-`♡´- "we were something, don't you think so?"
╰› the one - starring art donaldson.
synopsis: years ago, art loved you more than anything. he thought it would fade with time, with being married to another woman, but when his marriage fell apart, he realized he hadn't been healed, only distracted.
warnings: smut, pining, time skips/flashbacks, vague emotional affair, ex's, some cheating lowkey but in the past
wc: 5.3k
notes: art is kinda not the best person in this but he is my cinnamon apple!!! he's the best guy around!!!! i'm so excited for this series guys ty for all the votes <3
blue trimmed, thick, cream card stock. baby blue envelopes, personalized wax seals, pressed with the flower of the bouquet art always loved to purchase. you’d picked them out, careful and meticulous, laid side by side in his bed one night. “i want them to feel personal and sweet,” you told him, smiling against his skin, “everyone will always remember our wedding. it’ll be so beautiful,” “of course it will be,” he amused, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “you’ll be the bride,” “mm. mrs donaldson,” you gleamed with happiness, imagining the day. there was no ring on your finger, and the two of you spent most of your time on his twin xl on the stanford campus, but you loved to dream, and dream the two of you did.
stark white, black envelope, no wax seal. that was the invitation you received one fall day, two years after the last time you’d seen art donaldson. clear as day, the time and date of their wedding, in simple, clean, black lettering. your heart stuttered, and your fingers traced the words, vision blurred by tears. on the back, in his familiar handwriting, you read, ‘sorry for the short notice. it wouldn’t be the same without you.’ you tore it to shreds before you could even process your movements, hands shaking, already reaching for your phone. you sobbed until your throat was raw, your best friend on the other line, doing her best to calm you down.
you didn’t attend the wedding. you were sure to carefully avoid any photos of the ceremony, and politely smiled and left the conversation any time he was brought up. you learned to live a life as if he had never occupied space in it, as if art donaldson was no one more than a tennis prodigy that you once attended school with. you saw him in things, in fleeting moments, in the autumn breeze as it drifted through barren trees and the summer sun kissing your shoulders. he built a life with tashi, and you built one alone, surrounded by friends, busy enough to pretend you’d forgotten him.
it was impossible to avoid him, at a certain point. there were magazine covers, billboards with his face plastered over them, tv's in bars playing his matches. it wasn't quite that you forgot him, though you tried. you merely forced yourself to learn to live with his absence, forced to come to terms with his happiness and success with another woman. truly, you were happy for him. you wished, of course, that he'd have done it by your side, but you never wanted anything but the best for him. you swore off of checking on him, of opening yourself up to updates. if he wanted you to know, he'd call.
one morning, though, a headline slipped into your feed as you refreshed it, bold and daunting and sickening. ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅsᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴀsʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇ ᴅɪᴠᴏʀᴄᴇ. the news made your stomach twist, but the photo attached worsened it, made your heart drop. they stood, side by side, him in a suit and her in a white dress, smiling in the brittle way only resigned people do. your thumb hovered over the article, but you forced yourself to look away, to lock your phone and go about your day. his life had been running on a different track for years, and there was no sense in indulging in the 'what if' of it all. the news buzzed in the corners of your mind all day, but you held fast; don't text, don't ask, don't care.
by the time you left the office, the sky was dark and heavy with rain, thunder rolling quietly in the distance. droplets sunk into your hair and dampened your shoulders on the short run to your car, and as you settled into the seat, heater blowing against your face, your thoughts blurred with a surge of memories. you'd been sitting courtside as art practiced, hitting against the ball launcher, his hoodie keeping you warm from the late november chill. "it's about to start," you'd warned him, blinking up at the darkening sky, the air dampening. "just 5 more minutes," he called, flashing you a grin as he swung his racket. "you're incorrigible," you'd huffed, smiling anyway, legs crossed as you watched his movements.
just as his racket cracked against another ball, the rain began, pouring down in a thick curtain. you'd gasped, shooting up from the bench, pulling your hood up over your hair. "shit," he'd turned off the machine in an instant, hurriedly shoving his gear into his bag, shirt already clinging to his skin. "cmon, can't have you melting," he laughed, pulling you to the car, puddles splashing as the two of you ran. he opened your door, helping you into the jeep before jogging to the driver side, cranking it and blasting the heat, his hair sticking to his forehead. "if you'd just listened to me," you scolded with no real anger, "we wouldn't be soaked right now," "oh, baby, you're so pretty when you yell at me," he'd smiled, eyes sparkling, "tell me again how incorrigible i am," "shut it, donaldson," you grumbled, grinning, as he reached across the console, pulling you into a kiss.
you shook off the memory as you drove home, turning up the music to drown out his name, trying to forget the feeling of his lips against yours. you could still feel it some nights, burnt into your mind, the way your skin tingled with each touch from him, how your senses seemed to wake up in his presence. you'd made plans to go on a date uptown, just a simple night at a wine bar, but the idea of sitting across from another man exhausted you. you sent him a message, simple but polite, "hey, i'm so sorry, working late. rain check?" minutes later, your screen lit up with a call from your best friend, vibrating against your bed.
"hey, what's up?" you answered, pressing it to your shoulder. "hey! are you getting ready for your date?" her voice was a comfort, even with the mention of the night. "uhm, no, actually. i bailed," you didn't mention the news, though you weren't sure why, "i asked for a rain check," she sighed, "at least tell me you're still going out," "i just told you i canceled-" "you can go by yourself!" she argued, "you need to get out more. it'll be good for you," "i really am tired," "excuses," you could practically hear her eyes roll, "just go get a drink or something. it'll be good to get dressed up. besides, maybe you'll meet someone," you hesitated, biting back a groan, "yeah, okay. fine," "there's my girl," she laughed, "oh, i gotta get back to work, but send me pictures, okay? keep me updated," "sure," you tried your hardest to sound remotely excited, "love you," "love you. be safe!" and then she hung up, the three beeps humming in your ear, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
you got dressed, brushing your hair back into an updo and adding some eyeliner to your makeup, music playing quietly from your record player as you took your time. you couldn't shake the headline you'd seen, couldn't stop thinking about art. you wondered what happened, what went wrong, if it was ever really right. the image of them was seared into your mind, their pristine outfits and tense posture. you'd never seen him look so unlike himself. you drove all the way uptown, as if the miles could help you outrun your own mind. by 9, you found yourself at a dimly lit bar, a pianist in the corner and a dreamy atmosphere in the air.
you were halfway through your second drink when the crowd shifted, your gaze snagging on a form you knew by heart. his back was turned to you, and his shoulders broader than you remembered, his hair curling at the nape of his neck, longer than you'd seen it in a long time. your breath caught, and you told yourself to look away, to direct your attention anywhere but there, but then he turned, his eyes catching yours like he'd been looking for you all along. the air tightened, taut and heavy, and he stepped towards your table, slow and careful.
"didn't think i'd see you here," he said, voice low, deeper than you remembered. your throat tightened, and you set your glass down, fumbling for cash and tossing it on the table as you slid off your stool. "wait-" you were already moving, past the smell of whiskey and wine, past the crowded tables, past whatever this may have turned into. the crisp night air stung your skin as you pushed open the door, but you kept walking, not checking to see if he followed.
you didn't hear the door swing open behind over, not over the sound of your pulse slamming in your ears. another memory struck you, one of your only fights, your junior year of college, the beginning of the end. "if you would just listen to me," he'd groaned, running a hand through his hair, jaw tight, "can you just calm down? i know you don't like tashi, but she can't play anymore, and she'd make a great assistant coach," "don't you get it, art?" you'd scoffed, "it's not about me liking her. she's the reason you and patrick aren't friends anymore. she also very clearly has feelings for you-" "oh, jesus, not this again," he laughed, clipped and bitter, "patrick had it coming, and she doesn't have feelings for me. we're friends entering a professional relationship, that's it,"
you'd stormed out then, too, when the argument was too much and tears were threatening to spill. he'd chased you out onto the sidewalk by his dorm, cheeks flushed, eyes frantic, "baby, please, just come back so we can talk about this," "there's nothing else to talk about. you made your decision, and i can respect that, i just need some time," "i won't have her coach me," he pulled you into his arms, like you'd run away if he didn't hold you, "come on, baby, you know i wouldn't do anything to hurt you," "i don't wanna hold you back from your career," you mumbled into his chest, relaxing into him, "i don't wanna be that girl," "you're not holding me back, sweet girl. i promise," he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, "come back upstairs, gonna freeze out here," you listened, then, let him pull you back in and soothe you with pretty words.
he stood just behind you now, "hey, just wait, please," you stopped, but only because he'd caught up. you turned, sucking in a sharp breath. up close, he looked different. more tired, more human. "i just-" he broke off, desperately searching your face like all the answers might lie there, "i never thought i'd get the chance to-" "don't," it came out sharper than you intended, "whatever you think you want to say to me, don't," his jaw tightened, but he didn't look away, "i assume you saw the news," you didn't say anything, didn't even nod, just stood, stuck in time, still hazy from the flashbacks. "i just- i don't know. i thought maybe.." he drifted off, looking down at the sidewalk.
"you thought what, art?" it hurt to say his name again, "thought i'd see your name in a headline and come runnning?" you laughed humorlessly, "i spent years trying to teach myself how to live without you. i won't unlearn it because your marriage fell apart," he flinched like you'd struck him, blinking away the ache, "i never stopped thinking about you," the words seeped into your skin, working, tempting you. "you should've," you said finally, lips parted. the cold bit your cheeks as you walked away, faster this time, more determined. you could feel his eyes on you until you rounded the corner.
you tried to shake it off all night, the feeling of his eyes on you, the warmth of his words. you were determined, dead set on letting it fall away into nothing more than a bad memory. despite your wishes, you dreamt of him, tossing and turning as your mind wandered. he'd just won the french open, and you'd flown out with him, after he insisted he couldn't win without you. you were sitting courtside as he accepted the trophy, barely containing himself long enough to pose for a photo before he was running over to you. he picked you up, spinning you in his arms, peppering your face in kisses. "you won!" you squealed with excitement, "i'm so proud of you!"
"only won because i had my lucky charm," he smiled, wide and bright, "here, gimme your phone," you passed him your cell, puzzled, and he passed you the trophy in return. "hold it up," he instructed, grinning, "say cheese!" you laughed, smiling proudly as you posed with the trophy, pointing to the year stamped at the bottom. "my good luck girl," he pulled you in to a kiss, the trophy wedged between your chests, his hand on your back. later that night, he'd taken you to dinner at a restaurant with a view of the eiffel tower, holding your hand across the table half the night. when you returned to the hotel room, there were rose petals sprinkled along the floor, a bottle of champagne on the bed, small chocolate candies wrapped neatly on the pillows.
"art?" you looked at him, eyes wide, "what's all this?" "paid room service like $100 to set it up," he smiled sheepishly, "do you like it? it's not cheesy, right? i just wanted to do something sweet," "i love it," you smiled so hard it almost hurt, eyes welling with tears, as you pulled him down to kiss him. you'd told him to wait on the bed, sneaking away to change into lingerie you'd packed, tiptoeing out into the bedroom. "do you like it?" you'd asked, straddling him on the edge of the mattress. "oh, baby, i love it," he'd exhaled, eyes raking over you, "you're so beautiful," he'd taken his time with you that night, slow and gentle, the paris lights twinkling outside the hotel window. you were certain you'd never been more in love.
you woke with a start, gasping in a breath, rubbing your eyes like you could wipe away the dream, the way it had made you feel. "jesus," you mumbled to yourself, stumbling out of bed, "i have to get a grip," you showered, hoping to wash away the guilt paired with a lingering desire, the water almost hot enough to burn him out of your mind. you took your time getting ready, eventually walking the two blocks from your apartment to the farmers market they held every saturday downtown, a bustling, bright affair. you told yourself you felt lighter among the familiar booths.
you were in line for a coffee when you heard it, a familiar, soft voice. "can i just get a black coffee with cream?" "of course," the attendant replied, "for art, right?" "uh, yeah," art nodded, and you blinked at the back of his head, shocked by your bad luck. "sorry, big fan," the boy laughed, writing the name on the cup. "oh, no worries," art said, and you could practically hear his smile. you felt stuck, rooted in place, unable to do the common sense thing and run away. he turned, then, coffee in hand, and his eyes met yours. he smiled, just slightly, like he'd caught you. "what are you doing here?" you asked, voice low among the noise of the market. "getting a coffee," he said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, gesturing to the cup, "can i buy you one?" "no, i-" you sighed, rubbing your forehead, "i meant here, like in this market, in my neighborhood. it's getting weird,"
"i didn't plan this," he said quickly, "i just, after the divorce i got a temporary apartment and it's not far from here, and i saw this from my window," "right," you nodded, fidgeting with your sweater sleeve, "well it's a free country, i guess," "i figured i'd run into you eventually. not this soon, but, yknow," he trailed off, kicking at the ground, "you should let me buy you a cup. we can catch up," "there's nothing to catch up on, art," you said quietly, but you could feel your resolve slipping, "i think it's best if we don't speak,"
"come on. you don't mean that," you could hear it, that familiar desperation seeping in to his voice, "look, i- i wrote you something," he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a neatly folded paper, passing it to you. you took it hesitantly, brushing your fingers against it, "what is this?" "just read it, please," his voice cracked slightly, "even if you never want to talk to me again, just read it," you didn't open the letter until you were home that afternoon, perched on the edge of your bed, the sun streaming through the blinds. you unfolded it, hands slightly shaky, his handwriting neat and familiar.
ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜɪs, sᴏ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴀʏ ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ. ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ. ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ɪs, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅɪᴅ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴍᴇᴛ ᴛᴀsʜɪ, ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀs ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡ. ɪ ᴡᴀs ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴊᴜsᴛ ɢʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ, ᴍᴏᴠɪɴɢ ғᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ. ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴀ ᴘᴀɢᴇ ᴏɴ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ʟɪғᴇ. ɪᴛ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋ. Tʜᴇ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ ғᴇʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏғ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴs, ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴍɪɴᴇ. I ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ I ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ. Kᴇᴘᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪғ I ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇᴅ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ, ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛᴇ, ᴀ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ғɪɢᴜʀᴇ, I’ᴅ sᴛᴏᴘ ʜᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴀᴜɢʜ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴇᴀʟ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴏᴅɪᴇs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ, ᴏʀ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴄʜᴇsᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇʟʟ ᴀsʟᴇᴇᴘ. ᴛᴀsʜɪ ᴡᴀs ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ, ғᴜɴɴɪʟʏ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ. ɪ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ, ɪᴛ ғᴇʟᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʀᴇʟɪᴇғ. ɪᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. Yᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. I’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴏ ᴀsᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. I’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀsᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ғᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ. I ᴊᴜsᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ. Nᴏᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴅᴀʏ. Iғ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɪs ᴛʜʀᴏᴡ ᴛʜɪs ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, I’ʟʟ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ. ɪ'ᴍ ʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs. ʏᴏᴜʀs, ᴀʀᴛ.
the letter sat on your nightstand for hours. you picked it up occasionally, just to trace the loops of his handwriting, your heart hammering like it had when he first kissed you all those years ago. you wondered if it was true, if he meant the words staining the page, if he knew what it would do to you when you read them. you cried, painfully raw, your chest cracked open. you thought of how madly in love you'd been, two kids, young and stupid, stumbling through life. you thought of all the nights spent together, talking about nothing, dreaming of everything. you wanted to be the one by his side at the altar, to be the one courtside and every match, good or bad. you wondered if he ever saw you there, the sun blurring tashi's face. you wondered, most of all, if it hurt.
all it took was one text to a number you weren't sure he even used anymore, and you found yourself bracing to see him again, weak kneed and shaky outside of a small cafe. you told yourself you'd be ready, that you'd prepared. you weren't. when you walked inside, eyes finding his almost immediately, your heart skipped, then lurched. every memory, every ache, every time you wished to see him again, they all came surging forward, unwanted and uninvited. he froze when he saw you, as if he couldn't believe you showed up, his lips parted and eyes soft. you approached the table, and he whispered your name like a prayer, confession, and apology, all rolled into one. you just stood there, clutching your bag, the world narrowing until it was just him. you were struck again by the time that had passed. he looked older, softer, like the world had worn him down and he hadn't forced himself to sharpen up this time.
"you read it," he said after a moment, voice quiet. "i did," you nodded, giving in and sliding into the seat across from his. his hand reached for yours, and instinctively, against your better judgement, you took it. his touch was familiar, electric, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. "i'm sorry," he murmured, "i shouldn't have waited so long to tell you the truth. i thought i was moving on, i- i don't know what i thought, honestly. it felt like my life wasn't my own anymore. i lost patrick, i ruined it all. and then you. god, not a day passed where i didn't think about you, about us," "i thought i could do it," you started, blinking so tears didn't fall, "i had just figured out how to do it all without you. but it was so much better with you, i thought, what's the point?" "we were something, weren't we?" he smiled, sad and tired, memories playing on a loop in his mind. "we would've been so fun," you sniffled, biting your bottom lip to hold it all in.
you stayed at the coffee shop for hours after that, catching up, learning how to know each other again. he told you about tennis, how far he'd come, and about tashi's affair. you told him about work, about your family, about the shitty dating apps. "i never stopped being proud of you," you told him, "after everything, i just thought wow, he's really doing it," "it never meant anything," he said easily, "i mean, sure, i love tennis. but it never felt like i was fulfilled. it never even felt real, i guess. it felt like it was happening to someone else, and i was just watching," you knew the feeling all too well. "i feel like we've wasted so much time," he said, swallowing, "i don't want to waste another minute not being with you," "i'm not ready to go all in again," you told him, half apologetic, half stern, "it's too soon," "take all the time you need," he said quickly, "i'm not asking for an answer or a commitment. i just have to be honest. i spent too long lying,"
he ended up walking you back to your apartment, making conversation like no time had passed, the leaves falling in a picturesque backdrop. you thought of move in day at stanford, the california autumn so unlike what you'd had back home, the august sun shining bright, his skin freckled and pink. "this is it," he'd smiled down at you, sweat shining on his forehead, "the start of the rest of our lives," at the time, you'd really believed that it would just be the two of you, together forever.
you stopped at the steps of your apartment, keys in hand, hesitant to go inside. "well this is me," you said, gesturing to the door, as if he'd somehow forgotten. it was the only apartment you'd ever lived in after he left, and he'd seen it only once, a night that you were sure neither of you would ever forget. "i know," he nodded, cheeks flush like he was reliving it, shifting awkwardly. "right, yeah," you mumbled, willing the memories to go away, to pass you by. "that night was-" he broke off, shaking his head, "i'm sorry. i shouldn't talk about it," "do you want to come inside?" it came out quickly, almost unintentional, surprising yourself. "me? oh, yeah, yes," he nodded, stumbling over his words, "thank you," you just hummed, twisting the key in the lock, letting him inside like you knew you always would. seeing him there, in your space, brought it all back, full force.
he'd shown up, snow flurries in his hair, his breath curling out in a cloud as he stood on your stoop, six months after the break up. "i had to see you," he said, before you could slam the door in his face, "i just- can i please just come inside?" he looked so tired, so worn down. maybe that's what possessed you to open the door. he'd wound up on your couch, hands shaky, sipping a mug of tea you'd poured out of habit. "i miss you," he exhaled it like it was going to tear out of him, "you have no idea how much i miss you," "you left me, art," you said quietly, "you don't get to say that," "i thought i knew what i was doing," his eyes met yours, and something inside of you splintered. "yeah, well," you said dryly, "guess you didn't,"
"don't be like that, please," he murmured, setting down his tea, reaching for you, "let me hold you," "no," you said weakly, "you should go," "is that what you want?" he asked, tone like he already knew the answer. you didn't respond, just leaned into him, your head against his chest, his heartbeat strong and familiar. he sighed with relief, wrapping around you, warm like a soothing balm. you let yourself cry for just a moment, your tears soaking in to his sweater, your shoulders shaking under his arms. "i'm here," he murmured, and you noticed only after he was gone that he never said he'd stay.
he took you to your bedroom, laid you down and kissed you slow, tedious and deep. "you smell so good," he'd mumbled into your skin as he kissed your neck, nipping lightly, his hands slipped beneath your shirt, "missed this so much," you let yourself fall headfirst into the fantasy that this was still real, that he was still yours, as he trailed further down. "can i show you how much i miss you, baby?" his voice was thick, hoarse, as he gazed up at you from between your thighs. "yes," you nodded quickly, as if you'd ever refuse him, "please," he was tender as he slid off your underwear, pressing featherlight kisses to your inner thighs, running his hand down your other leg soothingly.
you sucked in a breath as his tongue finally met your core, hot against your flushed skin, light as he trailed it against your clit. "oh, art," you sighed contently, hands settling in his hair, eyes closing, "that's so good," he hummed, licking a stripe, reaching for the hand that wasn't tangled in his curls. you intertwined your fingers with his, moaning softly as he sucked your clit between his lips, tongue laving at you, "oh my god," you gasped, back arched, "oh, just like that," that encouraged him, and he sped up his motions, the hand that wasn't in yours coming to hold down your hips as they rocked. "close," you panted, dizzy with pleasure, "god, please," he twirled his tongue just right and you fell over the edge, his name falling from your lips like it was anchoring you, your heart pounding.
he sat up, wiping his mouth with his thumb before sucking it between his lips, cleaning every trace of you from his skin. "need to be inside you," he murmured, reaching to relieve himself from the strain of his boxers, "can i fuck you, baby? do you want that?" "yes, of course," you nodded, watching him, entranced. he smiled, hazy and sweet, as he pulled off his boxers fully, settling between your parted thighs. "so pretty," he mumbled, sliding his tip against the mess he'd left, "missed you. missed this," he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours as he pushed inside you, thick and warm. you gasped against his lips, wrapping your legs around him, holding him close. "god," he groaned, dropping his forehead to your chest, thrusting slowly, "feels so good, sweet girl, so perfect f'me,"
"so good," you dug your nails into his shoulders, eliciting a raspy whine from him. "not gonna last, missed you too much," it made you feel good to have some power over him, to make him weak like you were, "that's okay," you ran your fingertips over the scratches you'd left, his thrusts quickening, "can come for me, art," "oh my god," he gasped breathlessly as he pulled out, spilling across your stomach, a half whine, half growl leaving his throat as he watched it paint your skin. you hummed, warm and content, letting him wipe you off with a tissue from your nightstand.
after, you'd curled into his side, "stay the night?" "i can't," he said after a moment, quiet, apologetic, "i'm in town for a match," "oh," you nodded, though your chest ached, "is she here? in town?" "she's at her parents," he said quietly, "but she'll be here in the morning. i'm sorry," "that's fine," you said, a beat too quickly, "go on, then. you shouldn't lose sleep before your match," you forced yourself to smile as he stood, dressing slowly, "you sure you're okay?" "i'm great," you lied, "at least i got you for a little while," he leaned down just before he left, kissing you sweetly and gently, "i love you," he murmured, only worsening the pain. "i love you too," you whispered, blinking away tears as you watched him go.
"are you okay?" he asked, bringing you back to the present, blinking away the flashback. "yeah! yeah, sorry, just thinking," you said quickly, running a hand through your hair, "maybe- maybe this isn't a good idea, art," "what?" his face fell, brows furrowed, "what do you mean?" "i don't know who i am when you come back," you said quietly, "i mean, i helped you cheat on her, art. that's not who i am," "i'm sorry i ever put you in that position," he swallowed, and you watched his throat bob, "i never should've come here and treated you that way. i wasn't thinking of the right thing, i was just thinking of you, of how badly i needed to see you," "it was unfair," you murmured, looking down, "but it wasn't just you. we both did it. i just don't want to be the sort of woman that gets weak the moment you come back. i mean, what if you leave again? what if someone else comes along tempting you with a better life?"
"we can take it slow, like we talked about. i'll wait as long as i need for you to trust me again," he took a step closer, reaching for you, gently brushing his hand along your arm, "i want to make this right. i want to be with you, but only when you're ready. i want to prove i can be the kind of man that you deserve," "i don't know how to stop you from hurting me," "you just have to trust that i'll never do it again," you wished it were that simple, "i don't want anyone else. it's clear to me now, okay? you're it for me. you're the one," you met his eyes, drank in the sincerity in them. "okay," you said after a moment, "okay. i'll try to trust you," he took another step, closing the distance between you, placing a hand on your low back, "i'll spend the rest of my life earning it," he said softly, leaning down, lips hovering over yours, "i've spent the last five years dreaming of coming home to you," "come home, then," you whispered, and he crashed his lips into yours.
