” You say, putting quotes around the words. “Does she know about us?”
“What about us?” He asks. “That we dated?”
You purse your lips, tears pushing against your throat again, pooling in your eyes. Him summing up almost a decade of history with ‘we dated’ reignites the anger and insecurity that you’ve been feeling for months, and you just want to get out of here and go home.
“Yeah,” You say.
He squints, shrugging his shoulders up, waving his hand in a ‘sort of’ motion. “She knows we were together in high school.”
“In high school,” You repeat.
“That’s when it started,” He adds, obviously trying to justify his actions—something he’s been doing a lot of for the past year. He shifts on his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, no, I was there,” You say.
He raises an eyebrow. “I know.”
You watch him for a second, trying to read his expression, which use to be easy for you. Now it feels impossible, his face neutral, not letting you in.
“Is this your way of ending things, like, for real?” You ask, finally voicing what you’ve had on your mind since he showed up. There’s no edge in your voice, the question not meant to hurt him—you just need to know. “Because you could’ve just…said it.”
His face flickers, an unrecognizable look settling on it while he digests your words.
“No, that’s—that’s not what this is,” He says. “You—you ended things with me, I didn’t realize you and me was still an option.”
“You think I’ve just been checking in with you constantly for the past three months, what, for fun?” You ask. The corners of his lips quirk up with the ghost of a smile, taking the opportunity to try and lighten the mood.
“I mean, talking to me is a lot of fun,” He teases. A tear slips down your cheek, brows creasing and lips parting in disbelief.
“Why do you always do that?” You ask, gesturing with your hand before letting it fall back against your leg. “Why can’t you take anything seriously?”
“Come on,” He says, exasperatedly. “I’m just trying to keep this from becoming a whole thing, I-”
“God fucking forbid this become a whole thing,” You say, cutting him off. “I almost thought everything that happened between us actually meant something, thank you so much for reminding me that it didn’t.”
“When did I say that?” He asks, more defensive now.
“You don’t have to say something for it to be true.”
You try to go back inside again, but he grabs both your biceps, holding you in front of him. You refuse to look at him, sniffling as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. He clenches his jaw, swallowing back tears of his own, letting go of one of your arms to tilt your chin up.
“Everything that happened means so much to me, peanut,” He says. “Why do you think it doesn’t?”
More tears fall, dripping off your chin and onto the concrete beneath you. You suddenly feel stupid, the adoration on his face making you momentarily forget all the times he’s hurt you, all the times he’s lied or said something he didn’t mean, all the promises he’s broken. When you look into his eyes you see the boy you fell in love with staring back at you, genuine curiosity and concern in them.
“You said ‘that we dated’ like that’s all it ever was,” You explain, finding yourself leaning closer to him. “Making a joke about having fun together when…I’ve been checking up on you to try and hold on to any fucking remnant of you and I because-”
You pause, inhaling involuntarily, a stifled cry catching in your throat. Frank’s face softens more, his grip dropping to your hands, taking them in his own.
“This is killing me,” You admit, voice shaking. “I only broke up with you because I thought it might convince you to stop using, I—I thought we’d get back together once you got clean, I wasn’t expecting you to move on so fast.”
He sighs, nodding, tugging you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you.
“I didn’t move on,” He admits. “The whole thing with Abby is selfish and stupid and I absolutely have not moved on, I swear to god.”
You don’t say anything, you just tuck your face into his neck.
“I’ll talk to her tonight, tell her it’s over,” He says.
“You don’t have to do that,” You say, voice muffled by his jacket. “She seems really sweet.”
“Yeah, she is, but she’s no you,” He says, holding you tighter. “As long as I have a chance with you then I don’t want anyone else, baby.”
He kisses you, and the hollowness in your stomach starts to fill.
June, 2015
His phone rings when you’re already in bed, snuggled into his chest, his arms around you. He groans, shifting away, reaching for the object and glancing at the screen. He freezes, making you lift your head, catching sight of the contact before he can hide it.
Abby ❤️
“Why is she calling you?” You ask, sitting up a bit. “Why does she still have a heart beside her name?”
“I dunno’,” He says. “I must’ve forgotten to get rid of the heart when I ended things.”
His thumb slams against the ‘decline’ button, which for some reason makes you doubt his answer.
“What if something’s wrong?” You ask, reaching for the lamp, turning it on. “You should call her back, make sure everything’s okay.”
A part of you means it—if she’s in trouble you want to help, but the other part wants to see just how far he’ll take this if he’s lying.
The two of you never re-established the seriousness of your relationship, but you certainly hadn’t seen anyone else since the conversation you had six months ago, and you were under the impression that he hadn’t either.
He shakes his head, setting his phone face-down on the nightstand. “Nah, I’m sure she’s fine.”
You squint. “Then just call her back, what’s the big deal?”
“No big deal,” He counters. “I’d just rather stay here with you.”
“Well, I won’t be able to sleep unless I know she’s alright,” You argue, analyzing his face, but you know the tells you learned when you were teens no longer apply, his whole charade much more calculated now.
“Why does it matter?” He asks, a slight edge to his tone. “She has other friends she can call, she’s fine.”
You don’t respond, and he lets himself relax, thinking you’re done pushing.
“Frank,” You say, forcing him to look at you again. “Fucking call her.”
He rolls his eyes, tossing the blanket off his body and sitting up. “Are we really doing this right now?”
“Doing what, exactly?” You ask.
“You still don’t trust me,” He says, saying it like it’s unbelievable. “Wow, I honestly thought you were past this bullshit.”
You genuinely laugh at that, burying your face behind your hands. “Oh my god. I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“Sometimes, yeah,” He says. “This isn’t gonna’ work if you don’t start believing me.”
You’re still laughing, putting a hand over your mouth to muffle it, trying to get yourself together. Frank just stares at you, your reaction sparking fury inside him.
“Wow, fuck me,” You say. “You’re sleeping with her.”
“That’s insane,” He counters, too quickly, as though he had the line ready.
“You never ended things,” You continue, mostly just processing out loud, not actually needing him to confirm or deny. “You’ve been seeing her this whole time.”
“I—I did end things,” He argues. “Why would I not have? This is actually so fucking ridiculous, I can’t-”
“Okay,” You say, sucking in through your teeth. “When exactly did you end things?”
“Babe, I swear to you, nothing is going on,” He says.
“That’s not what I asked.”
He pauses, looking up towards the ceiling, shrugging. “I—I dunno’, after the party.”
You hum disbelievingly. “Does she know that?”
“Yes, she definitely knows that.”
You gesture to his phone. “Then call her.”
He doesn’t move.
“Why is that so hard?” You ask. “Pick up the phone and call her.”
“You’re turning this into something it’s not,” He says. “I cannot believe-”
“Frank, shut the fuck up,” You say, holding your hands up. “You can either call her, or you can leave.”
“Really? Over this?” He asks, still deflecting. “I’m not calling her, babe, there’s no need.”
“I’m not asking you again.”
He doesn’t move at first, but then he reaches for his phone, pulling it off the charger. You stupidly believe that he’s actually going to call her back, but he slides it into his pocket instead.
“Fine,” He says, grabbing his hoodie off the floor as he goes, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom. “I don’t wanna’ be around you when you’re like this anyway.”
You nod, watching him close the door behind him, the pause before he actually walks off confirming that he wanted that to get a reaction out of you. You wait until you hear the front door close before letting yourself collapse, burying your face in the covers and crying until you can’t breathe.
December, 2015
You don’t see him until he’s already too close, leaving you unable to force your way through the sea of people fast enough to get away. Avoiding him has been relatively easy for the past six months, considering you’re a year ahead of him, meaning your classes don’t overlap. But here he is, somehow, waiting for you outside your lecture. His hand lands on your backpack, grabbing the loop at the top, shifting himself into place beside you.
You don’t look at him as you walk through the hall, practically elbowing people as you move, making him have to fight to keep up. He says your name, but you don’t stop.
“Can you just hang on for a minute?” He finally asks.
“No,” You say, pushing a door open, stepping out into the freezing cold. He doesn’t have any problem catching up now that there’s no one in his way, and he plants himself directly in your path, making you freeze. You try to go around him, but he sticks an arm out, gently latching onto you shoulder.
“You don’t have to say anything,” He says. “Just listen to me for a second.”
“Why?” You ask. “So you can lie to me?”
He exhales roughly, shaking his head. “No, so I can tell you the truth.”
You shrug, folding your arms over yourself, shivering. “Fine. Go.”
“Abby and I are done,” He says. You roll your eyes, trying to get away again, but he holds onto you. “Seriously, we’re fucking done, for real. I—I wanted to give it a real shot, you know, make it something that was worth losing you over, but that’s dumb. Nothing is ever worth losing you.”
“I’m glad you figured that out,” You say. “But that has nothing to do with me anymore.”
“What do you mean?” He asks. “It has everything to do with you.”
You sigh. “I have a train to catch, so, I should go.”
“Your train doesn’t come until six-fifty,” He argues. You go still, scoffing, the sound close to a laugh, but not quite.
“Don’t do that,” You say. “Don’t fucking memorize my schedule like that.”
“I…I didn’t,” He says, then he recalibrates. “I didn’t mean to. I see you take that train five days a week, it just…stuck.”
“Okay, whatever,” You say, shrugging your shoulders up to your ears, your nose tingling in the cold. You inhale sharply, momentarily forgetting that your lungs have been protesting their usual function for the past few days, resulting in you falling into a fit of coughs. He frowns when it surpasses ‘swallowed the wrong way’ and enters ‘I can’t fucking breathe’ territory, stepping a little closer.
“You okay?” He asks. You clear your throat as you straighten out, nodding quickly.
“I’m fine,” You say, but it’s clipped, and you dissolve into more rib-shattering coughs immediately after.
“That sounds like the exact opposite of fine,” He says. “You should sit down.”
The coughing subsides after a few more seconds, and you breathe in carefully, trying not to provoke your airway again.
“I’m good, it’s just the weather,” You lie. He almost believes you for a second, but then you stumble slightly, making him reach out, grabbing your hips to keep you steady. “I should really get home.”
“I don’t like the idea of you taking the train like this,” He says. “Not by yourself.”
You wave him off. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“And yet I do anyways.”
Your walls splinter—he sees it on your face.
You realize that the meds you took this morning must be wearing off, because your fever now feels very real, and sweat starts to bead along your forehead and neck. Your vision blurs, forcing you to blink a few times, your ears ringing in protest from you still being upright.
“Come on, I’ll get you home.”
The drive back to your apartment is hazy, but you’re aware of the way Frank holds you as he helps you into the elevator and to your door. You fumble with your keys, dropping them onto the floor. He swoops down, picking them up and selecting the correct one, sliding it into place and unlocking it.
He follows you in, not taking his shoes off, telling himself that he just wants to make sure you get into bed safely. That goes out the window when you almost knock a lamp over trying to turn it on, movements clunky and disorganized. He sticks his hand out, catching it at the last second, carefully putting it back upright.
“Have you eaten anything?” He asks, watching you lower yourself onto the couch, cheeks hot and eyes closed.
“Not really,” You admit. “I haven’t been shopping in awhile, I’ve been surviving off of stale crackers.”
“Well, that just won’t do,” He says. “Let me help you get settled and then I’ll get you something to eat, okay?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” He says. “I want to, so, just…shut up and let me.”
You fall asleep on the couch as soon as you’re done eating, curling into him, resting your head on his chest. He hesitates at the contact, but then he tucks a blanket around you, holding you close.
He stays like that all night.
You’re not any better the next morning, in fact, your cough is exponentially worse.
“We should go to urgent care,” He says, aftering listening to you hack up a lung in the bathroom for nearly ten minutes. “You could have pneumonia.”
“I don’t have pneumonia,” You argue. “I just need to rest.”
“You slept for sixteen hours last night,” He counters. “Now you’re even worse.”
“It’s just because I haven’t taken anything yet,” You say, pulling the cabinet open and grabbing various bottles of medication.
“Prove it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “How?”
“Go to urgent care,” He explains. “They’ll tell me I’m wrong and then I’ll shut up.”
You huff, setting the meds down. “Fine. Let’s go.”
You’re back in his car two hours later, a pneumonia diagnosis on your chart and a bottle of antibiotics in your lap. You’re waiting for him to say ‘I told you so,’ but he stays quiet the entire drive back to your apartment, only speaking to check if you’re warm enough.
“You were right,” You finally say.
He hums. “Yeah, but you’ll be feeling better in no time.”
“You don’t want to…rub it in?” You ask.
“That I was right about you having pneumonia?” He asks. “No, I wish I had been wrong.”
“Me too,” You say. “This sucks.”
“Do you have anyone you can call?” He asks. “Could your mom come take care of you?”
You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine on my own.”
“The doctor said someone should stay with you for a few days.”
“I heard,” You say. “It’ll be fine, Frank.”
He hesitates, debating the idea in his head before deciding to bite the bullet. “Let me stay for the rest of the day, make sure you don’t die.”
He expects resistance, but he doesn’t get any. You just shrug, eyes starting to feel heavy again as you lean back into the seat.
“Suit yourself.”
He doesn’t leave that night.
You spend the next three days together, him cooking, cleaning, and taking care of you while you suffer on the couch, wondering what you did to deserve whatever plague you caught. By the end of the third day you start feeling better, and you can actually get off the couch without any assistance, making him jump when he sees you come around the corner into the kitchen.
“Jesus,” He breathes. “What’re you doing up?”
You smile, gesturing to your legs. “I can walk again.”
He chuckles. “You never stopped being able to walk.”
“Felt like I did,” You counter. “I feel a lot better today.”
“Oh, good,” He says, but he can’t even hide the disappointment. You feeling better means he has to go, and he’s nowhere near ready for that. “I’m glad, peanut.”
“Thank you for everything,” You say.
“Yeah, anytime, seriously,” He says. “I guess I should get going, then.”
You look towards the window, shrugging. “It’s coming down pretty bad out there, I’d feel like an asshole if I made you drive in that.”
He follows your gaze, seeing the blizzard that’s starting outside. “It probably won’t last long.”
“So stay until it’s over.”
He tries to find any hint of insincerity in your eyes, but there isn’t any. Instead, he finds desire burning in your irises, the rest of your face completely innocent. He shakes his head, despite the voice screaming at him to jump at this opportunity.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll stay for a bit,” He says. “You should lay back down, though, wouldn’t want to overdo it.”
You nod. “Will you help me?”
“You just said your legs are working again,” He counters.
“They are,” You say. “That’s not what I want help with.”
He follows you back to the living room, watching you get back onto the couch, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Can you hold me?” You ask, softly. His breathing stutters, some sort of affirmation stumbling from his lips. He sits beside you, opening his arms up, letting you lean into him. You don’t wait long before resting your hand over his, slowly pushing it down towards your thighs, towards the place you need him most.
“You’re sick, we shouldn’t,” He whispers. “You’re not thinking straight.”
“I don’t have a fever anymore,” You say, pressing your forehead to his for proof. “I want you to touch me, Frankie, please.”
You mentally thank his impulsivity when he slides his hand beneath your waistband. Your eyes rolls back as his fingers move in slow circles, drawing a whine out of you. He leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, gently peppering kisses across your skin.
“I’ve really missed you, baby,” He whispers. “And not just like this.”
You don’t say anything in response. You keep your eyes trained on your ceiling, focusing on how good he feels pressed against you. He kisses your collarbone, desperate for you to just look at him for a second.
“Baby?”
You hum.
“Could you look at me?”
You roll your hips into his hands, a soft moan slipping past your lips. “We can talk later.”
You never talk. You just slip back into old habits.
February, 2017
“My mom called me this morning,” You say, sitting across from him in the cafe you’ve been studying at for the past few hours. “Said her and your mom have basically started planning our wedding.”
Your tone is casual, anecdotal, as though it’s just a funny thing someone said that rolled off your back. Frank raises an eyebrow, smiling a little as he sets his pen down.
“Yeah?” He asks. “And where will we be getting married?”
You laugh. “I dunno’, I told her were weren’t even engaged yet and she was like ‘oh, I know, but you’ve found each other so many times and been through so much together’ or…whatever. Apparently it’s ‘written in the stars.’”
“She’s not wrong,” He says. “I mean, we’ve technically been together for a decade.”
“Big emphasis on technically,” You say, taking a sip of your coffee, completely unaware of how your words hit him. He tenses, picking his pen back up, spinning it around his fingers.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks. You set your coffee down, shrugging, missing the underlying seriousness in his tone.
“Well, we were on and off in high school, and we’ve spent nine months of the last two years broken up, so.”
In your mind, you’re providing context. To him, you’re highlighting the incontinuity that he hates himself for creating.
“Okay,” He says, and you finally see the pain beneath his expression. You sit up a little straighter, reaching your hand across the table, interlacing your fingers with his.
“I didn’t mean it like a bad thing,” You say. “But, I mean, it’s not as easy as ‘we’ve been together for a decade’ in my mind.”
He nods, his hand loose in your grip, not holding yours back. You frown, squeezing it gently, but he keeps it limp.
“Frank,” You say. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t think about it like that,” He says. “What do you say when people ask how long we’ve been together?”
You shrug. “I usually just say since high school.”
“But you don’t actually believe that.”
“Well, it’s objectively not true,” You argue, starting to get defensive, no idea why he’s fighting you so hard on this. “But they don’t need to know all the…nuance, or whatever.”
“The nuance being me being a drug addict?” He asks.
You flinch, taking an intentionally deep breath before responding. “That’s part of it, yeah. Do we have to have this conversation right now?”
“Oh, sorry, am I embarrassing you?” He asks, everything about the sentence hitting you the wrong way. It’s too loud, too brazen, too disproportionate for the circumstance. You’re stunned for a second.
“No,” You say. “That’s not what I said.”
You’re trying to de-escalate, but he doesn’t take the hint.
“You’re literally telling me to shut up about it,” He counters, leaning away from you, gesturing to the people around you. The tables in the immediate vicinity have averted their eyes, doing their best to ignore whatever the fuck is going on.
Your heart skips. Something is definitely wrong—this isn’t him.
“Hey, you’re freaking people out,” You say, as gently as you can, taking his hand in yours again and rubbing your thumb along his knuckles. “Can you just…lower your voice for a second?”
“Why?” He asks. “So people can’t hear how ashamed of me you are?”
“Okay, what is going on with you right now?” You ask, starting to pack your belongings up, desperate to get out of the coffee shop before he can say much else. “You’re—I don’t know what this is.”
“Nothing’s going on with me,” He snaps. “I’m just saying what you won’t.”
“You’re basically yelling at me in public,” You correct. “We should go, talk about this at home.”
“Right,” He says, not moving. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your image.”
You slide your laptop into your bag, zipping it up and setting it on the bench beside you. “You don’t have to come with me, but I’m not doing this here.”
He doesn’t come home that night, but he’s back in the apartment when you get home from classes the next day, all the lights off and him wrapped in a blanket on the couch. You jump when you notice him, gasping and clutching your chest. He lifts his head slowly, face dull and pale, his eyes looking right through you.
“Hey,” You say, dropping your things and taking your shoes off, kneeling in front of him. You set your hands on his cheek and forehead, frowning. “Are you sick? What’s wrong?”
You’re already back up by the time he processes the question, softly padding into the bathroom, running water over a washcloth. You come back out to the living room, looping it behind his neck, brushing a few strands of hair behind his ears. He grimaces, making you stop immediately.
“Sorry, sorry, is it too cold?” You ask, going to move the cloth, but he grabs your wrist.
“No, it’s not that,” He says, voice quiet and rough. He clears his throat, then he says your name.
“What?” You say. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sick,” He says. “I—I’m just coming down.”
You don’t register the meaning behind that for a few moments, and he watches your face change as understanding sinks in. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, removing your wrist from his grasp, setting your hands on top of his thighs.
“Okay,” You say. No judgement, no accusation, no disbelief. “Do you need anything?”
The immediate acceptance unravels his thoughts.
Maybe he should’ve started telling you the truth a long time ago.
“Uh—uhm, no,” He says. “I’m okay, it’ll pass.”
“You look awful,” You say. “When’s the last time you slept?”
He sighs. “I dunno’.”
His body hurts so badly he doesn’t hear the distance in your voice.
“You should probably do that,” You say, pushing yourself back on your heels, not touching him anymore. “I need to get changed, I have a shift in an hour.”
“Wait, wait, you’re going to work?” He asks.
“Yeah,” You say, standing up now, brushing your hands over your thighs. “Someone called out, I offered to take the shift.”
You wait a moment before continuing, debating how much to tell him.
“I honestly didn’t think you’d be back yet,” You admit. “I didn’t want to be home by myself all night.”
He winces. “Right, yeah, fair enough.”
“I ordered in last night, there’s leftovers in the fridge,” You continue. “I got that, uh, that pasta you like.”
His thoughts are incomprehensible, but he knows he has to apologize. “I’m sorry you were alone yesterday.”
You nod. “I appreciate that.”
“I love you,” He says. “More than anything.”
His vision is too blurry to see the tears gathering in your eyes.
“I love you too, Frankie,” You say, leaning over, pressing a soft kiss to his hairline. You disappear into the bedroom before the tears actually fall, changing into your black slacks and button down that you always wear to the restaurant you’ve been working at for years. You dry your face, putting on some makeup to hide any evidence of the day you’ve had, then you tiptoe past the living room to the front door, slipping out without a sound.
You spend the next two days in a stupor, mindlessly dragging yourself to class, then home, then work, all while making sure Frank doesn’t die on the couch. You go through the motions of taking care of him—making him food, forcing him to hydrate, helping him take showers. You don’t actually know when you made the decision to leave, if you decided the second he admitted to relapsing or if it came a little while after, but your mind is made up by the time he’s lucid again.
“We should talk about…what happened,” You say, not taking a seat on the couch, simply standing off to the side with your arms crossed over your chest. He nods.
“We should,” He agrees. “I’m really, really sorry, peanut. It was just the once, one of my friends had some on him, and I just…I caved. I wished I could take it back the second I swallowed it.”
“Yeah, I believe that,” You say. “But that’s not—that’s not it.”
“What is, then?”
“I—I was really mad at you for relapsing,” You start. “And I hated every second of helping you through the comedown.”
“Of course, that’s totally fair-”
“I want to take care of people for a living,” You interrupt. “I don’t…I can’t be with someone who makes me hate that. I can’t let myself be apathetic.”
He stops breathing at the implication of what you’re saying.
“I don’t like the version of me that I saw for the last two days,” You continue. “And I don’t want to be put in that position again.”
“Then I’ll never put you in it again,” He promises.
“That’s not a guarantee you can make,” You counter. “And…if your track record is anything to go by, you will do it again.”
“I go longer and longer between relapses every time,” He says. “I haven’t used in almost two years.”
“And I’m really fucking proud of you, Frank,” You say. “But I’ve put in too much work to get to where I am, I’m not willing to risk it.”
“Baby-”
“It’s not up for debate,” You say. “I…I would really like to be your friend, if you’re ever ready for that. I think that might suit us better.”
His eyes are glassy with tears. “Yeah, uh—okay. I’ll get back to you on that.”
Him and his belongings are gone by the time you get back from work that night.
August, 2019
You can’t stop looking at the picture, always finding your way back to it after you manage to swipe away, re-reading the caption and the comments until your vision blurs.
It’s a picture of Frank holding a chip in his hand, beaming at the camera so wide it almost looks painful, posted by Abby with the caption ‘one year sober!!! so proud of you :)’.
There’s almost a hundred comments, all variations of congratulations, praising him for his hard work. You force yourself to double-tap the photo, even liking a few comments, trying to come across as supportive and mostly nonchalant.
“Is that Frank?”
You nod, tilting your phone towards your boyfriend, letting him look at the picture.
“Good for him,” He says. “He’s really put in the work.”
“Yeah, definitely,” You say. “I’m glad he’s doing better.”
“You talked to him recently?” He asks, and you shake your head, rolling over and getting out of bed.
“No, not for awhile,” You say, making sure he can’t see your face when you say the words, fearing he’ll be able to see right through you. “I haven’t even seen him since before my graduation.”
It’s a lie—you’ve seen him so many times you’ve lost count, each time dissolving into familiarity and collapsed boundaries, him usually on top of you, coaxing out moans and whines in the way that only he can. He leaves at the end of the night, going back home to Abby, and you end up alone in the same apartment you got together in undergrad, unable to let it go.
“That was over a year ago,” He says. “You should give him a call, I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”
“Yeah, maybe I will,” You say, already halfway in the bathroom, reaching over and turning the shower on.
You close the door before climbing in, letting the hot water run over your sore muscles, your back particularly tight after being in a precarious position for the majority of a twelve-hour surgery yesterday.
Your mind drifts to Frank as your hands trail down your body, one of them hovering between your thighs. You can practically hear him saying your name, breath feathering over your neck, ramming into you-
“Jesus,” You mutter, snapping out of it and bringing your hand back up, grabbing the bottle of bodywash off the shelf.
You pull a fresh pair of scrubs on once you’re out of the shower and completely dry, checking your phone to make sure you still have time to grab something to eat before you get to the hospital. You see Frank’s contact name on the screen, and you glance over your shoulder before opening the text.
Can I come over tonight? I have news!
You wonder if it’s about him hitting one year sober, but you decide quickly that it’s unlikely to be that. You know that it isn’t true, and he knows that you know. He’s done an incredible job at keeping it from Abby and his friends, instead coming to you every time he slips up again, which is exactly how you found yourself in this situation in the first place.
He had taken you up on your offer to be friends a few months after your most recent break-up, and at first that’s all it was. Then, he showed up at your doorstep higher than you’ve ever seen him, begging you to let him crash on your couch until he was sober again. You had agreed, but you hadn’t taken care of him the way you did the last time he rode a high out in your living room. You just moved around him, coming and going, leaving food and gatorade in the fridge.
He stayed sober for seven months after that before he used again, and he ended up in the exact same place, needing somewhere to stay so Abby didn’t find out.
After that your friendship…shifted.
Late nights, wandering hands, bad decisions. Forcing your respective partners out of your heads for a few hours, finding comfort in the person who knows every piece of you, convincing yourselves that each time will be the last.
You text back.
At the hospital until eight, swing by after?
The knock startles you despite the fact that you’re expecting it. Frank’s shoulders are scrunched up to his ears, hands in his pockets when you pull the door open, a wide grin on his face.
“Hey,” He greets. You step to the side, letting him in, just like you do every time. “You look nice.”
“I haven’t slept in three days,” You counter. He grimaces, sliding his shoes and jacket off.
“Back to back call shifts?” He asks.
“Yeah, fuck, it’s been brutal,” You say. “I have to be back at the hospital in-”
You pause, checking the time on your phone, whining. “-six hours.”
“Shit,” He says. “Seems like I’ve got a lot to look forward to.”
“You absolutely do,” You say, smiling. “What did you wanna’ tell me?”
He hums, pulling you in for a hug, rocking you back and forth. You relax into his touch despite the guilt that builds inside of you, the same guilt that’s been slowly gnawing away at your sense of self for the last two years.
“It can wait a bit,” He mumbles, tilting your chin towards him. “I’ve missed you.”
He breaks the silence once you’re done, laying beside eachother, chests heaving with deep breaths.
“Abby’s pregnant.”
You go completely still—like a child tucked away in bed who hears a noise from the hallway, convinced that whatever horrors lay outside won’t be able to see them if they don’t move a muscle.
The words feel sharp, not quite tearing your chest open, but slicing the skin over your collarbone, leaving you breathless. If you listen close enough you can almost hear them echoing around the room, distant, yet earth-shattering. His tone is so gentle, like he believes there’s a reality where both of you make it out of this alive.
But you know better.
One of you gives up here, and you’re absolutely certain it’s going to be you.
There’s a crack running along the edge of the ceiling that you’ve never noticed, inching towards the slowly spinning ceiling fan that does little to protect you from the dry, prickling heat under your skin. It runs down the wall too, splitting the uneven paint that you and Frank rolled on six years ago, the colour now dulled into something that barely resembles the sample you picked the day you moved in.
You can see yourself taping it up on the wall, letting it sit there for days, examining the way it changed under different lights, as if you could account for the ruthlessness of shadows and time. The way you convinced yourself that if you stared at something for long enough you’d be able to see into the future, knowing exactly how it would look ten years down the line.
You did the same for Frank, committing things to memory, even if they seemed mundane. His mouth tilting to the left when he smiles, the way he laughs when it’s just the two of you, the rhythm you hear every time you lay your head on his chest. The tapping of his fingers on your thigh when you stay up late watching TV, the pitch of his voice in the morning, the notes he used to leave for you on the bathroom mirror.
The ordinary used to feel like proof. That you were solid, that he was there, that he’d always be there. Now, after all this time, it feels like something that was only believable if you didn’t look too hard.
You need to say something soon—the silence has dragged on too long already.
You flash through all the things you’ve put up with over the past ten years, all the morals you’ve cast aside just to have some sliver of the man who lays beside you. He stares straight ahead, gaze locked on your ceiling, fingers drumming against his stomach.
Every time you lied to your partner about who you were texting, then calling, then seeing.
The nights Abby texted you, asking if you knew where Frank was, when you’d tell her that he was still at the library when he was actually in bed with you.
Countless hours you’ve spent convincing yourself that you’re not a bad person—you’re just hopefully, sickeningly, disturbingly in love. Hoping that each infraction might bring you closer to what you actually want. Calling things ‘complicated’ as if that makes it any better.
But it hasn’t. And it won’t.
You’re just a terrible person who has absolutely nothing to show for it.
You turn slightly, looking at him instead of the crack.
“Are you serious?” You ask, despite knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” He says. “Eight weeks.”
“Oh,” You say, sitting up slowly, reaching for your shirt off the floor and yanking it over your head. “That’s—that’s good. It’s good, right?”
Frank blinks a few times, confusion passing over his features as he sits up, too.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s good,” He agrees. “She’s pretty psyched.”
You nod, actually standing up now, slipping into your shorts and reaching back to smooth your hair down. You don’t stop moving, because you know that you won’t surrender if you stay still for too long.
“Okay,” You say, looking around the room as though you might snap out of this soon. Like this isn’t real. “So…this is done.”
Frank says your name, drawing it out as though you’re being unreasonable.
“No, Frank, fucking-”
You cut yourself off, grimacing when a small whimper follows the truncated sentence. Frank copies your actions, pulling his sweatpants up and walking over to your side of the bed, setting a hand on your shoulder.
“It doesn’t have to be,” He says, softly. You shake your head, swallowing back tears.
“You’re having a baby,” You counter, stepping away from him, hands raised to keep him from touching you again. He straightens, dropping his arms to his sides, clenching and unclenching his fists in an effort to get his heart to slow down. “She’s…Abby’s pregnant.”
“Yeah, no, I know,” He says, his thoughts completely incoherent. “But she has no idea about this, and-”
“That’s the problem,” You interrupt. “You—you’re about to have a baby and you’re talking about how she doesn’t know that you’ve been fucking me since the day you met her.”
Frank steps back too, crossing his arms over his chest, that all-too-familiar defensiveness starting to prickle through his skin.
“So, what?” He asks. “You have some kind of moral objection to this suddenly? You never had an issue with infidelity before—yours or mine.”
“You think I never had a problem with this?”
“Certainly didn’t seem like it.”
Your jaw tightens, tears hot in your throat and eyes, dizziness forcing you to reach back until you feel the nightstand beneath your palm.
“You always knew exactly what this was to me,” You say. “I told you, out on that fucking balcony, that this was about how much I loved you.”
“And you’re telling me it still is, huh?” He asks. “All this sneaking around has been out of love?”
It’s not exactly anger, something more like refusal. The ceiling fan keeps spinning, clicking each time it finds the same spot, the pull string waving back and forth. You wonder if the crack would be farther down on the wall if you turned to look.
“Has it not been for you?”
Your voice is practically nothing.
“I haven’t heard you tell me you love me in years,” You add, still quiet, voice catching on the last word. “But I keep showing up because I don’t know what I’ll do if I never hear you say it again.”
His heart practically stops.
“Look at me,” He says, closing the gap between you. You don’t, eyes trained on the floor in front of you, hands going numb from how tight you’re gripping the edge of the nightstand. His tone strays from anger, edging into something much kinder. “I love you.”
Your bottom lip actually wobbles.
“I love you with everything that I have,” He continues. “I wouldn’t—I couldn’t keep doing this to Abby if I didn’t love you.”
You can’t swallow anymore, your throat wound too tight.
“I’m not saying that because I think it’ll fix things,” He adds. “I’m saying that because it’s true, and I cannot keep lying to you.”
“But you do,” You say. “You keep lying.”
“I’m not lying right now,” He insists.
You nod. “I know.”
The stillness is unbearable.
“Then what do you want from me?” He asks, a hint of anger returning along with an uncontrolled urgency, one he knows well. “What do I have to do here? Just tell me, and—”
He cuts himself off, exhaling abruptly through his nose, running a hand through his hair. A few pieces stick upwards, drawing your gaze to them, watching as they slowly fall back against his head.
“I’m not lying to you anymore, I can’t keep doing that, and I don’t want to keep doing that,” He says. “So just tell me.”
A beat.
“Tell me what you need from me,” He finishes. “And I’ll do it.”
You can see exactly what he doesn’t want you to.
It’s not coming from a place of love, it’s coming from a place of desperation.
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head. “Build a time machine.”
“I can’t do that, baby,” He says, bouncing on his feet. “But I fucking would if I could.”
“Yeah,” You say. “I would too.”
He watches you carefully, waiting anxiously for a solution he can execute. You cross your arms over your chest, bracing yourself for the words you’re about to say.
“You know what you can do?” You ask.
He shakes his head. “No, tell me. Please.”
“You can get clean,” You say, hugging yourself, ignoring the panic that’s simmering beneath the surface. “For Abby.”
You pause.
“For your kid.”
You don’t give him a chance to retaliate.
“Maybe this’ll finally be enough to snap you out of it,” You add. “Because I was never enough, Abby was never enough, nothing has ever been enough for you to get your shit together.”
Your tone is so final he feels like there’s nothing he can say to change your mind.
“I really tried,” He says. “After you left.”
“No, you didn’t,” You say, finally dipping into anger yourself. “You did just enough to string me along, made me look like a fucking idiot every time I actually believed you were clean.”
“I wanted to, I swear,” He says. “It didn’t have anything to do with you, I just, I couldn’t kick it-”
“Like me?” You ask. “I’m clearly just another bad habit you can’t quite seem to shake.”
He purses his lips, clenching his jaw, scoffing. He drags a hand down his face, trying to ignore the way your words shatter against his cheekbone like glass. “That’s a low blow.”
“That’s why this all started, right?” You say. “Because you couldn’t get clean.”
“I tried!” He yells, slamming his hand against the bedframe, the sound of his palm connecting with the wood echoing in your bedroom. “You are the one who left me!”
“Because you were high all the fucking time!” You yell back, voice wavering now, hands thrown out in frustration.
He takes a deep breath, his eyes closing for a second while he gets himself together, feeling you slipping through his fingers more with each word that he says.
“No, I know that, and I’m sorry,” He says.
“Don’t be sorry for me,” You argue. “Be sorry for yourself. And don’t make your kid spend their whole life wondering why they weren’t enough for their dad to stop using.”
You squint a touch, leaning towards him.
“You can do that, right?”
He takes a moment before answering.
“I really fucking hope so.”
There’s no false confidence—just honesty in a way you haven’t seen in years. Your face breaks before you can stop it, breath catching as you twist away from him, tears trickling down your cheeks. You try to inhale, to avoid what you know is coming, but it’s no use. A sob rattles inside your skull before you can stop it, pressing a hand against your mouth to at least muffle the sound.
“I-”
He stops himself when another cry tumbles out of your lungs, his own chest constricting. He reaches for you, arms finding their way around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder.
“Hey,” He murmurs. You turn around, curling into him, tucking your head against him. He hesitates, having expected you to push him away, but you don’t.
“I just want you to be okay,” You say, words slightly incoherent. “To be happy.”
“I know, peanut,” He says. “I’m so sorry.”
Your breathing picks up, the occasional sobs shifting to full-blown crying, the kind that makes it impossible to steady yourself, no matter how hard you try. His hand moves up and down your spine, his lips by your ear, muttering reassurances that you can’t quite hear.
You become aware of everything all at once.
His arms around your shoulders, the pressure of his hand between your shoulder blades, the sound of his breathing.
You’re memorizing him, fiercely clinging to something you know hasn’t been yours in a long time—something that won’t ever be yours again.
“I don’t wanna’ lose you,” He says, softly, rocking you slightly in his arms. You shake your head, leaning back and wiping your face off.
“I’m not gonna’ do that to a kid,” You whisper, sniffling. “I’m not gonna’ be the reason you don’t show up for them.”
“You won’t be,” He insists. “Don’t…don’t think of it like that, alright? That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” You ask, still quiet.
“It’s—it’s us,” He insists.
“Us,” You repeat. “And what even are we anymore?”
He raises his hands, gesturing vaguely, eyes searching yours for anything he can use.
“Everything,” He says. “It’s been everything.”
“I think—I think we’re just pathetic,” You say, spitting the words out before you can taste the poison on them. “Two people who meant something to each other a long fucking time ago who can’t admit that it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
“It does-”
“Oh my god, what is it gonna’ take?” You ask, exasperated, throwing your hands up. “What’s not clicking for you?”
You push yourself away, leaving him with his hands raised, looking odd now that they’re not holding anything.
“There is no coming back from this,” You continue. “We’re…we’re fucking done. For real.”
“Baby, come on, just listen-”
“No, you listen,” You say, grabbing his shirt off the bed and throwing it against his bare chest. “We are never gonna’ see each other again. Not like this.”
You step around him, walking out into the living room, him following you as he tugs his shirt back on.
“What do you mean ‘not like this’?” He asks, stumbling to keep up. You throw his jacket and keys towards him, opening your front door, practically parading him out of your apartment.
“Figure it out, Frank.”
September, 2024
You clip your badge to the front of your black scrubs, running your hands over your hair and looping your stethoscope around your neck. You breathe out through your mouth before shutting the locker, making sure you have the small slip of paper detailing the combination in the back of your phone case before pushing it fully closed.
Your eyes scan the department until you spot an older man in a navy blue zip-up, somehow certain that that’s exactly who you’re supposed to be looking for. You make your way over to him, planting yourself in his field of view, smiling.
“Hi, Dr. Robinavitch?” You ask. He nods, returning your smile, but it doesn’t quite hit his eyes. You stick your hand out, introducing yourself, putting ‘doctor’ before your first and last name. “I’m the new orthopedic trauma fellow, I’ll be hanging out down here for the next four weeks.”
“Ah, yes, right,” He says. “Everyone calls me Robby. Welcome, we’re happy to have you.”
“I’m happy to be here,” You say. “Where do you need me?”
“Uhm, just stay here for one second,” He says, then he disappears, leaving you alone by the central desk. You nod to yourself, still re-adjusting to the constant introductions that come with working at a new hospital.
People start gathering around the desk, and Robby returns a few minutes later, addressing the group. You put your attention on him, subconsciously adjusting your badge and stethoscope again.
“As you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning,” He says, glancing past you, waving a group of younger students over. He gestures to you first, repeating your first and last name. “She’s an ortho trauma fellow, she’ll be your first point of contact for any ortho cases.”
You give a small wave, and Robby moves on with the rest of the introductions. He points out the board, explains how things move, and makes sure all of you know exactly who Dana is before continuing.
“Your senior residents are Dr. Collins,” He says, gesturing to a woman wearing a red fleece over her scrubs. “And Dr. Langdon. You report to them, they report to-”
Your ears start to ring, adrenaline flooding your veins and hammering in your skull as you turn around, praying that you misheard him, or that it’s somehow not who you think it is.
His hair is a little shorter than it was five years ago, but it’s undeniably him, his blue eyes already looking at you. His jaw is tight, brows raised and eyes wide with disbelief. You let your gaze skitter over him, not daring to stop for too long, using every ounce of strength you have to keep your face neutral.
EVE’S 2K CELEBRATION 🎤: your relationship with isack through the lens of your camera …… ft. dtmf and baile inolvidable by bad bunny
pairing: isack hadjar x photographer!ex!reader
contents: part one here, exes to lovers, second chance romance, angst with a happy ending, there’s four people in a two-person relationship (ft. pepe martí and gabriel bortoleto), jealousy, pepe went from sidepiece to unwilling couples counselor, drunk confession, google translated french.
word count: 4.3k + smau (it got out of hand)
liked by gabrielbortoleto, isackhadjar and 91,207 others
stakef1team First day jitters 🇧🇭
👤 tagged: yn.png, gabrielbortoleto
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yn.png green has never looked better 🫶 ♥️ liked by author
user1 PAUSEEE GABI LOOKS HOT
user2 pre-season testing has never looked so goddamn fine
user3 cuidem bem de nosso menino 🇧🇷
user4 admin is stronger than me fr…. imagine taking that picture of gabriel and then having to act like everything’s fine?? HELLO
user5 that second gabi pic??? i feel faint
user6 why is hadjar lurking in the likes of the competition 😭
Working with Gabriel is different. Not good, not bad—different.
It’s taken some getting used to—not that he’s hard to work with. You’re still undergoing the process of getting to know him, though you suspect he’s been trying to make your job easier. It’s a blessing, honestly. Especially when you’ve heard from some of the photographers from the other teams that there are drivers—both from Formula 1 and otherwise— that almost seem to strive to make their jobs harder.
You’re still not sure whether Gabriel is a good person or if he’s just as unsure as you are on a new job. If anything, the two of you share that—starting from zero in F1. Maybe he wants someone who’s in a similar situation as him. Or maybe he’s just notices his legs are significantly longer than yours, and decides to walk slower for your sake.
Still. For all his politeness and awkward smiles, it’s hard to separate Gabi—this Gabi—from the image you had of him last year. The competition. The enemy. The boy who ripped Isack’s dream straight out of his hands.
You’re not sure that’s a fair assessment anymore, though.
Gabriel is looking up at the screens as one of the engineers points at one section. He nods, and you can see him making mental notes for the next laps. Quietly, you bring up your camera to your face, snapping a picture of Gabriel and his engineer. It’s sweet—a little more unfocused than you would’ve liked. When you bring your camera back up to try and take another one, you find that Gabriel is not where he was before.
You furrow your brows. How did you lose sight of him already? He’s in a neon green suit, he can’t—
“Can I see?”
You jump, hands gripping your camera tightly. “Fuck!” you say, a little too loudly. Do you get fined too, if you cuss? You hope not. Gabriel stands just behind you, peering over your shoulder. “You startled me.”
Gabriel shrugs his shoulders, though you can see a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “Sorry,” he says in a voice that suggests he’s everything but. He gestures at the camera. “Can I?”
“It’s not my best work,” you say immediately, tilting the camera towards him so he can see it.
“I like it,” Gabriel says simply, meeting your gaze with a small smile and an only slightly-awkward thumbs up. “I look… official. Can you send it to me later?”
You nod, smiling despite yourself. You feel like you’re in second grade again, and the teacher has just given you a gold star. When Gabi is called back, he hums a quick goodbye before moving back into the garage. You hold your camera with a little more fondness.
Then, a loud, reverberating metal clang echoes behind you. You flinch, if only for the startling closeness of the loud sound. You turn around.
He’s holding his forehead against his palm, wincing. The metal pillar in front of him still vibrates a little from the impact. He mutters a curse in French, pink growing from his neck and spreading onto the tips of his ears.
Isack meets your gaze. Your heart jumps inside your chest, hands tightening around your camera. Among the nervousness and eagerness to do well in your first official day, you’d completely missed the fact that the RB garage was sharing a wall with Sauber.
“Hi,” Isack says, just a few steps shy of you. His hair’s grown out. It’s the first thing you notice, even though, with Isack, it’s not saying a lot. There’s a faint red imprint of the wall on his forehead, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.
“Hi,” you repeat dumbly. Foolishly, you’d thought you’d have more time before seeing him again. That as Gabriel’s personal photographer, you wouldn’t be around other drivers that much. You still haven’t even caught a glance of Lewis Hamilton.
And yet.
Isack’s eyes turn downwards, taking in your black and green shirt. Blinding, you’re sure. Certainly less subtle than the RedBull merch he’s given you in the past. You watch Isack’s gaze flick somewhere behind you, swallowing as he returns to you. “You’re with Gabriel,” he says. It’s not a question.
“I’m with Sauber,” you correct, ignoring the sudden unsteadiness you feel inside your chest. A drumbeat in your ears. “I got a job with their social media team.”
“Ah.” But he doesn’t look convinced. You’ve always been good at reading him—at least, you used to think you were. But after last year, you’re not so sure anymore. Still, you can’t force yourself to overlook the signs. His fingers twitching at his side. His throat bobbing. The attempt he makes to keep his lips set into a line. He’s nervous. Unsure. Like he doesn’t quite trust himself around you. Then, like he’d been holding his breath, he says, “You look good—great. You look great.”
You straighten. Right. After months of bordering on texting him, of waking up with red-rimmed eyes, of watching romcoms and crying at the TV that he’s lying, he’s a liar, don’t fall for it, Sydney.
You suppose that, technically speaking, you seem to have it together now. But it’s unfair—so, so unfair, how he can just show up and make you feel everything you’ve been pushing down for months.
“I know,” you say, even when it’s a lie, even when you don’t believe it. You glance behind you, and spot Gabriel already putting his helmet on. “Sorry—I have to go.”
“Yeah,” Isack says, and his voice sounds strained. “Yes, um—” he clears his throat, even when you’re already turning away from him, he hastily adds, “it’s good to see you!”
Something tightens around your stomach. Warm. Uninvited. “Yeah,” you say, quietly—maybe too quiet for him to hear, “you too.”
MARCH, 2025 : MELBOURNE.
liked by gabrielbortoleto, emmafelbermayr and 51,981 others
yn.png race day at melbourne + first official race in sauber 💚
👤 tagged: gabrielbortoleto, stakef1team
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gabrielbortoleto Big day for both of us today 🫡 ♥️ liked by author
user1 oh someone cooked here
user2 THE GREEN AAAAH I’VE BEEN BLINDED
stakef1team It’s too iconic 💚
user2 girl- it wasn’t a compliment 😭 it’s seared into my retinas
user3 OMG??? I GAVE GABI THAT KOALA PLUSHIE
yn.png he was so happy!!! he made me look after it for most of his media duties <3 he also might have named it
user4 “might have” ?
yn.png he won’t tell me the name :( i’ll get it out of him though dw
user5 we are being FED
user6 bora borboleto!! 🇧🇷
user7 why is no one talking about that second picture????? hello 😵💫
user8 no exactly cause is this man single
user9 i mean…….. you can’t convince me someone that ISN’T in love with him can take a picture like that
user8 WAIT that’d be so cute 😭 and it’s the first race in f1 for both of them as well……. that’s just a romcom waiting to happen
MARCH, 2025 : SHANGHAI.
You don’t know why you’re nervous. Standing backstage, moments before Gabi is supposed to go on stage alongside Nico. You can hear the excited cheers from the crowd, and something in your gut flutters a little. They’re not here for you. You wipe your sweaty palm on your jeans.
Media day in Shanghai for you means having three memory cards in your bag and your camera ready to take as many pictures of Gabriel as you can manage, before you eventually get back to your hotel room, open your laptop, and start sorting through them. You’re not exactly a believer of quantity over quality, but if your job demands it then so be it. You’ll choose your favorite ones to post on your Instagram account, anyway.
They’re supposed to go on stage in less than ten minutes, and yet, Gabriel and Nico are nowhere to be seen. You wipe your palms against your shirt again, anxious. Was it your responsibility to bring Gabriel here? Surely not—surely that falls beyond the scope of your job. Still, you can feel as you slowly start to gaslight yourself into thinking you were told and you just forgot.
Before your panic can start jumping away like a jackrabbit, you hear talking and footsteps from the metal stairs behind you. You turn around, hopeful—
Surprised brown eyes meet yours.
“Hi,” Isack says, voice soft. His press officer gives some indications to one of the technicians backstage, before leaving you and Isack temporarily alone.
Your shoulders drop. “I thought you were Gabi.”
“Ah,” Isack says, and your disappointment sours into regret.
I didn’t mean it like that, you very nearly say. You swallow back the words, ignoring the way they lodge into the back of your throat.
Isack scratches his neck, smile faltering just enough for you to notice. “Sorry to disappoint.” He shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to be nonchalant. “He’ll be here. Gabriel, I mean. He’s responsible like that.”
You turn away from Isack, glancing once again at the stairs for any sign of his black and bright green team kit. You bite your thumb anxiously, foot drumming against the floor of the stage. You can’t fail at your job on the second race of the season. Do people get fired over this? How do you explain to your boss that you lost your driver?
“Hey,” Isack says, quietly, gently. His hand reaches out for yours instinctively, his thumb caressing the back of your palm in a soothing motion. You resent that it works, that it grounds you just a bit. When you look up, Isack meets your gaze a beat later.
The realization in his eyes is near instant.
Isack pulls his hand away hastily, as if touching your skin has burned him. He inhales sharply. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t—” The words die in his throat. He looks away from you as his hand drops against his side.
“It’s fine,” you say, for his sake. Maybe for yours, too. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek, and you can’t remember the last time it was like this between you two. Like stepping around broken glass.
A beat passes. “This is your first time on this side of the stage, isn’t it?” he asks tentatively.
“Yeah,” you sigh, anxiousness wearing you down. You make a sound at the back of your throat that borders on a scoff and a laugh. “I guess I’m more used to being down there with the crowd.”
“You were always easy to spot, you know,” Isack responds absentmindedly. He’s already gazing at the gathering crowd, though he doesn’t seem to be looking at anything specific.
You ignore the way your heart skips a beat. Ignore it, suppress it, dismiss it—whatever it takes not to acknowledge the easy warmth that blooms in your chest now that you’re standing next to him. “Was I?”
Isack turns back to you, but his eyes drop to the embroidered strap around your neck, eventually finding the camera by your hip. His brows furrow. “You still have it,” he says, like a revelation.
A blush tints your cheeks. It’s so dumb. Stupid, really, how exposed you feel when he points it out. Your camera is your job—it’s an extension of you, like an arm or a leg.
“Of course I do,” you say, and there’s no sharp edge to your words. Maybe an undeserved softness. It’s your fault for being sentimental. If anything, you should’ve long upgraded to a better model, one with a better lens, with more light settings and a better zoom. But you couldn’t—not when it was a gift from him. Not when you know he spent restless nights scouring the internet, asking around the F2 paddock for suggestions for a professional camera he could get his girlfriend.
It was out of his budget. You know it was, because it was before he had major sponsors like he does now. You know, because unlike most drivers you’ve met, Isack doesn’t come from money. Every penny that went into your birthday gift had been hard-earned by him—and it landed him eating chicken and rice for three weeks. You’d reprimanded him, saying that you could still return it—only for him to lean closer to you and press a kiss onto your temple, whispering against your skin, “Why would I do that? C’était fait pour toi, chérie.”
You’d kept it, because Isack had insisted, and because, in all honesty, you didn’t want to let go of it.
A part of you still doesn’t.
Isack looks like he wants to say something, before he swallows it back. He looks conflicted, apologetic, and when he glances down at your palm again, you get the feeling he wants to intertwine your fingers with his.
The sound of steps coming up the stairs makes the two of you take a step back from one another. Warmth shoots up your spine. You hadn’t even realized how close you’d been standing.
Gabriel comes up the stairs with Nico and Liam in tow, curls poking from underneath his Sauber cap. “Hey—thought I had lost you.”
You try to smile—you do. Gabriel’s attention shifts over to Isack, who’s jaw looks tenser than it did a moment ago. Something akin to recognition flickers in Gabriel’s gaze.
He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:14 PM ] : Hi
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:14 PM ] : What are you doing right now?
you [ 10:14 PM ] : just got back to my room!! so i’m choosing n editing a few pics for sauber
you [ 10:14 PM ] : dw i’m making sure you look handsome in all of them
you [ 10:15 PM ] : unless you choose to wrong me in the future. in which case i have plenty of unflattering material
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:15 PM ] : Good to know
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:15 PM ] : Hey, can I ask you a personal question?
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:15 PM ] : You can say no
you [ 10:15 PM ] : yeah ofc!!!! shoot
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:15 PM ] : You used to date him, no?
you [ 10:16 PM ] : pardon
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:16 PM ] : Hadjar
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:16 PM ] : I kept thinking your face looked familiar when we first met.
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:16 PM ] : I figured I must’ve seen you around in F2 or F3. But you were his girlfriend yes?
you [ 10:17 PM ] : yeah
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : That makes sense
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : I’ve noticed him staring at me a lot. Especially today at the fan forum
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : And it couldn’t be because of the races, since our car is a million dollar piece of shit
you [ 10:17 PM ] : GABI
you [ 10:17 PM ] : YOU CANT SAY THAT
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : What
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:17 PM ] : This is all confidential right
you [ 10:18 PM ] : 😭 what would you do if i said no
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:18 PM ] : It’s not like I’m lying,,, everyone knows it’s a shitbox
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:18 PM ] : Is it too invasive if I ask why you two broke up?
you [ 10:18 PM ] : we just had different priorities i guess
you [ 10:23 PM ] : you haven’t told me your embarrassing middle name yet
gabriel bortoleto (work) [ 10:24 PM ] : It’s Lourenzo.
you [ 10:24 PM ] : boooo 👎👎 that’s not embarrassing at all
you [ 10:24 PM ] : sounds really regal though
you [ 10:24 PM ] : prince lourenzo
you [ 10:24 PM ] : eh
you [ 10:24 PM ] : i think i like people calling you bubbles better
bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : only max calls me that
you [ 10:25 PM ] : mhmm sure 😁
you [ 10:25 PM ] : also yeah we’re friends gabi <3
bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : Okay
bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : Then as your friend I would like to say that you should probably tell Isack that we’re not
bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : Together or anything
bubbles ☘️ [ 10:25 PM ] : Because I keep getting a chilly feeling and then turning around and just. Catch him staring at me.
you [ 10:25 PM ] : have you considered maybe this has nothing to do with me
you [ 10:26 PM ] : i mean maybe he has a crush on you
you [ 10:26 PM ] : have you considered that
bubbles ☘️ [ 10:26 PM ] : What
liked by gabrielbortoleto, pepemartiofficial and 91 others
yourusername got to visit an actual f1 factory? in switzerland? shoutout gabi for convincing the big boss to let me tag along <3
👤 tagged: gabrielbortoleto
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friend1 pls tell me you bought the cow
yourusername i bought the cow
friend2 WAITT your new friend has cheekbones for DAYS
gabrielbortoleto Last time I do that cause I didn’t know you would snore the whole flight
yourusername I DID NOT??????
yourusername pepemartiofficial you like my posts but don’t comment anymore? woowww
pepemartiofficial what are you on about i hadn’t even seen your post
pepemartiofficial oh i mean. yeah idk
APRIL, 2025 : SUZUKA.
liked by isackhadjar, yn.png and 180,921 others
visacashapprb had… joints? HADJOINTS!
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user8 MY GOAT
redbullfrance Solide 🙌
user9 protect him from the redbull seat at all costs
user10 HELLO that last slide…….. not complaining
formula2 YESS ISACK! BIEN JOUÉ
user11 is isack single asking for a friend
This isn’t stalking. You’re not—you’re not. Not really. You’re just… seizing up the competition.
You’re sitting inside the Sauber motorhome, waiting for the post race interviews to be done. It’s not as crowded as you expected—and, at least, you have Emma to keep you company. In the short time you’ve known her, you’ve decided you like her—even going as far as to offer taking a few pictures for her for the next time F1 and F1A races overlap.
She’s texting someone on her phone while you hide yours behind your open laptop. It feels… wrong, like a betrayal both to Sauber and to yourself. You can’t help yourself either way.
You scroll down VCARB’s recent Instagram feed, stumbling upon a post celebrating Isack’s first F1 points.
Is this pathetic? You feel a little pathetic. What good is having him blocked if you’re still searching for breadcrumbs?
Your thumb slides on the screen, showing a picture of Isack along with the rest of the team. Then, one of him with his hair mussed and his race suit still on. Then—
You smack your phone facedown against the table, making Emma flinch across from you.
She blinks. “…Are you okay?”
Your cheeks burn. Isack’s shirtless torso. On social media. On a team account. Something you wholeheartedly refuse to name flutters around your gut. Why are you so affected by this? You’ve seen him shirtless—fuck, you’ve seen him naked before.
It just took you by surprise, you reason.
“Yeah,” you say, voice strangled, “fine.”
you [ 6:14 PM ] : do you think it’s unprofessional that i still have him blocked
pepe 👎 [ 6:16 PM ] : i think it’s unprofessional that you’re having this conversation with me
you [ 6:16 PM ] : can you just answer the question
pepe 👎 [ 6:16 PM ] : no
you [ 6:16 PM ] : no you don’t think it’s unprofessional or no you’re not going to answer
pepe 👎 [ 6:17 PM ] : the second one
you [ 6:17 PM ] : why
pepe 👎 [ 6:18 PM ] : because i’m seeing isack tonight and i have a terrible poker face
pepe 👎 [ 6:18 PM ] : and when he winds up asking about you i don’t wanna tell him everything and risk you paying someone to put me in the wall
you [ 6:18 PM ] : josep maría martí.
pepe 👎 [ 6:19 PM ] : your intimidation tactics don’t work on me
you [ 6:19 PM ] : did you know my paddock pass works for f2 races as well
you [ 6:19 PM ] : and i’ve been becoming good friends with joshua dürksen. he’s starting p7 tomorrow
you [ 6:20 PM ] : what position are you starting again? p6?
pepe 👎 [ 6:20 PM ] : getting a job in f1 has made you demented
you [ 6:20 PM ] : is it unprofessional YES OR NO
pepe 👎 [ 6:20 PM ] : ?????? HOW WOULD I KNOW
pepe 👎 [ 6:20 PM ] : would he want you to unblock him? probably
pepe 👎 [ 6:21 PM ] : does he use my phone to see what you’ve been posting on instagram? on occasion
pepe 👎 [ 6:21 PM ] : has he checked your linkedin multiple times because it’s the only social media you haven’t blocked him on? YEAH
you [ 6:22 PM ] : he what
Seen 6:22 PM
you [ 6:24 PM ] : PEPE
pepe 👎 [ 6:24 PM ] : I’VE SAID TOO MUCH ALREADY
isack 🥷🏽 [ 6:31 PM ] : Hey
isack 🥷🏽 [ 6:31 PM ] : Has she said anything to you?
pepe 👎 [ 6:32 PM ] : FUCKING LEAVE ME OUT OF THIS
isack 🥷🏽 [ 6:33 PM ] : ????
APRIL, 2025 : BAHRAIN.
liked by pepemartiofficial, redbulljuniorteam and 99,871 others
yn.png we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to say PEPE WON THE SPRINT RACE I KNOW HIM HE WON I WAS THERE
👤 tagged: pepemartiofficial
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pepemartiofficial i do not know this woman
yn.png i can’t even be bothered by this YOU WONN
chloechambersracing what. a. race. 👏
redbulljuniorteam We’ve definitely missed being photographed by yn.png 🏆
user14 should’ve hired her while you still could cheap ass
user15 GET HIM AN F1 SEAT NOWW
user16 why do y/n’s redbull pics hit so different from the sauber ones though
user17 win so good it actually made pepe and y/n forget they can’t stand each other
user18 did you even watch the race 😭 she was up there hugging him and crying and smiling “they can’t stand each other” be so fr
♥️ isackhadjar has liked your post
The scent of champagne and celebration is thick in the air. Despite the sun having long sunk over the horizon, the night air still feels warm, electric.
You’re waiting in the garage, checking the pictures from your camera with giddy excitement. It feels like centuries since the last time you were at an F2 race celebrating. You imagine Pepe will want to take you guys out, maybe somewhere to eat, maybe to a club. It hurts a little, knowing you won’t be able to go—knowing that you’re already behind on work you need to get done before tomorrow morning.
You feel him before you ever see him. Like magnets, you turn around and you find him. You always seem to.
Maybe there’s something in your face that gives you away, because Isack is quick to say: “It’s okay, you don’t have to go.” He’s wearing his RB team kit, and it’s still odd, not seeing him in RedBull gear. With how the team is looking, you suppose it’s for the better—not that you’re in any position to say anything. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”
Your throat tightens. There’s a glint in his eye you can’t seem to place. Still, you try for a smile you hope looks relaxed, nonchalant. “Shoot.”
Isack swallows, and only then you realize he’s nervous. “I realized I never apologized,” he starts, slowly, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. There’s still celebrations going down all around you. It’s a stark contrast to Isack’s quiet, tentative tone. “I’ve been meaning to—for, for a while, I mean. To apologize.”
“Isack,” you start, though you’re not sure what you intend to say.
“You were right,” he says, more confidently this time. “You deserved better—you still do. It was a shitty thing to do, and it was disrespectful to you.” Your mouth closes, and Isack takes it as a chance to continue. “I, ah. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. That it was never my intention to make you hurt. I was in over my head, and when I should’ve been turning to you, I turned to wrong influences in the team and shut you out.” He gnaws at the inside of his cheek, and you catch him toying with a string bracelet around his wrist you gave him back when he was in F4. “I’m sorry.”
This is it—what you’ve been wanting to hear since last year. But there’s distance between you, and you’re painfully aware of it. Isack doesn’t attempt to close it, so neither do you. You lick your lips. “It’s in the past, Isack,” you say, even when you hear your heart beating in your ears. “It’s fine.”
“The past,” he repeats. He tries to smile, but it feels strained. He drops his hands. “Right.”
You open your mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by a round of claps and whistles going around. Before you even get the chance to turn, you feel Pepe wrap his arms around both you and Isack as he brings the three of you into a sideways hug.
“What a day, huh?” he grins, skin still sticky with champagne. There’s excitement vibrating off his skin, and you’ll be damned if you’re the one to try and dampen that.
“What a day,” you repeat, smiling.
Pepe pulls away from the two of you, clasping his hands together with a giddy smile. “Okay, so. The guys from the team said there’s a bar nearby that’s really good for celebrating. So, I was thinking we could go after you guys finish with your quali?”
“I’m gonna have to sit this one out,” you say, regretfully. You can feel Isack’s eyes on the side of your face. When you briefly meet his gaze, there’s an unreadable expression on his face. “I still have a lot of work to do, and I don’t fancy being fired before the break.”
“Killjoy.” He rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t seem to take it personally. Instead, Pepe turns to Isack with a mischievous glint and a grin. “But, that means you can’t ditch me now.”
Isack raises a brow. “Really? Why not?”
He shrugs lightly. “Because then you’d be leaving me on my own. Are you really gonna leave me lonely on the day I won?”
Isack rolls his eyes, though there’s a hint of a smile curling his lips. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told, yeah.”
[ INCOMING VOICE MESSAGE FROM: isack 🥷🏽 2:31 ]
hi. um. you unblocked me. that—ha, that wasn’t what i wanted to say. i… pepe missed you, at the celebration. everyone did. the guys from campos kept, um. they kept asking why i wasn’t with you. i didn’t—i mean—putain, that’s not what i wanted to…
i guess i’ve just been thinking about you. a lot. earlier—earlier you said it was in the past. and—and that’s fine? i mean, i should have apologized to you in person so fucking long ago. and i didn’t, because i was a coward. like, a big, stupid, coward who didn’t want to look you in the eye. who had to ask you for a break over text—and fuck, what was i thinking? maybe you were right—maybe i was concussed. i mean, just, who does that? ah—anyway, i know you’ve moved on, that you have your life together now.
but—but you said it was in the past, and i should be fine with that, cause you’re fine with that but—it’s not in the past for me, okay? et je suis un idiot—je sais. i was an idiot last year, and i’m still an idiot now.
and look, i know i’m not supposed to know—but pepe mentioned that i made you cry. more than once. and i hate—i hate that. i hate it when you cry, and—and knowing i was responsible for that? ça me brise le cœur, chérie. but that’s fair, because i broke your heart first, even when you didn’t deserve it, when you weren’t at fault, when it was me—
je n’aime pas ça. i don’t want to sound like, like i’m trying to be a martyr, or anything. i know i’m not, that i am not being fair. i know that i should have said this months, months ago, that it’s too little too late.
but i miss you. so, so much, chérie. and i keep seeing you around the paddock with your camera and that embroidered camera strap you bought in algiers, and i keep forgetting that i ruined it. that i ruined us. and when i get out of the car, i keep—i keep looking for you.
c’est pathétique. god. sorry. you, um—you don’t owe me an answer, or anything. you don’t… you don’t owe me anything. i’ll just… putain, je ne devrais pas envoyer ça. comment… comment puis-je supprimer ça—
isack 🥷🏽 [ 2:45 AM ] : Dont listne to thabt
you [ 2:47 AM ] : are you drunk??
you [ 2:47 AM ] : isack you’re racing TODAY
you [ 2:47 AM ] : i can hear music in the background where are you???
isack 🥷🏽 [ 2:48 AM ] : Are you mad atme
you [ 2:48 AM ] : your location. share it with me now
you [ 2:49 AM ] : NOW.
isack 🥷🏽 [ 2:49 AM ] : I dont like it whne you yell :(
isack 🥷🏽 [ 2:50 AM ] : 📍Iguana Lounge, Bahrain
you [ 2:50 AM ] : ask for water at the bar
you [ 2:50 AM ] : and don’t move. i mean it
you [ 2:52 AM ] : you’re dead to me
pepe 👎 [ 2:55 AM ] : whatddid i do
you [ 2:55 AM ] : oh my god. you’re useless
By the time you arrive at the bar, the streets are empty with the dull beat of club music. Isack and Pepe sit beside each other on the curb, with the latter leaning his head against Isack’s shoulder.
You get out of the car, and Isack helps you get Pepe onto the backseat. Once you put on his seatbelt, you go back to the driver’s seat, while Isack sits next to you.
The drive to their hotel is quiet. Pepe snores softly in the backseat. Your knuckles are tight around the steering wheel, and you’re unwilling to even glance at either of them. You threw on the first thing you had in hand—an old sweater of yours to cover the pajamas you’re wearing underneath.
You stop at a red light. Then, quietly—
“Are you mad at me?”
You look over at Isack. He’s toying with his string bracelet, looking unbearably small as he stares at you, brown eyes wide and worried. He drops his hand from his bracelet, turning instead to fiddle with the bottle cap from the water you gave him.
“Of course I’m mad at you, Isack.” You watch his face sink, and you force yourself to look ahead. “How—How could you be so irresponsible? You’re supposed to be in the car in a matter of hours, and you’re gonna wake up hungover. Do you know how reckless that is?” The light turns green. “What were you thinking?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, barely above a murmur: “I was thinking about you.”
Your throat feels like sandpaper. “You can’t—you can’t say that. Not like this. Not when you’re drunk. Like—fuck, Isack,” your voice breaks, “you can be so mean sometimes.”
You breathe in slowly, attempting to blink back the tears that are threatening to spill.
“Please don’t cry,” Isack says, and you can see him shifting on his seat out of the corner of your eye. You park on the sidewalk of the hotel, and when you turn to face him, you find he’s leaning closer to you. His brows are drawn together, and even when he looks miserable, your heart is begging you to give in. His throat bobs, and Isack reaches up with his thumb, wiping away a tear from your cheek. “You know I hate seeing you cry.”
“Then why do you do this?” you ask. You’re afraid if you open your mouth again, you’re gonna start crying and be unable to stop.
His eyes look glassy now. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, apologetic, sincere. His thumb still rests against your cheek. “I had a plan—I did. I was gonna ask you today, after the race. I was gonna ask you to talk, just the two of us.” He searches your face, and he tries to smile, even when it makes tears gather at his eyeline. “I found this cafe that has those strawberry desserts that you like. But—” his voice dies in his throat, and you remember what he said in his voice message. You said it was in the past.
“Isack—”
“Je suis désolé,” he says, and it sounds like the words are stolen from beneath his ribs. Something guttural. “For everything.”
You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t. But he’s there, cast in moonlight like a dream. Everything you’ve been missing. His warmth, his laugh, his presence—missing, like a phantom limb.
You capture his lips with yours, closing the gap between you two in a breath. Isack tenses in surprise for just a split second before he’s melting into you, kissing you back like he’s afraid to let go. Like you’re everything he’s been missing. His hand is still on your cheek, bringing you closer to him. He kisses you softly, gently, with a care that makes you want to cry again. For a moment, it feels like breathing easier again—like coming home.
You’re the first to pull away, even when Isack tries to chase you. He opens his eyes, uncertain. You lean your forehead against his, taking a moment to relish this. Him.
It feels impossible, going back to not having him anymore.
“I miss you,” he says. A murmured confession.
You don’t think you could lie even if you wanted to. “I miss you too.” And he’s looking at you the way he always has—like you’re early spring, like you’re the moon itself, like you’re everything he’s been waiting for his entire life.
You hear rustling in the backseat. You pull back, glancing at Pepe through the rearview mirror.
Pepe groans quietly, voice hoarse and disoriented. “Are we there already?”
“Yeah, champ,” you say, and you can’t find it in yourself to be mad right now.
Isack unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car to help maneuver Pepe out as well. He slings Pepe’s arm around his shoulder, helping him stand.
Your window is lowered when you meet Isack’s gaze. His lips press together, like there’s more he wants to say. Instead, he simply opts for: “Tomorrow. Can we talk tomorrow?”
You nod. “Tomorrow.”
pepe 👎 [ 8:56 AM ] : i feel like death
you [ 8:57 AM ] : good morning princess 😍
you [ 8:57 AM ] : serves you right for pulling that last night
pepe 👎 [ 8:58 AM ] : i can feel you laughing at my misery stop it
pepe 👎 [ 8:58 AM ] : ohhhh fuck me i’m never drinking again
you [ 8:59 AM ] : screenshotting that for future reference btw
pepe 👎 [ 9:00 AM ] : 🖕
pepe 👎 [ 9:00 AM ] : real talk though and maybe this is an awkward question but
pepe 👎 [ 9:00 AM ] : have you heard from isack?
pepe 👎 [ 9:01 AM ] : i went to his room and he wasn’t there? and when i call it just sends me to voicemail
pepe 👎 [ 9:03 AM ] : hello?
Sent 9:03 AM
The knock on your door makes your heart skip a beat. You don’t miss a second, dropping your phone onto the hotel bed and hurrying towards the door. You don’t waste time looking through the peephole.
When the door opens, you’re met with Isack and a bouquet of pink lilies clutched between his hands. His hair looks disheveled, and to your relief, he doesn’t look nearly as hungover as you expected him to be.
“I will spend every single day trying to earn your forgiveness back,” Isack says, “if you give me the chance.”
There’s no hiding the smile that lights up your phase. He’s ready to catch you in his arms when you throw yourself at him, bringing his lips to yours. His hands settle around your waist, familiar, at home.
He smiles against your lips.
liked by isackhadjar, pepemartiofficial, and 92 others
yourusername forgot to mention 💌
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friend1 wait no i shit talked him SO MUCH what do you mean you’re back together
gabrielbortoleto Finally
friend2 MY PARENTS ARE BACK TOGETHER
pepemartiofficial you get drunk ONE TIME and SUDDENLY you miss the entire plot
pepemartiofficial after keeping up with you two since SEPTEMBER
pepemartiofficial isackhadjar yourusername you two owe me reparations
isackhadjar You said to keep you out of it 🤷🏽♂️
pepemartiofficial i hate you
a/n: crazy how writing this turned me into a pepe martí fan. like during the 2024 f2 season i was so blinded by franco and gabi that i COMPLETELY overlooked isack and pepe and now i have regrets.
also! thank you thank you for all the love i got on part 1 of this!! it definitely helped getting this out quicker than i expected <3 ily all so much 💘
It was a Friday. Outside it was raining, a fine misting that covered the windows of Tanneyhill in raindrops. The two of them were resting in Rafe’s bed, Rafe sitting up against the headboard and y/n curled into his side. Some movie was on the television, y/n watching it while Rafe fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She should’ve known something was up, he was being oddly quiet and avoiding her gaze the whole day.
It all came to a head when he finally spoke.
“I think we should break up.” He had said quietly.
“What?” Y/n asked, completely shocked. She even paused the TV before turning completely to look at him, not sure if she was believing her ears.
“I… I don’t think this is working and I think we should break up.” Rafe whispered.
She had pleaded with him, even cried, but his stance remained… even if y/n could see the pain in his eyes as he did so.
And that was how she found herself here: drunk out of her mind at the Boneyard, leaning onto Pope and Cleo’s shoulders to keep herself upright. She stumbled, her feet dragging through the sand as the two Pogues led her towards the Twinkie.
“Geez, you smell like a hospital.” Pope groaned as he helped y/n into the Twinkie, sitting her on one of the faded seats. The rest of the Pogues filed in, smushing together shoulder to shoulder in the crowded backseats. Sarah sat atop John B’s laugh and Kiara allowed JJ— who was already falling asleep— to lean against her shoulder. Once they were all in, Pope (ever the responsible and sober one) made his way towards the driver’s seat.
“You smell like… a grocery store.” Y/n slurred, causing Pope to furrow his brow as he put on his seatbelt. Next to him, Cleo did the same. The people in the back grabbed onto the doorhandles as the Twinkie sputtered forward, the ancient vehicle not even having seatbelts in the back.
Y/n gazed out the window as they drove, finding herself noticing the landmarks she’d driven by countless times, except this time she was flooded with memories of moments with him. She couldn’t even speak his name, her heart physically pained at the thought of him and the look on his face when he told her it was over. The truth of the matter was, after he’d broken up with her, she was absolutely shattered and felt completely directionless… until she found solace with the Pogues. I mean sure, she still felt directionless and completely destroyed, but at least now she had an excuse to get drunk or high enough to numb the feeling.
Y/n took in a shaky breath, the feeling of tears stinging at her eyes. She lifted her hand to wipe her under eyes and—
She was suddenly thrown sideways, her head smashing against the window with a sickening crunch. Screams and the sounds of tires screeching filled the air as y/n felt her vision begin to fade to black.
Slowly, y/n was awoken by the smell of alcohol, but not the kind she’d smelled before her vision had gone dark. This was a more sanitary, clean smell partnered with bright fluorescent lights and the slow beeping of monitors and machines. As her heavy eyelids blinked, y/n looked down at herself. She was draped in a hospital gown, the fabric itchy on the raw skin of her forearms. Her left hand was held by a man’s hand, his forefinger adorned with a gold ring she’d recognize anywhere.
“Hey.” The man croaked, his voice scratchy. Y/n finally looked up to see Rafe… and he looked awful.
His lips were chapped and chewed raw, his eyes slightly red and his undereyes hollow. His hair was a mess, pieces of tangled blonde hair falling in front of his forehead, likely a result of him obsessively and compulsively running his hand through it and tugging at the strands. His hands trembled slightly as he stood from the chair, using his free hand to brush a bit of her hair from her face as he stared at her.
“Hi.” Y/n said, her voice coming out as nothing more than a raw whisper. A small smile spread across Rafe’s lips as he looked at her.
“How— what are you doing here?” Y/n croaked, rubbing her eyes.
“I…” Rafe began. “The hospital called me. I was— am your emergency contact.”
Y/n’s brow furrowed slightly, the fog and confusion she had felt when she first awoke beginning to clear.
“But… but you broke up with me?” Y/n whispered. Rafe flinched, shaking his head before he lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes fluttering closed as he pressed a long kiss to her scratched knuckles. As he did, y/n noticed his shoulders begin to shake before he suddenly let out a muffled sob.
“I’m sorry—” Rafe said, his head falling as he continued to hold tightly onto y/n’s hand. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Rafe—” y/n croaked, attempting to shift in her hospital bed, but stopping as she felt a stinging pain in her side and Rafe’s head whip back up again.
“No, no, don’t.” Rafe said, haphazardly wiping the tears that had fallen down his sunken cheeks before smoothing his fingertips against y/n’s cheekbone as he shook his head. Y/n stared back at him, a stray tear falling down her own cheek at the pain in Rafe’s face.
A couple of days ago she would’ve probably reveled in that pain, claiming it was only a taste of the pain he’d caused her. But now, she could see everything that had transpired hadn’t been as easy for him as she had thought. He looked like he hadn’t eaten, the cuticles of his nails bitten red, a tell-tale sign that he wasn’t doing well.
“This is—” Rafe sniffled. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have ever broken up with you. You wouldn’t have been in this situation if I hadn’t and—”
“No.” Y/n murmured, Rafe shaking his head hastily as he looked at her with reddened eyes.
“I was stupid— so fucking stupid.” Rafe said. “I thought that… I thought that things were too good and I was going to ruin it. Ruin us, ruin you. Because that’s all that's ever happened to anyone I’ve ever cared about: I ruin them.”
“And I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you like that,” Rafe continued with a shaky exhale, “but it turns out I still hurt you anyways, even if we… aren’t together. God, y/n, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ever done that. If I hadn’t, we would’ve at least been together and you wouldn’t have been there and never would’ve gotten hurt and—”
“This isn’t your fault, Rafe.” Y/n whispered. “You couldn’t have known, there was no way you could have.”
“But I was supposed to be there to protect you and I wasn’t.” Rafe said, his voice low and final. Y/n chewed at her bottom lip, the skin dry and chapped.
“Y/n,” Rafe croaked, “I thought I lost you.”
Y/n let out a shaky exhale, swallowing harshly as Rafe looked at her. His eyes were glassy and drooped, his hands still shaking with the depth of his words and the situation they had found themselves in. A situation he believed was entirely his doing.
“I thought I lost you,” Rafe said again, “and I thought you had died thinking I didn’t love you anymore and—”
Rafe’s voice cracked, his eyes squeezing tight as he tried to keep himself from crumbling entirely.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let that happen.” Rafe said. Tears were now flowing freely down y/n’s cheeks, her hand subconsciously holding Rafe’s tighter.
“I love you, y/n.” Rafe whispered, running his thumb along the back of y/n’s hand. “I never stopped and I don’t think— I know— I never will.”
“I never stopped loving you either, Rafe.” Y/n sobbed. She sat up, ignoring the pain radiating down her body as she crossed the distance to wrap her arms around Rafe’s shoulders. Rafe paused for a second, shocked by the suddenness before he wrapped his arms around her back. He held her lightly, not wanting to hurt the bruises that trailed along her side as she burrowed her face into his neck.
“I’m sorry for hurting you.” Rafe whispered into the top of y/n’s head. Y/n pulled away, wincing slightly as she rested back against the bed, her arms remaining draped around Rafe’s neck. She shook her head, her eyes trailing along the curves of Rafe’s face at an intimate distance she’d missed the past few weeks that had felt like an eternity. Rafe rested his palms lightly on y/n’s forearms, smoothing his hands up and down y/n’s skin.
“Don’t apologize for doing what you thought was right.” Y/n said, brushing a bit of Rafe’s hair back. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re going to ruin me, Rafe. You make me the happiest person in this whole world by just being here. By just being you.”
Rafe’s bottom lip trembled as he turned, pressing a kiss to the gentle skin of y/n’s wrist before looking back at her.
“I love you.” Rafe said earnestly, a small smile spreading onto his lips. The two of them sat there, all the words they’d wanted to say to each other passing between them in complete silence. After a while, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
The two of them turned to see the Pogue’s crowding the doorway, baked goods, balloons, and bouquets divided up among them. They looked mostly unscarred, only a few bumps and bruises marring their tanned skin. As soon as they met y/n’s eyes (and very much awake figure) smiles spread across their faces.
“You’re awake!” JJ said with a toothy grin as they quickly crowded into the room.
“I am.” Y/n said with a chuckle. Rafe glanced briefly at the Pogues before his gaze returned to y/n. Sarah was the first to move, wrapping her arms around y/n gently. The rest of the Pogues followed, capturing y/n in a group hug.
“Hey, hey!” Rafe said, pushing JJ back slightly. “Be careful, she’s still recovering.”
Slowly, the Pogue’s peeled away, giving y/n one last gentle squeeze as they did. JJ rolled his eyes before backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender.
“A’ight, dude, I’m not trying to make a move on your girl while she’s in the damn hospital.” JJ scoffed as he took a cookie from one of the various boxes lining y/n’s room. Y/n chuckled, looking over at Rafe with a sideways grin. Sarah noticed, a little smirk spreading across her lips.
“So… you guys are…?” Sarah gestured between the two of them with a quirk of her brow. Y/n shook her head, her cheeks warming slightly as she looked at Rafe. He looked back at her, his eyes wide and face gently pleading.
“Yeah.” Y/n grinned. “We’re good.”
Rafe’s shoulders fell in a sigh of relief, lifting y/n’s hand to his lips again.
“Thank god.” Pope exhaled with a slight chuckle.
“Yeah, I knew you were an asshole but I didn’t think you were an idiot.” Kiara added, nudging y/n’s shoulder gently. They all laughed, even Rafe joining in with a deep chuckle as he rolled his eyes. Y/n smiled impossibly wider, the pain in her still recovering body feeling a bit lighter in a room filled with so much love.
warnings - smau series, (maybe going to have one or two writtens, im not sure yet), wlw🙂↕️, she/her pronouns, reader owns a library coffee shop called "tea n topics" that has her apartment at the top of it (my dream), hurt/comfort, fluff, yolanda and trinity casual relationship for the first parts until they "break up", reader roomates with victoria, links added when parts are posted, more to be added probably
when reader moves back to pittsburgh after buying a coffee shop that just so happens to be right across from a hospital where the one who she thought she was going to end up with for the rest of her life worked.
or
when the girl who made yolanda garcia become avoidant to relationships comes back and throws her off.
im passing pennsylvania, do you still live in pittsburgh?
and i still got the converse that i wore the day we met
we made ourselves a promise we would stay in touch
i never wrote the letter that i swore i'd send (y.g pov)
take me back to when we were young again, darling (flashback)
i never got to tell you what i really meant (y.g pov)
im running out of reasons not to do it all again, so
if i showed up at your doorstep, would you turn me away? (y.g pov)
or would you care to see a stranger whose eyes are still the same?
synopsis: the summer after graduating highschool was the dream. after years of tedious hours at school and of nonsensical drama, you are finally an adult, but most importantly? free. or so you thought.
after a tragic incident the night of midsummers, the four of you decided to never, ever speak of it again. everything was going to be okay because only those present that night knew the truth, right?
pairing: exbf!jj x exgf!reader (2nd chance?); rafe x reader (friends to lovers??) LOVE TRIANGLE, YEARNING!!!! who cheered? I DID
cw: violence, murder, love triangle, trauma, ANGST, idk what else to put lol but you get the idea
Summary: Bruce breaks up with Y/n and ends up in a tumultuous relationship with Selina. Bruce finds out about his ex-girlfriend moving on and is heartbroken.
Warning: Bruce does not have a happy ending.
Navigation
Many years before, Bruce, had to make a life altering decision.
Should he follow his head or his heart?
He loved both Selina and Y/n dearly for very different reasons.
But there was no use pondering the decision further. Selina was a safe bet.
Selina, whilst fickle, was still a woman capable of handling the rough and tough life style that accompanied his alter-ego. Selina’s life parallels his own; their secret life, their deep rooted trauma, their years of personal growth together.
When considering these factors, it was indisputable, he had to follow his head, and in the end he got exactly what he asked for.
An unbridled romantic companion that was only ever present when it suited her.
Selina was never consistent in supporting Bruce. Only being present at the worst of times, and never being available to celebrate the best of times.
Selina was incapable of bonding with his sons. It’s not like she didn’t try, the boys were just utterly disinterested in bonding with a woman who seemed to sail in and out of Bruce’s life on a whim. Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian felt Selina was not going to be around long, so they always turned her down or avoided Selina when possible.
Selina was uncomfortable with the mundane. Drama followed her where ever she went. Her constant blow outs strains Bruce beyond measure.
As usual, Bruce retreats to his cold and lonely bed. It’s been weeks since he last heard from Selina. He stares at the ceiling and wonders what his life could’ve been like had he followed his heart.
You were always the first to hold Bruce and comfort him in his times of need. You were always pushing to celebrate ridiculous milestones and insisting it was important since it was an achievement.
You put in so much effort bonding with his sons. You’d spent days in Bludhaven, looking after Dick in hospital when no one else could. You drove to Jason’s favourite dive bar, drank beer with him every Friday. You attended all of Tim’s extracurricular events. You would drink tea with Damian and listen to him vent his frustrations with his teammates.
Better yet, you were always in bed waiting for him. Arms always spreading open, ready to embrace him after a difficult night out.
Bruce missed you dearly, but he knows he made the right decision. Selina was capable of protecting herself- you weren’t.
Bruce constantly reminds himself of that time Joker almost took your life as you helplessly dangled from the building. Your survival from that encounter was pure luck. If Bruce wasn’t your boyfriend, you would’ve been safe.
So, Bruce made the right decision following his head. Following his heart would’ve brought nothing but heartache.
The house seemed unusually quite. There was no noise, no movement. He hasn’t heard anything from anyone.
“Alfred, where are the boys?” The older gentlemen continues to assemble the cucumber sandwiches, pretending he didn’t hear a single word. “Alfred?” The older man sighs as he contemplates telling the truth, to honouring the lie fabricated by the boys. At last, Alfred opts for the ugly truth.
“The young masters are attending a wedding ceremony.” Alfred answers bluntly, unwilling to be the barer of bad news.
“A wedding ceremony? Who’s wedding is it?” Alfred places the plate in front of Bruce, continuing to avoid eye contact. “Alfred, answer the question.”
He sighs as he pours a glass of water. “John Constantines wedding.”
Confusion crosses Bruce as to why his sons are attending that man’s wedding. “I didn’t know he had a significant other, who is he marrying?”
Alfred looks off to the clock as Bruce waits impatiently for the long drawn out answer. The clock strikes twelve, which floods the house with a melody to notify half the day has passed. Finally, Alfred speaks. “As of 12’oclock John Constantine has married his beloved wife Y/n Constantine.”
All colour in Bruce’s face drains, his mouth goes dry and he’s not sure if his heart is beating. “Y/n… she’s married?” Alfred nods unsympathetically.
“The women you love has married someone that isn’t you.” Alfred’s words rubs salt in Bruce’s already wounded heart. “Incase you were wondering Master Bruce… Selina Kyle had introduced the two around the time you had broken up.” Bruce’s head turns to mush at the news.
It’s not like he intended to get back together with you or anything- so why is he so upset?
Of course you would move on eventually, he knew that. That’s just common sense. Why would you be single for the rest of your life?
Yet despite all common sense Bruce’s heart continues to squeeze painfully, his head thumping away as a growing migraine takes place.
The love of his life has gone on and married someone else.
